I've been struggling with making sense of episode 3x15. The imagery presented during that episode, and throughout the season, has bothered me more than any television show should. "Scandal", its potential rather, holds a special place in my heart. Watching the trainwreck from the sidelines, I have never felt more powerless or more betrayed as a viewer. As an avid reader of fan fiction, these days I find myself in awe of the talent of these writers, and wishing their vision of the show could come to life.
I am still sorting through my emotions; I am angry and have expressed my anger to the powers that be. Before I could even deal with 3x15, 3x16 came along and I just...I have no words left.
Anyway, back to 3x15. This story was a therapeutic exercise. I'm hoping by "writing it out", I can return to my unfinished story, "Someday".
Oh, and there's something in there that may bother some readers. I made the choice to go in that direction because of Family Feud. Someone sent me a clip of funny moments from the show and one moment stood out. The question was something about what men would do for sex. The answers on the board were lie, cheat, steal, kill and die, or something like that. That's all I can say without issuing a "spoiler alert".
Oh, and it's long. Perhaps boring. But I had to clear my head.
The door is a separation of miles. She hears their voices, so distant, rising to a crescendo that echoes through her head, reinforcing words she's said to herself too many times to count. What she hears is a husband and wife whose relationship is crumbling. She doesn't hear the words that are beneath those that are verbalized. She can't hear what fills the silent spaces. She hears they stopped having sex. Not the lack of intimacy. She hears a physical void. Not an emotional disconnection. She hears if things had been different, if there was something physical there, he would never have strayed. Nothing about the love he claims he has for her.
This isn't about her. Intellectually, she knows that. But it hurts. And on this day of all days, when she is the maid, the custodian, the lucky one who lives in the House, the last blow to her heart is hearing their relationship reduced to nothing more than sexual dalliances. It's what she hears and what sticks with her.
She takes a few deep breaths and fixes her face. She hides the pain and covers the bruises caused by his words. The Secret Service agents on either side of her pretend to stare straight ahead, but she can feel their glances. Checking to make sure she's not going to fall apart. Maybe they pity her. Perhaps they're silently laughing at her stupidity.
The doorknob is hot to her touch and it takes a moment or two for her fingers to cooperate and grip the piece of metal. She slowly opens the door, afraid of what she will see because so many of their heated arguments have ended with passionate kisses and even more passionate lovemaking. If she walks in on him...with her...she will surely die on the spot.
She is an intruder on this marriage in more ways than one, but as a professional, she has to remind the couple of their upcoming interview. And when they don't respond the first time, she tries again. Still nothing, so she calls his name in the sweet tone she always uses with him, the one that always gets his attention. It's soothing and meant to calm, but he whirls around and looks at her with an expressions she's never seen before.
He is not the man she loves; he is not her Fitz. He is someone else's husband and he is furious. He yells, more like screams that he is talking to his WIFE.
She hears his empty apology, but how many times has he said those very words? How many times has he said he was getting a divorce? How many times has he let her down? She's aware of what she's said to him, that he needs to fix his family and stick with this marriage, but the truth is, she doesn't want to be the cause. She doesn't want him to divorce Mellie for or because of her, that is a heavy burden; she wants him to leave for himself.
It takes everything in her to remain upright as she practically runs from that room and down the hall on what must be magic legs. His footsteps are not behind her. She isn't worth the effort.
She doesn't know how she ends up back in the campaign office in the White House. It's a scene before her that is on mute; she sees the bodies and feels the energy buzzing around her, but she can say nothing, can hear nothing. She shakes her head, trying to bring Olivia Pope back. Gradually, the sound returns, and she finds her voice. She straightens her back and puts on her poker face.
Campaign workers approach, asking for approval and waiting for direction, and she barks orders without having to think about it. Here, she is in her element and has all the answers. There is no question of where she stands.
Abby watches her from a corner, unseen. There's a crack in Olivia's armor, but outsiders can't see it. It's been this way for as long as Abby can remember, although now she knows the source is the President. The ups and downs, the wild mood swings all have a name: Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III. As if she didn't have enough reasons to hate him, what he's done to Olivia has propelled him to the very top of her shit list.
When the President enters, the air changes. It's as though the room collectively holds its breath, waiting for him to speak. He gives them a fake smile and thanks them for their hard work, but his eyes are on Olivia. Hers remain on the sentence she can't stop reading over and over as she tries, unsuccessfully, to ignore his presence.
He asks to have a word with her. He's already said plenty to his "wife" and there's nothing he can say to make it up to her. He can't close this gaping wound in her heart. So, she tells him she's busy and when he tries to play the "boss" card, she looks him in the eyes for the first time and says as the hired help, it is her prerogative to resign and that is exactly what she will do.
She starts filling her Prada bag with things, folders, notepads and pens, but before she can leave, he grabs her arm and tells her they can talk later; there will be no resigning. With a smirk, she turns her attention to Abby, instructing her to handle things for the rest of the day. She turns and leaves him standing alone and terrified that he's blown it for good.
She doesn't return to her office. She goes to her apartment, drops her purse on the floor and opens a bottle of her favorite, most expensive bottle of wine. She drinks straight from the bottle.
People always say actions speak louder than words, but she's not sure that's true. It's the words that speak to her in her dreams because, let's face it, their time together is a series of meetings, minutes and an occasional hour or two they steal from the campaign. Their interactions for so long were limited to the words they shared during late night phone calls and meetings.
She is nothing. She is the clean up person. Although to a certain extent, she's known it all along, she's just been able to pretend that wasn't the case. But the fact that his detachment from his wife was sexual, his word, it pierces her soul.
She closes her eyes and recalls those early moments together. There was an immediate connection, she's sure she felt it. It was more than physical, wasn't it?
With each gulp, the picture of her life becomes more murky, making her wonder what is reality. In her professional life, she cannot be more confident, but with him, she has always been uncertain, doing her best to navigate the gravelly, winding road that is "them". Their relationship is a true evolution, from instant attraction to friends to sex and finally an open and honest coupling; it's not like he rushed rushed her into bed and they gave into their passion immediately. It was her choice.By the time she finishes the bottle, it's too late to order dinner. Not that she would be able to hold down anything anyway. She gets up, unsteady on her feet. It would be easy to leave this all behind. The stress, the pain. She could start over somewhere else and put her law degree to use. Maybe family law. She has the resources. Maybe it's time to leave OPA behind and let her Gladiators live their own lives.
She shakes her head, as though ridding herself of the thought, but the seed has already been planted and taken root.
Staggering toward her bedroom, her limbs seem to have taken on a life of their own. She laughs uncontrollably, thinking she must resemble one of those wacky wild inflatable tube men, flailing all around. She laughs until tears roll down her face and just as suddenly as they appeared, they disappear, leaving their dried trail on her face. She falls onto her bed; her body suddenly heavy. Her eyes close for just a second, she swears, but the distant ringing of a cell phone pull her from her heavenly dream.
From its distinct ringtone, she recognizes it's Fitz. She doesn't want to speak to him and the way she's feeling, she'll never want to speak with him. She waits for the ringing to stop, takes a deep breath, then closes her eyes again. Her phone rings again and again, the pattern not stopping until she finally gets out of bed and turns it off.
She falls into a deep sleep, the kind she had as a child. Where everything feels so real, when she awakens, she won't be able to distinguish between the dream and reality.
She sees him in the auditorium, on the trail. Their eyes connect, but in the dream, the current of electricity that flows through her body when their eyes connect isn't just a flutter in her stomach, it's a full on shock. And in her dream, he tries to fire her, but when he opens his mouth, no words tumble out. It's just their eyes, taking each other in, two souls communicating with each other.
She is thrust into the Rose Garden. He's telling her he loves her; she is the love of his life and she shakes her head back and forth viciously. Lies, she hears her subconscious whisper. They're all lies. But again, his eyes, the desperation in them tell her differently. The feeling that washed over her then was disbelief, but now, in her dream, it is warmth. It is knowing. A truth that is ramming against the walls of her brain, trying to penetrate until she believes.
Her dream continues this way, conjuring pivotal moments in their relationship and putting her right in those moments, as an observer, and then as a participant, making her feel. Thrust from one moment to the next, she feels no doubt and doesn't question what they have is real.
In her bed, her body is restless, fighting with the woman in her dreams. Not wanting to believe what she's seeing or feeling. She jerks awake, struggling to catch her breath, sweaty hair matted to her head, with a slight headache.Somehow, she manages to make it to her bathroom to grab her satin cap. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and has to immediately turn away. Some truths are too painful to see.
She makes her way back to the bed and situates herself properly this time. Head on her favorite pillow, feet rubbing together as she tries to get warm. It doesn't take long for her to return to her previous state of slumber, her dreams more restful.
When her eyes pop open again, a few hours later, it's because of the soft, yet persistent knocking on her front door. She knows it's him coming to tell her what she wants to hear, but no longer believes. She throws the comforter off of her, and stomps toward the door.
Just as he said he found himself wondering how he arrived at a place where he was married to a woman he didn't love, she wonders how she arrived at this place with a man who doesn't love her. She takes a deep breath before pressing her forehead against the door, and then finds the strength to tell him to leave her alone.
She can hear the second her words make contact as she hears the hard thud of his forehead hitting the door. He says all the things she expects, that he needs to explain, he didn't mean to yell at her, she means the world to him and he goes on and on, finally stating he'll wake up the entire floor if she doesn't open the "goddamn door".
She'll let him wake up the floor because she knows deep down, now she knows, he will not make the sacrifice for her. He is a man of many words and much charm, and he knows how to use both to get people to do what he wants, so when he gives her a few seconds to unlock the door, he is surprised when she dares him to do just that.
She tells him again to leave her alone. Her team will handle his campaign but she will not return to "that White House". He has lost her. And when she hears his footsteps moving further and further away from her, she knows she has lost him.
After he leaves, she retrieves the file she's kept under lock and key for years now. She reads it, but she doesn't cry. Nor does she laugh. She is numb to everything.
The remainder of the night is spent standing and staring out the window. She is a prisoner to this love and life, and she fears this is as good as it gets for her. A few moments, stolen from a wife who no longer had sex with her husband, but she, at every opportunity, opened her legs to feel good. To feel alive.
As the first rays of sunlight show themselves, she begins her daily routine. She's sleepwalking really. Shower, brush teeth, dress, makeup and hair, checking boxes off a list. A final look in her purse to make sure she's forgotten nothing, a drive to the office.
Fixing other people, is it what her ancestors did? Is she a modern-day version of a slave? What is the difference? They pay her well, and she has respect, she thinks, so that's progress, right?
When she steps into the elevator and it begins its ascent to the top floor, she inhales a familiar scent. She shakes it off. She watches the floors light and dim, as she passes each, with the feeling getting stronger and stronger that he is near. That can't be because she didn't see any Secret Service Agents around the building, but she is a zombie with tunnel vision.
She arrives at her floor and as soon as she steps out, she sees him staring at her. He hasn't slept, that's the first thing she notices. Nor has he changed clothes. She turns away from him and presses the button, again and again, but the elevator is already gone and he is right there behind her, his heat suffocating. It's not warm and welcoming and protective; this heat is slowly strangling her. The walls are closing in around her.
He whispers "Liv" and her eyes close, but she says nothing. He says "Livvie" and a tear falls from her eye, landing on the floor, splattering in all directions. If he touches her, she is sure she will fall.
She hears him whispering to her about a big misunderstanding, apologizing again for yelling at her and asking her to please come back to the White House with him. For what? More sex in the Oval Office? Will she serve as his receptacle so he can relieve all of his stress by cumming inside her?
Her mother, her father and Cyrus all come back to her, their words, the meanings, she's been so blind. Her heartbeat quickens and her anger rises. She turns to him and screams. She screams for all the nights she's laid in her bed, alone, needing him. She screams for the piece of her heart she's stolen and she can never get back. She screams because she's so damn sad and lonely and hurt. The scream is followed by the words which smack him in the face. He has never loved her. He needed a physical connection and she was convenient. When he tries to deny it, she begins reciting the names of the eight women before her.
They meant nothing, he insists. What she hears is she is the ninth, and the only one dumb enough to fall completely, totally, head-over-heels in love with him. He was lonely, he says, but not lonely enough to get a divorce, she says to herself. Not lonely enough to leave a situation he says was so unbearable.
Tired of waiting for the elevator, and being so close to him, she abruptly pivots and walks toward her office. He follows, not knowing what else to say to her at this point. He has always been able to reach her, even at their worst moments, he has been able to break through her exterior. He closes the door behind him and here they are, standing across from each other, lost.
He doesn't step closer to her, and wants to explain, but to his surprise, it is her voice he hears. And it's soft and tired. All this time, she thought she was the only one but she finally read the background report Huck compiled when he first learned of their relationship. Back then, she wanted no part of it, deciding to let their relationship run its course naturally. In the wee hours of this morning, she learned of his serial philandering.
She tells him how deeply his words hurt her. Yes, part of it was hearing Mellie was the one who essentially ended the relationship for whatever reason and somehow, in her head, it diminishes what she and Fitz had. He wasn't a man waiting for something different, something better, his "destiny" which is what he'd told Olivia so many times she was to him. He was a man who wanted a physical connection and he got it with the first eight, but the ninth, her connection to him was emotional.
Yelling the word "wife" at her was the realization of her nightmares. For a man whose marriage had died long ago, he still thought of Mellie as his wife, which made Olivia his mistress, no matter how many times he tried to convince her otherwise. Then, she hurls the most painful image to both of them in his direction. She is good enough to let in the House. Good enough to do some cleaning and make it presentable. But not good enough to truly be seen in the light of day. They sneak and creep around, and she fills the hole the missus can't. Or won't.
He falls into a nearby chair, not understanding until this moment how he hurts her. Every. Single. Day. He's always thought of her as indestructible, a woman who let things just roll off her back because she has a spine of steel. He has never looked at their situation from her perspective. His throat is dry and when he tries to speak, nothing comes out.
He buries his face in his hands, and rubs his cheeks roughly. What he says next will determine where they go, or if they can go anywhere, together, at all. Another "I love you" will fall on deaf ears. Another promise of getting divorced will mean nothing because he's broken so many promises to her already.
She sits down behind her desk and turns on her computer and waits. The seconds and minutes tick by, and before they know it, an hour passes with neither saying a word. When he looks up, he finds her eyes and sees the pain and disbelief. How did they get here? She's given up so many things for him, disregarded other men for a life she wanted with him. She's turned down lucrative opportunities that would have taken her far away from him for extended periods of time.
He decides to tell her a story. His story, without all the revising he's done in the past. It will hurt her, but with any luck, it will save them.
He and Mellie were introduced by their fathers. That much of the story is true. He liked her. She wasn't his usual type, but she was easy to get along with and always seemed so happy, plastering a smile on her face no matter what. After a string of women who wanted something more from him, commitment, connections, she was easy. They became friends.
He was never "in love" with Mellie and as much as he wants to tell Olivia she's the only woman he's ever been in love with, she won't believe him. So he continues. Mellie looked good on paper and on his arm. It was more of a partnership than anything; it was comfortable. So when it was suggested that they take the next logical step of marriage, he agreed.
It was an event, a celebration of two powerful families uniting. It elevated both families to another level, so he ignored the first pangs of regret; divorce or an annulment were unthinkable. He soldiered on until it became unbearable and the first time he had the courage to bring it up, he was promptly quieted.
He remained miserable and unhappy. His friend had changed, or he changed, he isn't clear on which. She was no longer the kind, funny, fun person he knew. She was rude to people, arrogant, condescending, distant and forgot how to have fun. Every move she made took into account image and optics, to the point where he no longer saw any hint of the woman he married. Did he make her that way?
He talked about being raised by a man who never showed love or affection, or taught his son how to be a man. And a mother who was too busy drinking, popping, inhaling or snorting the latest drug. He never saw "normal" or anything that could even pass for it. He never knew what marriage was supposed to be, how it should look, how he should feel within it. As the years passed and another piece of him died, he accepted it because he thought it was how it was supposed to be.
When it was decided he and Mellie should have a child, he tried to be a better husband. From the moment she conceived, she began avoiding sex with him and that was okay with him. He was all alone and when Gerry was born, he gave all of his attention to the boy, ignoring his needs as a husband and a man.
Time went by and he realized being a father couldn't fill all of his needs. He began drinking, heavily. When the first woman approached, he was drunk. And as one after the other came into his life, he never let himself feel anything emotional, but his body needed a release.
That is how he explains it to Olivia. It was just physical with the others. He was so lonely, he implored her to see things from his perspective. He had no one to talk to, no one to be his friend, no one who cared about him and if these women, for even a little while, took the pain away, didn't he deserve that?
He convinced himself back then that he wasn't his father. It was natural to crave a human touch, just to know there's nothing wrong with you, just to know you're alive. He had a need and she should understand that.
He was lost, so lost and every inch of him hurt. Each day, he looked in the mirror and swore he looked older. His eyes were hollow; his body lacked a soul. He'd never shared with Olivia the stories of how he sat in his bathroom for hours, asking himself why he was such a failure. Why this was destined to be his life. Why no one, not even his own parents, loved him. He was dying.
The tears sliding down her face are not for him, they are for her. The words he uses, the things he says, he's given voice to her life of suffering. The sex she had with men wasn't about her empowerment of freedom of her own sexuality, it was to make her feel like a woman. Desired. Loved. If only in her imagination; if only temporarily.
She finds his eyes, a reflection of her own pain. How she wants to embrace him and feel the current that travels from one body to the other and back again. But, she remains rooted to the same place, not trusting herself to move or even breathe, without completely falling apart.
When he saw Olivia for the first time, his heart began to beat again and, just like that, he was alive. And that was dangerous. That's why he fired her because with her, it would be different. He would love her, does love her beyond anything he thought was possible. She fills every void, physically, emotionally, spiritually; the moment he saw her he knew she was his "it".
There was a difference with the others: he hated himself. He didn't care about being a better person, a better man; he was living the life of misery like so many Grant men before him. With Olivia, he could see himself through her eyes and wanted to be a better man for her.
He tells her things he's said before, but there's a different tone in his voice. Urgency. He tells her how he struggled with his feelings for her from day one, and tried to turn away because she deserved so much better. He immediately sensed her goodness and always wanted to be near her.
She wants to ignore the vulnerability in his voice; it makes their relationship sound like it's a matter of life and death. For both of them, that's exactly what it is. What she can't seem to get away from are his actions. He can build them a house, a house she loves, but it's just a thing. He can woo her with the most expensive bottles of wine and tell her how much he loves her; he can tell her she's his soulmate and vow that they will be together publicly, but he has not taken that crucial step of actually filing for divorce. So his words and all those actions meant to impress, are meaningless if unaccompanied by the thing she wants most.
She hears him, but how long is she supposed to wait? At the end of his second term, she will have spent more than eight years, off and on, as...she doesn't know what to call herself. What if she waits all that time and he changes his mind? She will be left with nothing and that will break her.
Fitz can see he's losing her as she slips further into her head and the walls come up. She has lived a lifetime of disappointment at the hands of people who love her and he can understand why she doesn't believe him now. He moves closer to her, attempting to connect with her, knowing the effect his touch has. But she jerks her head away and puts more physical distance between them.
Just as he can break her, she is breaking him. He's afraid if he stops talking, and let her fill the space with her silent thoughts, he will never get her back. So he keeps talking and spilling his truth until he gets to the conversation she interrupted with Mellie.
He leans against her desk and looks down at her, smiling sweetly. Hoping to get something back from her in return, but she only meets his smile with a cold, distant expression of her own.
He wasn't upset that Mellie had her own affair. Truth be told, he doesn't care what Mellie does and hasn't cared for years. What he is, is angry with her. For years she's fought the idea of divorce and pretended to be some sort of saint, when the fact is, she is no better.
What Olivia witnessed was the end. Now, they can truly move forward.
In order for them to do that, Olivia has to speak more truths of her own. But she's too tired and whatever energy she has left, she has to use to keep from jumping into his arms and falling right back into that same old pattern. Something has got to change if they really are going to have a chance at a future together.
Her bed feels like a casket. Hard beneath her body, cold; she is trapped in a dark space with no exit. No holes to breathe. Condemned to an eternity of her own making.
A young girl would pull a flower from the ground and peel each leaf chanting, "He loves me. He loves me not," until there was one left, answering her question. Young Olivia Pope always ended with, "He loves me not," a frown and an insincere, "I don't care anyway." She would throw away the leftover stem, dropping it into the pile of discarded leaves.
Adult Olivia doesn't pluck leaves or discard stems, she never allows herself to ask the question. She imagines the answer. Then accepts the answer. She moves on.
Except for him. After all the words said by both of them, and the tears that flowed freely, she is longs to know the answer. No, she knows what he'll say, she wants to feel it in every part of her body; she wants to feel that love that only he can give her.
She doesn't want to call him. She can't not call him because in spite of everything, she loves him. She is in love with him.
She told him she needed time to "process". A door left cracked, a relief to both of them. Hope. They left each other with a sense of hope that this too could be fixed; they can fix each other and "them".
Fitz is commanding the room, speaking to the campaign staff when she slips in the back. She whispers something in a staffer's ear, then disappears just as suddenly as she appeared. Her presence does not go unnoticed by him and his face falls ever so slightly when she leaves the room.
She waits for him in the residence, a deliberate choice, as much for her sake as his. His office, those moments feel stolen. Those moments, she realizes now, are part of why she feels like the relationship has an uncomfortable power dynamic and harkens back to a darker time in American history.
She is pulled from her thoughts when she hears the door open, then close behind him. A deep breath, one hand in her other, trying to stop the shaking. This is it for her, for them, their last chance at...something.
She can see the uncertainty in his eyes. Will she run to him? Slap him? Kiss him until neither can breathe? Will she make love to him? She watches him brace for whatever may come his way and he waits for her to speak, for he has no words left of his own.
Though he's gotten closer to her than anyone ever has, she is still very much a stranger. All of her secrets carefully hidden from him so he sees the best version of her, or more accurately, the version she wants him to see.
She was a lonely girl, losing herself in the world of books because the real world, an absent father and "dead" mother, was too painful. She threw herself into her studies, determined to build a life in which she didn't rely on her father's money and could extricate herself from the scraps of affection he was willing to give.
It wasn't until she met Fitz that she understood the difference between living and existing. She's tired. Tired of fighting him, herself, the Republic. When does she get one thing for herself?
She wants him - no - needs him. That's what she says as she moves closer to him. She sees his body react. The other eight, they don't matter because she understands that physical need for some human connection, even if the touch and feel repulses. She's come to terms with them.
Mellie, with her, there has always been the guilt, never doubt, until the other day. Then, she began to doubt their love and his devotion to her. Though she, on some level, knew she was watching a couple find closure, it didn't take away the sting. It wasn't until she allowed herself to luxury of distance and calm, away from the White House and him, that she was able to think things through. Make the connections between their separate paths, and the one they walk together, that she understood the significance of the conversation she heard. Had it never taken place, had she not heard it, she would always blame herself for ruining his marriage. Whatever future they had together would be marred by the doubt in the back of her mind that would gnaw at her. Now, they have a clean slate and can move forward, together.
She tells him how she was feeling, how she is feeling now. While everything around her is chaos and darkness and falling apart; while she runs around trying to settle things, to bring light and to stitch together lives that need repair; he is her solid ground. He is her light. He puts together the broken pieces that are her life and holds her together.
She tells him that she's imagined her life without him, which is really not a life at all. It's an endless string of polite conversation with people who don't think on her level. It's long hours doing her job. It's countless nights of popcorn and wine, and certainly a cholesterol and liver problem. An occasional night with a man who could never fill the void his absence would leave. Yes, physically, she will be alive, but every other part of her would die.
She slowly makes her way toward him, with every emotional confession. She never thought herself worthy of love with parents who essentially threw her away. But he - he showed her she is worthy and there are no words left. She loves him.
He opens his arms to her and pulls her into him, holding her like she's the most precious thing in the world because she is. They stay lost in each other until he pulls away, wiping her tears away, as she does the same for him.
He has something to tell her, and leads her to a sofa where they both sit. It's never a good sign, so her mind races as she tries to figure out what he will say. He takes both of her hands in his, and the words spill out.
His visit to the campaign office came after he spoke with White House staff, informing them of his pending divorce. She opens her mouth to speak, but he stops her with a wave of his hand. His attorney already had the paperwork, and was waiting for Fitz to give him the greenlight to have her served.
He had never come closer to losing his life, and it's clear he means her, and knew it was time to do something, instead of making another promise of a future they will have together. He needed to cut the cord of his marriage. He gave the "okay" and Mellie was served that morning. He will address the nation in primetime, and the White House and campaign will work together on a uniform message.
She never knew how desperately she wanted to hear those words from him until she starts sobbing. A lifetime of getting left behind, a mother who chose to betray her country, a father who chose to dedicate his life to his; someone has finally chosen her. The happy tears continue to flow. When someone knocks on the door, Fitz dismisses them. This is their time; all the tears will be shed behind these doors and when they emerge, they will be battle-ready.
She's waiting for him at her apartment. For some reason, she's nervous, although not quite as nervous as she was waiting for him to speak. News of the pending divorce "leaked" before a formal announcement, which they expected. White House "anonymous sources" loyal to Fitz, were on standby to provide leaks of their own.
By the time the President spoke, people were already taking sides. Polls were conducted. Numbers checked and re-checked. With just days before the election, the campaign was prepared for the worst, but the worst never came. The American people, save for those who would never vote for him anyway, were largely unfazed by the pending of presidential divorce.
She hears his playful, rhythmic knock and she can't get to him fast enough. Today, with the pain and tears, love and joy, is, as she sees it, the first day of the rest of their life. Together. All questions have been asked and answered. All doubt is gone, along with fear and insecurity.
Their future begins today and when she opens the door to him, she cannot contain her smile. Neither can he. She looks up at him, and sees everything she's ever wanted. And he is finally hers. "Hi."
"Hi."