It is just past 6:00 pm, New Year's Eve. With Congress away for the holidays, in body this time because it always seems as though they're away in spirit, there are no messes for Olivia Pope and Associates to clean up. No scandals to fix. A quiet ending to 2013 and beginning of 2014, but she knows not long after the clock strikes midnight, the city will reawaken and her schedule will become crazy once more.

So, at just past 6:00, she gathers her remaining Associates, Harrison, Quinn and Abby and wishes them a Happy New Year. They're a little surprised to see her leaving so soon, but her behavior over the past several months, the cloud of mystery under which she operates, tells them nothing about Olivia Pope should surprise them.

Silently, they're not judging; they're imagining. Putting together their own scenarios for how her evening will be spent. Theirs will be spent together, with their new significant others, in various stages of love. With hugs and kisses and well wishes, they leave in a pack, leaving Olivia to close the office alone.

She doesn't mind. It gives her time to clear her head and plan for her evening. She walks into her office and checks her e-mail one last time. There's nothing that demands her immediate attention, so she shuts her laptop down, puts it in its sleeve, then drops it inside her Prada bag.

She can't remember the last time she's left the office this early and it's a relief. It's been a year of stress and duress, but she's managed to keep her dignity in the face of the many challenges the year presented. She's actually stronger for it. She smiles; they're stronger for it.

For the first time in as long as she remembers, there's a strange feeling washing over her that she can only call "hope". It's peace. It's reconciliation and renewal. For so long she'd been sleep walking through life without even knowing it; going through the motions. She is alive.

She didn't realize how much she missed having connections in her life. She tried so hard to push Fitz away, and forget about him by trying to rekindle something with Edison. It didn't feel right from the first phone call, but she soldiered on, thinking maybe it would get better; maybe she could find something in him to love. She found nothing other than what she hated...pretending.

Then, there was the...she wasn't quite sure what to call it...with Jake. A poor attempt at a distraction leading to even poorer decisions to not disclose the concussion he gave her, and let him in at OPA. She wasn't thinking clearly then, not trusting her head or her heart, she operated blindly. Her lack of judgement opened the door to him in her life, one she didn't have the energy to try and close, but Fitz took the decision out of her hands by making him head of B613. His tenure was short as he was killed in the line of within days of his appointment. Her strong suspicion was that Rowan had something to do with it, but it was something she wasn't inclined to investigate further.

Her relationship with Rowan took more wild and twisty turns than some of the greatest writers couldn't have imagined. Estranged for years, then he re-enters her life in the most dramatic fashion, sweeping in to save his damsel in distress who wanted nothing to do with him. The "is he good" or "is he bad" conflict that led her to discover a painful truth that her mother, whom she worshipped as a child, never wore the white hat she'd told Olivia stories about as a child. Her hat was a shade of deep grey filled with sins and crimes that could never be scrubbed away. It was a realization that her father, the man she detested most of her life, was one of the nation's greatest protectors. He loved her. So, they've worked hard to forge some sort of bond, though still very fragile. Slowly, very slowly, they are making progress.

She shakes her head from left to right, wanting to rid herself of the dark memories of 2013. She reaches next to her desk for the bag, and does a quick check to make sure she has everything. Satisfied, she takes the bag and her Prada purse and walks to the door, giving her office a final look before turning off the light switch.

She stops by the conference room and glances at the pictures on the broken windows, silently vowing to have them fixed. But not until 2014. She flips a switch, an action she repeats as she walks by Harrison's office and Abby's. But when she arrives at Huck's, she has a physical reaction. Her breath catches.

Everything is just as he left it the day they came to get him. His chair still in the middle of the room, where it stopped rolling after he'd pushed it against the wall when he saw the burly men coming toward him. His papers still scattered about as he made one last ditch effort to keep from wrestled to the floor.

He screamed her name, "OLIVIA! OLIVIA!" His eyes pleading with her to not let them take him away. It had to be done. He was a threat to Quinn, to the public at large, and as she learned recently, a threat to her as well.

She wipes an errant tear and flips off the light. She is done here.

She packs a small overnight bag, filling it travel size with toiletries, hair necessities and an outfit for the next day, but there's a nagging feeling that makes her think she's forgetting something. With a smile, she returns to her closet and grabs a larger piece of luggage. She glances at the clock; thirty minutes until the car arrives. Plenty of time.

She carefully selects the items she places inside, thinking of practical items. Jeans. Boots. A suit or two. Undergarments. Lingerie. Items she would pack for a vacation.

She makes her way to her bathroom and takes a few things from there, making the mental note to replenish her supply when she returns. Before she knows it, the bag is full. She contemplates taking another suitcase, but that would be too much. Too soon.

She wheels and carries her bags, thinking of everything she's packed, making sure she's forgotten nothing. She checks the time on her watch and sits down, taking the five minutes until her ride arrives to relax.

This is the first time in ages he's looking forward to New Year's. For as long as he can remember, he'd been faking it. Pretending that there was a possibility of a better year ahead. Pretending the person whom his lips touched as the clocked struck midnight was the person he wanted to spend the rest of the year with.

He's a pro at faking it, a master some might say. But, after the assassination attempt, his world shifted in a most literal way. Not just a brush with death, but a reorganization of priorities. No longer is Olivia Pope a goal, one that can be attained or not, she's become necessity to breathe, to live. No longer can he pretend, will he pretend that his life is anything without her.

Now, he's preparing to meet her at their home, the one he had built for them. When he purchased the land in Vermont, and after the house was built, he finally stopped long enough to think maybe he'd made a mistake. Olivia likes things a specific way. She likes to be in control and the one making decisions, so for the briefest of moments, he doubted himself. But as the months passed and he'd watched his love's struggles and heartache, he knew that what she needed more than anything, was for someone to take care of her. This house was his gift to her.

He's excited. Beyond words excited. Mellie a non-factor, as she has been for many months, took off to California to spend one of her last days as Mrs. Grant at his ranch. Well, technically it's still their ranch, but once the divorce is finalized, ownership will return to him. Solely. This is a tidbit Olivia doesn't know yet; something he's saving to tell her tonight.

He throws a few necessities into his overnight bag, smiling to himself. In just over two hours, he will be with his love. He throws the bag over his shoulder, then stops, returning to his closet and grabbing a larger piece of luggage. He hurriedly throws several items inside, a few pairs of slacks, some sweaters, underwear and t-shirts. He rushes into the bathroom, grabs his shaver, shampoo and a few other items, making a mental note to send someone to replenish all the things he's taking away.

He re-enters his bedroom, tossing the items into his suitcase. With a satisfied grin, he zips the case, places it back on the floor, slings the other across his shoulder and heads toward the door.

She's waiting for him. She chose to arrive earlier than he, to set things up. To prepare. She walks into their home alone for the first time and words cannot describe the feeling of absolute serenity that washes over her. She carries her luggage up the staircase, taking her time. When she reaches their bedroom, she picks a side of the closet and unpacks her things. In the bathroom, she finds spaces for her toiletries, organizing them and re-organizing until they are perfect.

A beep of her phone, notifies her of a text message. He is on his way. Her movements no longer slow and meandering, they're faster with purpose.

There are things Olivia has done with Fitz that she has never imagined doing with another man. But Fitz has never been just "another man" in her world. He is her world and the things she's done for him, with him, to him, are things she would never do for, with or to another. He is her "it".

Her fingers graze the long, champagne colored nightgown on her bed. She bought it on a whim when things were strained between them, hoping one day he would see her in it. He's going to love how the bodice hugs her breast and clings to her bottom, which his hands always seem to find. He'll love the way the gown laces in the back. It will drive him crazy when he unties her; it will drive her equally crazy trying to figure out a way to tie it on her own.

She hears the helicopter before she sees it. She runs her hands along the front of her robe, adjusting it slightly so it exposes just enough of her body. She opens the bottle of scotch she gave him for Christmas, and pours a glass, checks the oven and then walks toward the sliding glass doors where she waits for her love to arrive.

There's a part of her that wants to run across the lawn to meet the helicopter, but the way she's dressed gives her pause, so she stands and watches. Watches as it lands. Watches as he emerges. His security team attempts to take his bags from him, but he shakes his head. She watches the way he moves, the gap in legs, the confident strides. The smile that gets wider the closer he gets to her.

She slides the door open just as he reaches it, and steps to the side to allow him to enter. She's gotten to him, she can tell the way his eyes caress her, starting at her face, then moving across her breasts, down her sides, toward her stomach and lower and lower, until they reach the black, stiletto Louboutins. She shivers as his mouth drops open. He has to pause just to gather himself.

"Hi." His kisses her lips, then her neck, each breast.

"Hi. Here." She gives him the glass of scotch and when their fingers touch, they both feel it. Electricity. "Can I help you with those?"

"No thanks. What's that smell?"

"I cooked dinner." He raises an eyebrow, "Do you doubt me?"

"When it comes to your culinary skills, yes I do. Any other area, no." She playfully swats at him as he takes a seat next to her on the sofa.

"I picked it up on the way here. Seafood lasagna, garlic bread. Nothing fancy. It's just warming up."

He leans over and kisses her again, more deeply this time. It's a 'hello'; an 'I've missed you'. He stands suddenly, taking her off guard. "I'm going to put these away and I'll be back. How long before dinner?"

"Whenever you're ready."

He wheels his luggage toward the walk in closet, and is surprised to see some of her clothing hanging on side, along with a couple of pairs of boots and shoes. The dreams he once thought were impossible, are coming true. He checks the dresser just to make sure, and sees some of her perfectly folded undergarments. In the bathroom are her things. That's when he knows without a doubt that they are not only in this together, she is one hundred percent committed to their future. He unpacks with newfound lightness and a joy that only she can bring.

She doesn't hear him coming down the stairs as she's lost in her own thoughts, glass of wine nestled between her hands. She closes her eyes when she smells his cologne. His hands make contact with her shoulders as he begins to massage the tension away. "That feels so good."

A kiss to the neck. The cheek. The top of her head. "I think this is what heaven feels like."

"Mmm, are you ready to eat?"

"Not yet. Let's spend a few more minutes, like this."

He moves around to the front of the sofa, reaches for his scotch and sits next to her. Automatically, her body moves closer to his until she's leaning on his shoulder and his arm is wrapped around her. They exhale at the same time.

"What are you thinking?"

She doesn't answer right away, and he feels no need to fill the silence with words. "I was thinking this is the first time I've been excited about the future."

Her words, so carefully chosen as always, mean the world. This isn't coy Olivia, whose language of unspoken words and subconscious gestures he's mastered; this is open, honest Olivia that only he sees. He responds with a kiss on her head as he moves away from her. "Don't move. I'll get dinner."

They decide to eat at the kitchen counter. It feels right, like part of an old routine they've developed over many years of being together...and being apart. So, Olivia lights more candles, pours herself another glass of wine and a glass of scotch for him, and they slip into easy conversation.

"The dining room table, did I tell you about it?"

"No."

"There's a guy, two town over. Making it by hand. He has a team of five. It won't be ready until late spring, early summer. Seats ten."

"Ten, huh?"

"Yes. The two of us, Karen, Jerry, Teddy, and our four kids."

"That's only nine."

"Your dad too. It was going to be five kids, but I'll sacrifice one."

"That's very nice of you." She laughs. He loves when she laughs, genuinely. She throws her head back a little; she's so carefree. He loves the way she unknowingly exposes her neck and every single time he has to take a couple of deep breaths to keep himself from attacking the spot he loves so much.

"How is your father?"

"He's fine. I guess. Enjoying retirement, if you can call it that, thanks to you."

"Good."

"Now about these four children you think we're going to have-"

"Oh, I know Ms. Pope. We're going to have two boys and two girls."

"You have big plans for my body."

His voice drops a little lower, "I always have big plans for your body."

They continue their conversation in their own rhythm. Discussing their future children and additional touches to the house, each of which he files away in his memory bank. They discuss cheesy entertainment news, a topic no one close to them could possibly think would be of interest to either of them. They turn more serious, discussing world news, carefully avoiding anything political. The world they both want to save from itself. The people they want to help.

Glass after glass they drink. They touch and caress, kiss and nuzzle...and eat and drink. Fitz steals a peak at the clock on the stove; it's 11:30. Then, he laughs.

"What's so funny?"

"There's no television here. The cable wires haven't been run. We can't watch the ball drop."

She gives him a look, one that never fails to make him weak, "Mr. President, did you actually want to watch the ball drop?"

"Um, not really." He smirks. "I'll clear the dishes. You go into the living room."

She kisses him, then leaves him to his work. He quickly packs the dishes away in the dishwasher, not entirely sure it's connected. He'll have someone come in and give it a thorough cleaning after they leave. He looks in her direction, at the way she massages her neck with her feet pulled up on the sofa next to her. He's not sure he's ever seen her so relaxed.

While she's in her own world, he sneaks upstairs to retrieve his surprise. Fifteen minutes before the start of the new year and he joins her on the sofa, removing her hand and continuing to massage her neck with his own. "This is out first new year together, Livvie."

"I know."

A kiss. "The first of many." She gives him the smile that says she wants to believe, but won't allow herself to fully embrace the possibility. "The first of many," he says more forcefully.

"Mmm."

It's two minutes before midnight. He reaches behind him and retrieves the document he brought with him. "I need you to look at something for me."

"Now?"

"Yes. I need the eyes of a good lawyer."

"You're a good lawyer."

"You're a better one."

She takes a sip of her wine. "Fine." He gives her the paper, struggling to keep his smile hidden. His eyes never leave her face as he reads every expression.

Twenty seconds to midnight.

"Fitz." She's throwing her arms around him. Kissing sloppily. Touching.

Ten.

"She was served yesterday."

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

"Happy New Year, Livvie."

"Happy New Year, Fitz."

Neither is quite sure how they manage to make it up the stairs and into their bed. With all the stumbling and bumping into things, there are sure to be bruises in the morning. Neither cares because on this particular New Year's, everything has changed. For the better. It is, indeed, a new beginning.

When Olivia scanned the divorce document Fitz had given her, it took a few moments to process. Divorce was no longer an abstract idea, or a dangling carrot she periodically thought he used against her. It was no longer theoretical.

She never truly knew how much she wanted him to take that step, until she saw the papers. Until he told her Mellie had been served. It was more than relief, it was the floodgates opening, the dam breaking. Tears, from years of accumulation, fell from her eyes and she had no desire to stop them.

She had a plan to seduce him. That flew out the window by the time she landed rather roughly on their mattress, gown around her hips, panties around her ankles, then off entirely.

She is speechless as he practically dives head first between her things, lapping at the warm liquid that he caused. He sticks his fingers inside, while his tongue plays with her. There is not a part that remained unlicked, untouched. She had no idea his tongue could move so fast and the sounds he was making, dear god, she tries to grip something, the sheets, his hair, anything, but she seems to have lost complete control of her muscles.

She's sure sounds are coming from her, and maybe attempts at words, but nothing makes sense. He takes his fingers out of her just long enough to lick them clean, then plunges his tongue inside as his hands find her breasts. He massages them, and as her body responds, as her midsection lifts off the bed, he squeezes her nipples. A yelp, perhaps.

Her body, his hands and tongue find a rhythm as she bucks against him, sliding closer and closer, spreading her legs wider and wider, as if she can giving him greater access could possibly make this feel any better. He can tell by the increasing speed of her movements that she's nearly there, so he works harder, removing his mouth just long enough to say, "Cum for me, baby." Then, he puts his mouth right back on her and one, two, three licks later she is screaming.

She has lost her mind and focus. Before she can gather herself, she feels her gown being ripped from her body and she loves it. He's naked now. She has no idea how or when, and doesn't particularly care as he climbs on top of her and slides inside, kissing her roughly on her lips.

He stops. He doesn't move. She opens her eyes and asks him without words, what he's doing. "I know you think I'm corny sometimes, but I love you. And I just want to take a snapshot of this moment because it's the first day of the rest of our lives."

Tears fall from the corner of her eyes. She wants to tell him she knows, that she loves him too, but she can't. Not yet. And he knows she feels the same way, so he kisses away her tears and moves slowly inside of her, making unspoken promises with each thrust.

I love you.

I need you.

We're going to have a big family and barbecues and make love by the fireplace.

We're going to grow old together and love each other like two people have never loved before.

I promise you a life.

I promise you forever.

She meets each thrust of his with a promise of her own.

I love you.

You saved me.

We're going to have children and grandchildren and build a life together.

We're going to fill this home with love and laughter.

You are my life.

You are my air.

He kisses her collarbone, biting her gently, then licking the sting away. They have made love so many times in so many positions, tonight, they keep it simple.

She runs her fingers through his hair, gently tugging. And he licks around her nipples, then takes them between his teeth, pulls, stops. He takes one breast into his mouth, then the other, sucking until she is raw. She doesn't care.

His fingertips trace the side of her body, tickling her ribcage. She giggles and he smiles at her, taking her bottom lip between his as she takes his top lip between hers. She pulls away, "I want to taste us."

She never tells him what she wants, so he's taken aback by her words. She pushes him off of her and crawls to the edge of the bed. His licks her lips and he watches her take his erection into her mouth. It's not the gentle licking and playful patterns he's used to, it's a sucking assault. He tries to keep his eyes open, but everything, every moment, every sound, is completely out of control.

She cannot suck him hard enough or get him deep enough in her mouth. The sounds he's making turns her on even more. Her right hand slowly makes its way down her body as she begins to play with herself. He feels the change in her body as she bucks against her finger, and looks up; he watches her. He's jealous of her hand being on her, rather than his. Jealous of his penis for being in her mouth, and not his tongue. He yanks her hair, almost too roughly, pulling her lips to his and devouring them. "I need to feel you," he manages to say between kisses.

He starts to move away from her. "What are you doing?"

He whispers in her ear, "Don't turn over." He steps off the bed, pulling her with him. "Get on your knees." She does as she's instructed and he's back inside his rightful home, inside of her. Each move he makes is met with her crashing into him. He leans over and licks the sweat from her back, her neck, her ear; any part of her skin that is exposed to him. His hands are everywhere at once, until they land on her clit.

She exhales loudly, spreading her knees further apart. He increases his pace as he feels himself nearing his own climax. With a final move of his finger, she comes apart, followed quickly by him. She falls into the bed, breathing hard, and he falls on top of her. He kisses her softly on her shoulder, over and over. She's smiling. He kisses her cheek.

He finally gets up and heads for the bathroom, but her words stop him. "Fitz, let's take a nap." She crawls under the sheets and holds it up so he can crawl next to her.

"A nap?" He asks as he gets in bed, pulling her closer.

"Yes. We're just getting started."

The double meaning of her words isn't lost on either of them. He could cry from the sheer joy she brings him. To think, it started with a word, "Fitz", and moved to minutes, then hours, days and soon, a lifetime. The bond they have, the challenges they've faced, to hell and back they've been and finally, there is the light. Their light. Absolute joy.

"Happy New Year, Livvie. I have a feeling 2014 is going to be the best ever."

"Me too, Fitz. Me too."

Author's Note: I had no intention of writing a New Year's story, but I wanted to give it a shot. It's a bit rough, but I tried. I hope you all enjoy it and wish you a happy and health 2014!