A/N: Don't get excited about this fic, merely a short drabble and quite a random one at that. Basically, I've had this idea for a long time about a future fic where Ryan ends up marrying Taylor because he loses faith in waiting for Marissa, who leaves one Jimmy's boat and then is away in London. Then, Ryan ends up in London for work and he meets Marissa and inevitably the feelings all come back. Now, I had started a version of this fic about two or so years ago but then I ended up losing that file and my ideas also slightly changed. Then last year, I watched Scandal and I was hooked by Olivia/Fitz and I became really inspired to write a RM affair. So I restarted the fic, beginning again from scratch but 1000 words in, I realised that this fic would only work over several chapters (my plan was for it to span across multiple years) and I knew I would never get that done. Instead, I played around with the idea slightly and I ended up writing this one little bit, which I think works by itself. (Note: I mentioned in a previous a/n that I have a Taylor/Ryan/Marissa fic in the works - this is not it.)

Sorry for the word vomit that is my a/n but I thought I should explain the context of this fic, or else it will probably be very confusing to read.

Anyway, read and review as always.

/

"I love you," he whispers

"No, don't do this, Ryan. It's not fair," she pleads with him, even as his words cause butterflies to flutter in her stomach. But those butterflies sting.

"Marissa, please," he begs back and the tears prick her eyes. He approaches her and she shakes her head.

"No," she repeats and he moves closer. He reaches out for her arm and she snatches it away. He steps closer still.

"Marissa," he breathes, like his life depends on it. She turns her face away from him and drops her eyes to the ground, breathing hard to retain composure. "Marissa, look at me." She doesn't respond. Tentatively, he lifts his right hand and grazes her cheek. She flinches but doesn't move away. "Marissa," he asks once more.

Tears dripping from her eyes, she faces him. This is not what she imagined for them. This is never how she ever wanted them to happen. It shouldn't be happening like this. Her anguish is so palpable that it makes him crumble too. He touches her face more firmly and gently strokes the soft skin.

"I love you."

He kisses her and despite her best efforts, she kisses him back too. It deepens and deepens, their tongues lavish each other and their arms get caught in a tight embrace. Then her disgust, her resentment, whatever it may be, takes over and she is pushing him away.

"You have a wife!" she nearly screams.

"Who I don't love," he asserts. She shakes her head.

"You still have a wife," she says, this time much more feebly. She moves away from him and sits down on the nearest chair.

"I want to leave her."

"It doesn't matter," she mutters. He stands aimlessly, at a loss of what to say or do to convince her. "Please leave."

"Marissa…" he protests.

"Please. I need to think" He hesitates and then decides to walk away.

They are at a party. It's the first time he has seen her properly since his confession over a week ago. He watches her in agony all night, always from afar, too afraid to talk to her. And then the night reached its end and he finds himself in a taxi with her, albeit with other people. There is drunken conversation all around and yet what stands out to him is her silence. The taxi rolls through the streets of London, dropping people off, until it is just the two of them left. She spends the entire time with her face turned away, looking out of the window. He stares at her and sighs; he is so out of his depth.

"Marissa," he says softly, "I'm sorry. For before, I shouldn't have thrown that at you like that, I, it was wrong of me. I'm sorry."

She doesn't respond and he keeps watching her. He sees her blink her eyes repeatedly and he wonders if she was crying.

"Marissa, please…" he tries again, wishing she would just forgive him. Suddenly he hears her speak, her voice muffled by what he thinks is a sob.

"Did you mean it?" she asks, her face still turned away. Unsurely, she moves slowly to look at him. He sees her eyes are tear stained. She sucks her breath and asks once more, "What you said that night, did you...?

He smiles sadly because he had meant it, but why could he have not said it to her all those years ago, so readily, so surely. Still smiling, he tells her, "I did. I love you."

She drops her hand so it is lying next to his, their knuckles grazing. Tentatively, he brushes his fingers against her and attempts to hold her hand. She is slow to react but ultimately obliges. They say nothing for a while and Marissa returns to staring out of the window. They are getting closer and closer to her house and Ryan wonders whether anything more would indeed be said. Just as the taxi approaches the final corner, he sees Marissa take a deep breath and turn to face him once more.

"I love you too," she whispers, her voice ragged and her body almost shaking. She lifts her eyes to meet his and that familiar connection rings through stronger than it ever was. He leans in slowly, hesitantly, and pressed his lips against hers. It was a humble kiss, measured and short. When he moves his lips away and their gazes join together, they both feel the magnitude of it all. Their feelings. Their actions. Their words.

The taxi comes to a halt. Marissa sits still and Ryan sees the flickers of deliberation going through her head. Her hand is still in his but any moment now, he expects it to leave and for Marissa to walk out. He is preparing himself to hear her rejection, searching for the words of support. He so readily believes that response, he does not notice at first when Marissa opens the car door, their hands still entwined together. The heel of her stiletto hits the pavement and he feels the tug on his hand. He finds her looking at him, the silent invitation in her eyes.

They both step outside together and Marissa shivers from the cold air. Ryan pulls her closer and his right hand moves to hold her cheek against his palm. He catches the severity in her eyes and he is immediately concerned.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks softly.

Marissa nods and rests her forehead against his.

"Yes," she whispers and then her eyes look intently at his as she checked, "Are you?"

He thinks about Taylor and their five years together, their one year of marriage. All of it ceased to matter. He was holding, he was sure, the love of his life in his arms and he could not deny any longer.

"Yes," he replies confidently. Marissa closes the inches between them and now when they kiss, it is one of their familiar starved kisses, bursting at the seams and barely restrained. Finally, when their mouths break apart, desperate for air, a smile plays on their faces that is, for once, devoid of any sadness. It is simply sheer happiness.