Authors Note: This is set somewhere in episode 15 or 16, FYI. Just a little one-shot, enjoy!
I sensed him flinch away from her touch; I had been in that position many times before, her position many times before I corrected. "How long have you been screwing Andrew," their voices seeped through the cracks in the door, I try not to listen, but they are too loud. I felt every word cut me like a knife, every syllable his deep baritone voice utter, scrap across my raw heart. "Are you serious? Does is matter," I hear her scoff. Does it matter, I question myself, does any of this matter? Would I be here if it didn't matter? My breath catches in my throat; the elephant sitting on my lungs has gained 5oo pounds. The last question stings. It stings because I know the answer. I have always known the answer, but the funny thing is if you can get to the point where you lose yourself in someone, you can trick yourself into thinking anything you want. Anything at all.
He was wandering, a lost soul because he thought she turned him away. He thought he did something wrong to make her stop loving him. It made sense. The what if's, every questionable thing I have done for him for the last five years of my life was piling up, threatening to drown me if I let it.
His words were fighting and accusatory, if it were under better circumstances I may have laughed. Good ol' golden boy Fitzy. He never could accept the blame for anything. As the thought crossed my mind, I felt something akin to a chortle burble up through my chest cavity. The sound that reached my ears sent a shiver down my spine. It was a twisted sort of cry. My ears were burning from his words, my eyes dry and grainy and my body felt like dead weight. I felt dead.
I never should have happened. We never should have happened. Fitz and I…
The voices… They were getting too loud… Too much… Someone could hear… The children could hear… I… I…Mellie was breaking, cracking, the interview… My heart was racing, palms sweating, eyes blearing…
My knock was tentative and quiet, "I'm sorry to interrupt but we need to focus on the problem at…" My voice whispered softly into the electrically charged room. It was hard to decipher the mood though. From outside the door, you would think resentment and anger would be electrifying the room, but instead… Life, love, tinged with despair and resentment zinged between the two former lovers. "What have you lost Mellie," the words cut me off, over Fitz's broad shoulder I could see Mellie's peaked face, her shoulders shaking, she was dying to tell him. Her eyes would not meet mine, but I knew, she got this hardened triumphant look on her face, stealing away her heartache. "You need to sit down with the reporter in less than," those damn words cut me off again, louder than before. "Fitz," I sigh out, the exasperation or the touch of resentment in my voice setting him off.
"I AM SPEAKING TO MY WIFE," Fitz roared at me. I have never seen him this upset with anything regarding Mellie in the years I have known him. The way his eyes glassed over and the veins in his neck and forehead pulsed it reminded me of a different time… Of a time when I could get that reaction out of him from simply mentioning another man's name in his vicinity. I know what that means.
As soon as the words are out of his mouth I can see the flash of regret in his cerulean eyes. It is a fleeting look and does not matter. My breath hitches, it's like I have been gutted. For a moment, our eyes met, his a mix of anger and regret and mine a glassy shade of dull amber. I have already seen too much, heard too much. Quickly, I feel my head bob in understanding. I am out the door, softly closing it behind me as my name, a tortured prayer, tumbles from his lips. Was it a tortured prayer, a reverent breath or am I just deluding myself into thinking that?
I am numb. I always thought I would get used to this feeling, it has always been my saving grace, but every time it just gets worse and worse. This must be what it is like to be Command, slowly losing pieces of your soul, piece by piece by piece. The very fiber of your soul slowly corroding away until what? Nothing is left, I have nothing to give. There is nothing left of me.
The ironic thing is that when I leave, I know that Mellie will sneak out the side door as Fitz tries to pull me in with his eyes, his love. She will brush over their issues, paint over the cracks, pretend like nothing happened. I know that at three thirty-five in the morning I will be getting a knock on my door and I'll be up, waiting for it like the pathetic woman I am.
I know that the first knock I won't answer, my breath will be caught in my throat, held there by my screaming lungs. Hoping that if he thinks I am sleeping or not breathing, he will leave. He will have both arms pushed against my door frame with his head bowed waiting… I know that exactly two minutes and twenty-five seconds after the first knock he will heave a sigh and growl out that he knows I'm in there and to open up.
I know that when I don't answer that knock, he will drop his hands and allow his body to collapse into my door with a muffled groan. I know that I have exactly forty-seven point two seconds to respond or he will start making a ruckus. I know that I will get up off my couch silently, but he will know I am approaching and open the looking glass to see who it is, let him know I am listening. I know he will look deep into my eyes and beg softly to come in.
I know I will close the latchet on him and push my back against the door, debating with myself whether to let him in, stop this or give in one more time. I know my hand will be clutching the door knob for dear life and after thirty seconds of deep calming breaths I will blindly, numbly let him in. I know I will pull my white knit sweater further around me, for modesty I tell myself because it is much too indecent a time to be receiving visitors, but I'll know the real reason is a visual reminder to try and guard my heart, hold onto my last semblance of dignity as he walks through my threshold. He will come in looking ragged and tired with puppy dog eyes asking for my forgiveness.
By this time I will have drank my sorrows away with a bottle of 1972 chardonnay and vetted calls from Jake for the last four hours because I know he will come. If he comes and I have company I know he will fly off the handle once he politely makes the visitor leave, or at least I thought I knew him, I thought I knew he would do that. So I don't give Jake the option to deal with him, to come to me, to drag me into the sun. I sit and wait.
I know all of this as I march out the front gates of the White House; I know all of this as Cyrus begs me to be strong. I know all of this when I ask him to tell me we aren't the help, let me keep my last straw of dignity when it comes to my job… Let me keep something.
Cyrus has always known me better than anyone ever could. He mentored me when I needed mentoring, helped me when I needed help, pushed me to be better when I was falling behind and reminded me why we did this. Why I allowed my life to be dictated and ripped apart by this man, by this family, by this town when I was not even sure if they cared at all. He words are what kept me going, from going home and crying about it like he was. I was being strong for the both of us, I wasn't just putting back together the Grant's, I was putting back together the whole damn country.
Like the dutiful little maid with my mop in hand, I come back up to the little white house with all the miserable people in it and for once don't try to be-don't try to pretend to be anything I'm not. I just am. "Liv," I hear the regret in this voice, but for the first time I am not sure if it is because he is actually sorry that he said that or just sorry that I heard it. Regardless, it does not matter. "No, all of this hurt, this regret you are feeling channel it towards your family. You need to go in there and fix things with your family becau-because it isn't my place," my breath hitches as he advances on me and I back up, put my hand back out. "We are set to go live in twenty minutes with a very important reporter than tens of millions of people will be watching, I need you to save it and fix things with your family." He almost looks hurt that I was firm with him and my twisted, mangled heart sinks into my stomach… I realize that has been my mistake, I've never been able to fix him because I accept fixing things for him and put our personal lives in front of my job. My breath catches again and I retreat further towards the door, "This is my job. I am at work. Go fix your family." Stiffly, he nods his head and exits out the door to my right. I feel like I can breath, broken, but breathing.
As the interview goes on, I know, I will go home and wait until three thirty-five this morning to repeat the whole cycle again. Not because I love him, because really, what is love? I don't know what love is anymore. He certainly doesn't know what love is anymore. The only thing I know is what I already know. And I know I can't let him go. Not yet. Not until my heart is twisted and mangled beyond repair. Not until I know there is no other option.
So I know I'll come back the next day and the next to pretend like I didn't hear anything. Pretend like I don't know, pretend like I don't see him slowly slipping away. Turning my cheek the other way, acting like for the first time, like the wife in a dysfunctional marriage, see the other woman encroaching on what is yours. The trouble is I'm not the wife. I am the other woman and it's never hurt so badly.
I sit in the west wing or the rose garden or my apartment or OPA, watching, and waiting. I know what it feels like to be the other woman and I wish I would have walked in the sun when I had the chance… The dark side of the moon is pulling me under and I've never felt more deserving of it in my entire life. I know.