Note: I don't own them. My girlfriend would probably marry me today if I owned them. But alas, I do not. I'm not sure if I'm going to keep this OneShotish or continue it. Let me know in your review? Also, for general info, I'm a girl. (; I do have a girlfriend - I'm a lesbian.
All my years to this moment.
All my roads to this wall.
All my words to this silence.
All my pride to this fall.
The tarmac was hardly visible. Not an inch of ground was left uncovered, whether it was by blankets, chairs, or feet. The Ohioans of Cleveland had turned out tenfold and the paper ticketing system that Fitz's staff had enforced in every other rally had been discarded. This was a battleground state, and the numbers had to be encouraged. While she had been wary, Cyrus had assured Olivia that Ohio would prove to be in Fitz's favor. She hadn't been so sure.
There had been so much to prepare for the forty-eight hour battleground blitz that Olivia hadn't had a chance to breathe, much less finish the conversation that loomed over both herself and Fitz. She had slept five out of forty-eight hours. Even those five were haunted with thoughts, images, and dreams of him. They ate together, she helped ready him backstage, she spent days inside the plane with him, jetting from city to city and rally to rally. She couldn't get away, and neither could he.
Their time together was strained by the sudden onslaught of emotion. Olivia refused to let her emotions fetter her work life, and yet she'd landed herself right in the middle of both of those worlds. Her personal life walked and talked with her every day; his name was Fitzgerald Grant, and he regularly appeared in her dreams. She had done well to resist him in public, but in theory and in her imagination, they had long since been together. She hadn't been the only one. He had started the conversation himself.
I know you've noticed it too, Olivia. You've known since day one, just like I have.
There's nothing to notice, Fitz. We're working to get you elected. I spend every day with you. My job is you. What would you like me to notice?
Don't be ridiculous. It's all been so obvious since I told you. When we're in a room together, neither of us can get coherent sentences out. When we stand too close, we can hardly make a sound. Are you going to try and tell me that it's just coincidence?
There's no coincidence, Fitz. Only your imagination. I need to go and-
LISTEN TO ME!
She had never seen him so candid. She couldn't admit that she'd noticed anything, but she had. His eyes were almost always purposefully directed at her. He sought her opinion first – even Cyrus had made a comment about it. And in their quiet moments together, he was more present than he had ever been in any staff meeting, any speech, or any appearance. She could almost feel him on her, and it shook her to the core. She had to excuse herself from the situation more than once to maintain any sense of calm. Olivia hated him for being honest. Why did he have to be honest? Why did he have to open his mouth? She'd done her part and kept hers closed. Why couldn't he do the same?
The metal barricades rattled with shouting as the stage lights turned on. She would never tire of the intensity of a crowd just before one of his speeches. Although he'd been a mess before she came, he had taken her direction and sprinted away with it, and she had never felt surer that he had a fighting chance in the race. Ohio was a big step, and the continuously entering crowd reminded her that if he could carry this speech and arouse the emotions he needed to, his fighting chance would grow exponentially.
For the last speech, the campaign crew elected to sit in front of him. They had spent the entire campaign watching on monitors between curtains and rushing to prepare the next flight, the next speaker, the next moment. This was their moment. Cyrus had made it clear – this was their last hurrah. They deserved to watch with the crowd, and they could only get their most clear understanding of what the crowd felt about him from being amongst them. They had dressed Fitz, said their 'good luck's and left him with nothing but security and cameramen. It was a wildly different feeling.
I am listening, Fitzgerald.
I saw the look in your eyes when I said it. I know what it meant. I know you. I love you, Olivia. I love-
YOU CANNOT. Goddamnit, Fitz, you can't, and you won't repeat the words again. If someone hears you and leaks any of that, this campaign, all of my work is finished. So just… stop.
Why? Why, Olivia? Why can't I? Don't walk away. WHY?
She tugged at her red blazer and admired the wind through the fluttering curtains. The stage had been assembled expediently and with their signature mark as the crown jewel – the rich American flag draped over his right shoulder. It was impossible to take a photo of him speaking without it being in the background, and it added a sense of pride to the image on stage. Although not particularly innovative, it had been her common sense idea to add it, and it had made all the subtle difference in the world. She had realized months ago how inundated her life had become in the campaign. She knew that Fitz could not understand. It was hell spending moments with him and yet being unable to feel anything for him in the open. He had never thanked her, and he had never acknowledged it. She didn't mind. If he thanked her, it would only validate what she knew to be true.
The roar of the crowd was nearly deafening behind her, and she rapidly scanned her surroundings to find why. His figured took her breath – she hadn't realized time had passed so quickly, and the shouts of admiration from crowds had always seemed so different from behind the stage. Olivia shifted in her seat, and at once, she saw all the things that women discussed about him. His easy posture, his broad shoulders, the smile that he carried himself with – she had never had to train him in that aspect. He was naturally amiable. She couldn't take her eyes from him as he waved to the crowd and took his position at the podium. It took him a long moment to get the crowd died down, and she couldn't help but grin. When Cyrus nudged her, she reminded herself to conceal it quickly.
She had heard the speech rehearsed before, and yet the words seemed so different on stage and coming from him. They sounded composed, almost symphonic. He spoke of freedoms and motivations, of his personal history and his plans. He could have given any orator a run for the championship. The adoration in the crowd was palpable, and Olivia gripped the seat of her chair. They roared and quieted at all the perfect moments, and it excited her pulse more than the speech itself. It was perfect. The rally was perfect. The speech was perfect. The campaign was culminating to a perfect end. Olivia Pope did not believe in perfect, but this threatened that belief.
The crowd gave another roar as he mentioned a victory in the state of Ohio – he knew as well as she that it was still a tossup, but portraying a victory seemed to rouse them more than pleading for their help. It had been the right move in Florida, and Cyrus had bet that it would be the right move here, too. She was too engrossed in his words to hear the first rumble. The sudden silence of the crowd made the second rumble hard to miss. The skies were crackling, and she turned her face upward to confront them with a look of horror. Rain hadn't been forecasted. They needed the Cleveland rally. They couldn't afford to reschedule, and rain was not on the agenda.
It was as if the heavens had heard her thoughts and decided that she had evaded them for too long. She had been too lucky in her lifetime, and her luck was going to change. She shot Cyrus a look of panic and he merely shrugged. There was nothing they could do. The first fat raindrop landed squarely on her nose, and if she were in any other time or place, she could have screamed. Rain. Perfect. Rain. She didn't want to look back to see how many others were already beginning to empty out of the rally. She couldn't bear it. It was like watching Ohio slip away.
The bottom seemed to drop from the clouds and rain poured heavily. Fitz paused in his speech and she clenched her eyes, readying herself to make her way backstage. It was over.
And then, his tone changed. His posture shifted. Her hair was steadily soaking, and as she turned around, she was confronted with the faces of the crowd, unmoving. Some held signs over their head. Others simply stood in the downpour. But they had not moved. She looked to him again and nearly toppled over. His next words were not written in the speech, and they sent her heart into a flurry of panic. He was not an ad-libber. He couldn't' do this. The rain hadn't totally ruined them, but he was going to.
"I want to take this moment in nature to give a thanks. I couldn't possibly do it as efficiently as I want to, given our time, but as this is our last day together, a thanks is in order. You have carried me through. All of you. Despite polls, despite numbers, despite rumors or negativity. All of you have carried me through. I have never been more proud to see a group of people that are surrounding me. I have never felt more humbled by you." He swept his hand to the crowd and they clapped wildly, their noise only slightly dampened by the wetness. "I want to thank all of you. You're better than I, smarter than I, and regardless of the great things that my administration can achieve if elected, it is no match to the things that all of you will achieve in your lifetimes," Her pulse slowed and she was drawn in again. Olivia sat on the edge of her chair, foot tapping against the ground in the cold rain. His simple shirt was beginning to soak through, but he looked every bit as regal as he had when he walked out, if only a bit more real.
Suddenly, his eyes found her. Her smile dropped and she glanced around herself. It was her. She hadn't realized he knew where they were sitting. His eyes met hers directly. She swallowed thickly and attempted to collect herself. She was being ridiculous. His words hammered at her chest. "I have to thank you. You have made sacrifices. You're standing in the rain for me now," He chuckled and the crowd laughed with him, but she did not break her stare, "I know what you have done for me. And if you give me the chance…" He paused. His words seemed directed to all of his supporters, but she knew, as she watched him, that he was directing them to her. She sunk in her seat, and dreaded the coming moment. "If you give me the chance… I'll show you everything that I promise to do for you."
She knew. In that moment, she knew, and it was irrevocable. All of the stares, their glances, their words and movements and moments and feelings. They led to this moment. They led to his soaked figure in the rain, staring at her in a speech and promising her exactly what he had said months earlier. His words returned to her.
I know you. I love you, Olivia.
She knew, and suddenly she stood, garnering looks of confusion from Cyrus and the rest. She watched as he delivered his final words, and she had to hold her breath to keep the tears from mixing with the rain. "I promise. Every day. Every night. Every season, and every year." The crowd screamed and she could barely heard her own thoughts. She knew that she had a window smaller than their chances together to get to him. Soaked in the rain, Olivia ran.
She darted behind the barricades, flashing her identification to the security and pushing her way backstage. The chaos in the crowd would keep everyone occupied, long enough for him to exit the area. She had the smallest time, but she knew, and she had to see him. Her clothes stuck to her frame and she was likely close to freezing, but she didn't notice. She pushed open the door to the stage, and he stood in front of her. It was only them. The cameramen had their shots of the crowd, security had all of the doors. Fitz and Olivia had nothing but the space between the two of them. She ran the last few steps, her eyes locked to his, and their bodies slammed together, her arms wrapping around his neck. Her lips pressed to his and she was sure that lightning struck them. Her skin warmed and she couldn't breathe.
Her mind screamed through it all the words that she needed to say. Her words came out in breaths. "Fitz… I know why." He was rightfully confused, and she had to explain. "You asked me why. Why can't you love me? I know why." He slowly slid her to her feet and out of his arms, and she pressed herself to him reassuringly. "You can't love me, because I love you, and soon I'll have no willpower left, because I love you. I love you. I love you." She kissed him again and he held her tightly. They had only moments left before the others would arrive. When he pulled away, he sealed her feelings with his words. "Then don't have willpower anymore, Livvy. My sweet Livvy." He ran a hand through her soaked hair and held her once more, murmuring into it, "My sweet baby."
It was the moment she knew. It was later hailed as the moment that America knew. But for Olivia Pope, it was the moment she knew; standing, drenched in a downpour and pressed for a small private moment, she was irrevocably and unequivocally in love with Fitzgerald Grant, and nothing would change that. He was Ohio's man, America's man, and most importantly, hers.