Author's Note: Okay, so normally, I put all my new ideas in Draftbook Drabbles but it's been a long time since I did an AU canon compliant standalone fic ala You Are Mine, Living The Dream, and Devotion. The Thunderbolt is in its homestretch and that means that there will be room for a new SCANDAL-ous WIP from me. It's likely that I'll pick one of the AUs I came up with in the D.D.s (pick your favorite and let me know!) but this has potential, too. So, in 4x16, before Liv/Alex decided to get up on Russell, she had a PTSD/panic attack in the swanky bar's bathroom. I always thought that it was because she was trying to make herself be bold and brash when she just needed to feel in control and safe.
I disagreed with the idea of her just using sex to do that (band aid over a festering bullet hole) so what if she had chosen to reach out to someone that she knew that wouldn't hurt her, that she knew that she could trust fully and that she knew wasn't B613 or some freelance psycho? What if she stopped running away and ignoring her trauma, along with all of her Issues? What if she had reached out to Fitz? This one shot will explore that option and lead to some long overdue housekeeping in Liv's personal life (y'all know what I'm talking about…) along with my version of The Return of Doux Bebe to its rightful place and just…yeah. Indulge me in my Olitz FEELS. Enjoy the latest and more fics/updates will be from me soon.
Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"
He may not even answer.
In fact, Olivia Pope would be shocked if he did. Given how well their last conversation had gone, given what she did at the end of it, spurning him and blaming all her problems on him once again…it was well within Fitzgerald Grant III's rights not to take her phone call. He could answer it just to tell her to go to hell and to leave him alone forever. He could even take a leaf out of her book and throw his phone in the trash or smash it to smithereens. He could give a standing order to ignore all of her calls or for her to be informed that he was with his family, in a meeting, a briefing, that he was doing something very Presidential, very important, so he couldn't just drop everything for her, not that she deserved it.
She supposed that she could get dressed and go to him. She could go to the White House to see him, but she could be turned away at the Gate. She could be let in, get all the way to the West Wing, and he could turn her away. He could have Lauren or Charlotte or Louise turn her away. Cyrus could run interference or Abby could…she didn't have a place in the White House, anymore. She had walked away and he had filled her role there, filled it well. That was why she had walked away that Night. That was why she didn't go in to join him with Abby and Cyrus. He looked so peaceful without her, so strong without her, so much better off without her.
He looked so happy without her around him.
He hadn't looked that happy since before…since before It happened, the big horrible It that changed everything and everyone forever.
She had done irreversible harm to him when she left for the Island after It happened. She had done irreversible harm to many people when she left for…ran away to the Island but him, most of all. The fact that she hadn't gone alone, that she had taken Jake Ballard with her salted the wound, as did her strident demands to get him freed from prison, demands that didn't even matter in the end…he was well within his rights to tell her to go fuck herself.
Olivia had treated Fitz horribly, demeaned and spat on every bit of devotion, every bit of care he showed her. She always had. This year was just the latest and worst example of that. She had used him, repeatedly broken his heart, and made him feel like he was nothing but a means to an end to her. If he took her words and actions at face value, if he finally cut her out of his life as nothing but a source of misery, it would serve her right.
The line rang once, twice, three times, and then…
"Hello?"
"…hi."
"…hi. Are you okay?"
"…no. No, I'm not okay…"
"Jake's in the Oval with me right now. He says that he can be to yours in …"
"I don't want to see Jake. I…I know that I have no right to ask but…could you…I…I need…"
"What do you need, Olivia? Tell me."
"…you. I need you. Please come see me? It doesn't have to be for long…"
"…I'm on my way."
"You are?"
"I am. I'll be there before 9."
"Okay. Thank you."
There was a long pause and then the dial tone sounded in her ear. Hanging up her cell, she set it on the nightstand next to her landline before checking the time. It was 8:05PM. With the time it took to get out of 1600 Penn incognito and with light traffic, he should be arriving at around 8:45, 8:50 if he took the stairs up.
Standing up to look in her full length mirror, Olivia looked hard at her reflection. She wore only her pale yellow robe and her hair had air dried into now mussed long coils. She looked exhausted and miserable and far from what she had initially planned. With a sigh, she looked away and around her bedroom, shaking her head with disgust.
The black leather mini dress lay discarded in the chair by her window, along with her new underwear and mile high patent leather gladiator heels. All of it had been hastily removed as soon as she locked her front door, windows, spare room and half bath doors. All of her curtains were drawn shut and her loaded gun was secure between the space of her mattress, headboard, and wall with the safety on, ready to be used on an intruder. She would shoot to maim and kill without hesitation.
She would not be easy pickings again.
Along with the Dress, Olivia had purchased a snow white lingerie set made of sheer soft lace, cut and dipped to accentuate. A new perfume scented her with honey baked clover and before she put on the lingerie, she had applied a shea body butter that not only hydrated but gave her a soft, glow, a glow that screamed 'touch me'. She had gone to a salon for a Brazilian wax, a mani-pedi, and to get her hair waved professionally. She had felt pampered and confident and just ready to go out, find a man, and to regain some control over her destiny, to gain some much needed pleasure…
She had met a promising candidate at the bar. Mr. Franklin Russell had been tall, dark, handsome, articulate, and charming. He had made no secret of his interest in her and it had felt good to flirt, to be 'Alex' instead of Olivia for a while…until it didn't. The panic attack had come out of nowhere. Why had it come?
Maybe it was because of the risk of someone recognizing her, maybe it was because of how small the bathroom was, maybe it was because one of the accent walls in the hallway leading to the bathroom had been RED, maybe it was the idea of being so vulnerable with a complete stranger…who knew who they really were? They could be anyone or anything. They could take her captive again, lock her up in a labyrinth cage of horrors again, a cage that she wouldn't be able to put herself on the auction block to escape from again. They'd just send her to a hostile territory, to a paying predator's bedchambers, or straight to her grave.
Of all the options, she preferred the third.
They could be a local predator, an urbane and charismatic monster, preying on vulnerable women to sate their deviant appetite for sex and bloodshed. She could end up entangled in their web, repeatedly violated and then killed to ensure her silence.
They could even be a clandestine Operative or an Assassin, given the current circumstances of her life. And Franklin Russell had responded so eagerly to her, as if he were waiting for her…could he have been a plant? Could he have been a honey trap? B613 and other Dark players had no qualms about using gigolo Operatives to achieve objectives. She had been played that way before, allowed herself to be played by Jake Ballard. Was Russell another one, a new gigolo tailor made to fit her?
Had someone spotted her while she was out and followed her? Was she about to be on TMZ or in some other gossip rag: The Fixer on the Prowl or some other inane headline? Was she just being paranoid? It wasn't paranoia if They were really out to get you and recent events proved that yes, They were certainly out to get her…
The wind had been taken out of her sails. Gone was the flirty confidence, 'Alex Jones' had died shortly after she was created. Coming out of the bathroom, she had hastily shut Russell down and hurried home with her figurative tail in between her legs. As soon as she was completely locked in, as soon as she shed her "armor", she had gotten into the shower to weep bitter tears under the near scalding spray. She had scrubbed away the glow, the perfume, and let the water turn frigid. Afterwards, she had put on her robe and opened a bottle of Grey Goose, not even bothering with a glass. She drank, she let more tears fall, and just brooded over where she was now, where she had fallen to.
She was Olivia Pope, not Alex Jones, not Julia Baker, and she was a mess, a goddamned fucking ugly mess. She had been that way for a long time. What she had planned to do tonight, what Suzanne 'Kinky Sue' Thomas' life's end had inspired her to do as a Power Play, would've done her more harm than good long term. Olivia had known that going in but she was desperate. It had seemed like a good idea at the time and it was better than being stagnant, being numb.
She felt adrift, vulnerable, weak, and just so numb. If she wasn't having night terrors or flashbacks, she was utterly numb. The numbness would dissipate when she worked her Cases. She could feel things, feel fire in her again when she worked but that wasn't enough. She just wanted to feel something again and not just terror, rage, and sadness. She wanted to feel in control again. She wanted to feel good again. She wanted to feel like she could trust again.
Most of all, she just wanted to feel safe again.
Olivia would never feel normal again. She had accepted that a long time ago but was feeling safe really so much to ask for? Was it yet another impossible dream?
She hoped not…
Quiet knocking at her door made her tighten the sash of her robe and grab her gun. Having it nearby was comforting, which provided more evidence of just how messed up she was now. Olivia hated guns and violence. She had been vocally against it when dealing with Clients and she remembered having to remind her Gladiators, Huck mainly, that it was wrong. It was still wrong but she couldn't…guns and violence had helped save her in the end. She couldn't just ignore that, no matter how much she wanted to. She longed for that innocence, that willful ignorance to return.
Olivia checked the peephole and after confirming that it was him, unlocked her front door, opening it slowly. Immediately, Fitz's face softened and she had to look away from him, had to walk towards her piano. The front door closed quietly behind him and he locked them in. She appreciated that. She liked being able to control who got into her space, again. Only she and Huck had the keys to her new locks. Huck wouldn't give copies to anyone unless she said it was okay and it wasn't okay. It wouldn't be okay for a long time.
Olivia placed the gun on top of the piano, a piano that she had bought with the intention of resuming her playing but never had, not really. It was just there for decoration mainly, another piece of furniture to dust and potentially defile.
Defile the furniture…the piano…Gettysburger in the oven, Du Bellay on the table… inherited vinyl Don't You Worry About a Thing blasting... her dance floor…her jaunty declaration of freedom, that she was choosing Olivia over everyone and everything…Jake leaving to get pillows so they could fuck on the piano…the front door bursting open…the wine spilling over the cushion…hand over her mouth…the thud of her head impacting with Ms. Lois' door…the ding of the elevator…Jake's footsteps running right past her…the pop of silenced bullets sailing into her poor neighbor…the needle…the body bag…she couldn't breathe…she couldn't breathe…she couldn't breathe!
Olivia was gently turned around and she couldn't hear him over her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Fitz was saying something, his face filled with compassion but thankfully no pity but she couldn't hear him. Why couldn't she hear him? She couldn't breathe! Why couldn't she breathe? There was heaviness in her chest that she couldn't get a proper breath through, even if she coughed. Was she having a heart attack? Was she drowning? Was she in the pool drowning? Had she fallen asleep in the pool? No, she wasn't in the pool. She was in her apartment. She was on dry land but she was still choking. Could one choke to death on air? Was she about to find out? Why couldn't she breathe?
Her knees gave out and the floor was cold. The hard floor was cold but Fitz was warm in front of her. Fitz was there. Fitz had come to her. She had called him and ask him, begged him to come to her, and he had, even after everything. She had screamed vitriol at him. She had condemned him for his actions without even letting him explain, without really listening to him, and thrown him out. She had thrown her Ring, their Ring, at him and thrown him out like he was the scum of the Earth…but he had still come to her. He had taken her call and he was with her, now. She couldn't stop shaking. Why wouldn't it stop? How could she make it stop? Air abruptly filled her lungs and she took it in slowly, deeply, the cold sweat and shaking receding like ocean's waves…
"…breathe with me, Livvie…slow and deep breaths…that's it…"
In for 4, out for 4, in through her nose and out through her mouth, support the diaphragm…she could breathe again. It was loud, slow, jagged, deep breathing but it was breathing. Breathing was good. The shaking had stopped and although the cold sticky sweat lingered, she had kept control of her bladder and bowels. She hadn't vomited. That was a marked improvement.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She shook her head negatively, looking down at her toes. Her pedicure was a pretty shade of sea foam green, the polish finished with a sparkling base coat. She had gone with a nude manicure, her half bitten nails and picked nail beds expertly repaired and tended to. She was sitting with her back against one of the piano's supporting legs and her knees were drawn up, her hands resting on her lap. Fitz was kneeling in front of her, close enough for her to feel his warmth but not touching her without her permission. She appreciated that, too. Being touched, even by people she knew wouldn't hurt her, was jarring. He still understood her. Despite all of her best efforts to push him away, he was there and he understood. What was he holding? What was in his hand?
Fitz passed her a large bottle of water and she drank all of it in one go, the cool liquid soothing her parched mouth and cutting through some of the vodka haze. She would have to drink some more water and scavenge for something edible to eat before trying to sleep. Sue's case was closed but there would be another Client, another Crisis. The work never ended…
"I'm glad you called me."
"Why? I could've been calling just so I could yell at you some more…"
"If you're yelling at me, you're still here. It's okay."
"No, it's not. It's really not okay and…Fitz, why did you come? Why did you answer the phone? Why do you…how can you still care about me? How can you still love me? I haven't done anything worthy of it lately…"
"You've gone through hell, Livvie. It would unreasonable to expect you not to have changed."
"That's true but really, nothing about my behavior towards you has changed. I blow hot and cold. I run. I blame you for things that aren't your fault and I just don't understand why you haven't given up on me, yet. I've given you plenty of good reasons to do so and really, you deserve far better than a joy phobic, self destructive, self loathing bitch with crippling Daddy issues in your life. Maybe if you get rid of me for good, Mellie will finally give you a divorce and you can be happy. Don't you want that? You should have that. One of us should get to be happy. You should get rid of me, forget all about me and sell the House and…you should move on. Go make a good life with someone better, someone normal."
"I don't want to get rid of you. I don't want to forget about you or move on. I love you, Olivia."
"You shouldn't love me. I'm damaged goods. I'm broken, Fitz."
"You are not broken, Olivia."
She scoffed and stood up quickly, him following her as always. Why did he do that? Why did anyone do that, follow after her? Couldn't they see that she didn't have all the answers? Couldn't they see that she was all talk? Couldn't they see that she was just a big joke, a series of facades, one more hateful than the other? Following her was like the blind leading the blind. Following her would send them sailing over a cliff and deep into darkness, into death and depravity and so much pain…
"I'm not broken? I'm not broken? What do you call me pushing you away and running away from you, even though you've proven more than a dozen times that you love me and want to be with me openly? What do you call me allowing Jake Ballard to manipulate me emotionally and hurt me physically with impunity? What do you call me still loving my father, still loving Rowan, even though he's an absolute monster who hates my guts?"
"Olivia…"
It was like opening a well shaken soda bottle. The words were coming out fast, their ferocity belied by her soft and tearful tone, stopping his inevitable comforting words in their tracks.
"You say that I'm not broken? What do you call all of this, then? What do you call me having panic attacks? What do you call me having flashbacks and being triggered at random times by random things? What do you call me having a full blown panic attack in a bar's bathroom tonight while trying to pick up a random guy? What do you call me going out to try and pick up a random guy in the first place? What do you call me wetting my bed and waking up vomiting because I have nightmares about red doors and bricked windows, nightmares about gunshots in my ear and blood on my face and having Intel meticulously tortured out of me before I'm given to some monster as a present? What do you me call having nightmares about men using me like I'm dental floss because they paid cold hard cash for me? How is that not broken?"
"Livvie…"
"How can you stand there and tell me with a straight face that I'm not broken when the evidence of it has been right under your nose from the moment we met? You fell deeply in love with a broken person, Fitzgerald. You fell deeply in love with a broken little girl inside of a broken woman's body. I used to be functional but now I'm not. I am a mess. I am a horrible mess and if you're not going to use common sense and leave me, then you need to accept the fact that I'm broken, most likely beyond repair. I have. I didn't have a choice but to accept it after everything that's happened to me."
She swiped the heel of her hand over her eyes and met his pained gaze full on. If he wasn't going to leave her, then he was going to have to listen to her, really hear her words and accept the new reality. He would have to accept that The Great Olivia Pope was gone, that the Livvie that he had fallen so deeply in love with was gone. Would she ever come back? Did Olivia even want her to come back? She didn't know but if Fitz was going to stay, he deserved to know just who he was signing up for. She needed to give him full disclosure about her condition. He had asked if she was okay on the phone. No, she was not okay. She was antithesis of okay.
"I can't sleep without nightmares. I hardly eat. I drink like a fish. I cry. I swim but nothing helps. I can barely think straight. It's all I can do just to get up in the morning so I can go and do my job. I'm physically free, I'm back home, but mentally I'm trapped still inside that damned warehouse, still inside that small and disgusting brick windowed bathroom. I'm still trapped in their safehouse, watching as I'm bid on like cattle in an auction I put myself in and hearing my captors debate whether they should 'test drive the goods' before they pocket their new fortune. I can do my job well and that's it. Everything else…everything else is too hard. I'm numb. It takes so much for me to feel anything. I don't know what it feels like to be genuinely happy or safe, anymore. Every day, I lose more pieces of myself and it won't stop, Fitzgerald. I just want it to stop. I don't know how to make it stop..."
The silence after her grim monologue was heavy, loaded, and she plopped down in the chair by her couch. Olivia was sitting in the same chair that she had sat in when they ran out the clock together. She was sitting in the chair and watching him closely. She had unloaded on him again. She had gone into far more detail than she had intended to at the beginning of her rebuttal but she couldn't muster up the energy to regret it. Fitz had asked about her wellbeing so she told him. He had asked for it so it wasn't her fault if he couldn't handle the truth. She wouldn't blame him if he couldn't handle it. She couldn't even handle it so it would unfair to…
Slowly, Fitz crossed to her and sat at her feet, taking both of her hands in one of his.
"I'm here, Livvie. Whatever you need, I'll do it. I want to help you heal. Will you let me?"
"I'll never be the Livvie you fell for again. She's gone and I don't know who she'll be replaced with. Do you still want to help me?"
"Absolutely. Please?"
"…okay. Okay, you can help. I'm not sure how but you can try."
Why not? It wasn't like he could do anymore harm to her and when she allowed him to, Fitz took excellent care of her. Emotionally, mentally, physically, sexually…part of the twisted reasoning that kept her running away from him was that he was so good to her. She felt like she wasn't enough for him. She felt like she wasn't worth it…
"You are worth it, Olivia. You're worth everything."
He could her like a comic book and unlike when Rowan did it, she didn't feel attacked or scrutinized. She just felt…she was feeling again, already. There was something other than numb despair in her veins, already and there was stability there, too. Olivia hadn't needed to seduce a random man to feel in control again. She didn't need to execute a Power Play or manipulate the system to feel better. All she had to do was be brave and ask for help, ask the right person for help and comfort.
Sliding out of the chair, she embraced the right person and accepted the kiss to her temple.
"Thank you for calling me."
"…thank you for answering."
/
A belligerent voice jolted her awake and Olivia looked around for the source of it. It was coming from right outside of her apartment door. Who was yelling in the vestibule? Where was Fitz? His jacket and tie were still draped over the couch so he couldn't have gone far. Was he outside the door? Yes, he was outside of the door. She could hear his voice and while he wasn't yelling, he definitely sounded annoyed and…wary? Why did he sound wary? Was he in danger? Had his Agents been taken out of commission? Was he about to be attacked again? She couldn't let him be attacked again! She barely survived it last time and if Fitz got hurt now, got killed now, she would go from broken to obliterated.
And furthermore, whoever was yelling at this ungodly hour was going to get an earful from her because last night had been the best sleep she had since before she was Taken, despite her being in a chair instead of her bed. She hadn't even had a nightmare and this stupid yelling fuck was ruining it!
Olivia wrenched the door open and it hit the wall with a loud bang, stopping everything in its tracks. 3 Secret Service Agents (Douglas Reynolds, Nathan Dixon, and Sean O'Leary) were restraining a visibly drunk and disheveled Jake Ballard by the elevator. They had him boxed into the corner by Ms. Lois' empty apartment. Another Secret Service Agent, an unfamiliar female one, had her Glock trained steadily on Jake's chest while she stood in front of Fitz, who was standing sentry 8 steps in front of her door.
"Good morning, everyone. What seems to be the problem here?"
"I came here to make sure that you were okay and these mindless thugs wouldn't let me in. He ordered them not to let me in!"
"Fitz, is that true?"
"You said that you didn't want to see him and you mentioned that he had gotten away with putting his hands on you in the past. I'm not giving him a chance to do it again."
"Look, Fitz, you don't know the circumstances behind that. There was a…"
"I don't care about the circumstances. I care about Olivia's safety. You're a clear threat to her safety so you need to leave. Go home, sober up, and come back to talk to her when you've calmed down."
"You can't order me around right now. You're not talking to me as my Commander in Chief. You're talking to me as her boyfriend. Or would brother boyfriend be a more accurate label since we're like sister wives, now? I'd say brother husband but you're already one, aren't you? Shouldn't you be at the cemetery watching your wife dance with a headstone?"
"You lowlife son of a bitch…"
"It takes one to know one!"
"Both of you shut up!"
Olivia stepped into the eye of the storm and glared at both startled men until they looked away from her like scolded schoolboys. Since that was exactly how they were behaving, it was appropriate. As last night proved, she needed to grow up and acknowledge her personal problems. She needed to be a Gladiator for herself and she had gotten off to a good start when she called Fitz. She had to keep the momentum going…
"I had enough of this pissing match between you two before all hell broke loose. I'm not putting up with it, now. Since it's my fault it's happening, I'll shut it down. I'm still choosing Olivia overall but that doesn't mean that I can't choose who I want to be with."
Holding Jake's gaze, she backed up until she was standing tall next to Fitz who promptly took her hand.
"You've got to be kidding me…"
"I'm choosing Fitz, Jake. I love him and once I feel stable enough to handle it, I'm going to try my best to be with him like I should've from the start. You and I should've never happened. We should've never started having sex. I'm sorry for using you but before you grab me by the neck again, give me another concussion, or start playing the victim, remember that I'm not the only one that was doing the using between us, Jake. You had and probably still have your own agendas in wanting to be with me. There's no love between us. The only reason we met in the first place is because you were following not one but two sets of orders."
"Olivia…"
"I'm breaking up with you for good, Jake. Move on with your life while you still have it. If you stay alive, I'm open to the idea of us being friends in the future but if you can't support or at least respect my choices, if you only care about me when I spread for you, then leave me alone. Agents, please make sure that Captain Ballard leaves here safely and then go get yourselves some breakfast. I'd feed you but all I have to offer is alcohol, popcorn, and half eaten takeout. Bring something healthy back for Fitz and the strongest coffee you can get your hands on."
Having said her piece, Olivia stepped backwards into her apartment and pulled Fitz in with her, closing the door firmly. Through the peephole, she watched as the female agent pushed the call button for the elevator and as Jake was unceremoniously shoved into it by the now glowering quartet. She chuckled at that. Jake calling them mindless thugs had been disrespectful and what he had said to Fitz about the cemetery had been completely out of line. He should count himself lucky that he hadn't been shot or punched.
Knowing Jake as she did, Olivia knew that he'd show up at her front door again or at OPA once he dried out. Whether it would be by choice or because of marching orders from Rowan remained to be seen. Although Rowan said that he'd leave her alone (taking away his protection…), his control freak nature would have him trying to butt in again, especially when word got to him that she and Fitz were on the verge of reconciling. At least she hoped they were on the verge of reconciling…
"You said that he gave you a concussion. He's the one who put you in the hospital."
"Yes."
"And he choked you?"
"Yes."
"I'm the one who put him in your life in the first place. He wouldn't have been able to hurt you if I hadn't been such a jealous petty idiot…"
"Rowan had been planning to use him long before you told him to monitor me."
"Still…"
"I don't blame you for what happened. Jake chose to hurt me and I chose to pretend like it never happened. It's not your fault and for what it's worth, I can guarantee that it won't happen again. If he even thinks of trying for Round 3, I'll shoot him in the balls. I'm very good with a gun, now."
"I better watch my ass then. What are your plans for today?"
"I'm between Clients but I'll probably have a new one by the end of the day."
As if on cue, her cell phone erupted in a fury of alerts and Olivia fetched it from her bedroom, her brows nearly disappearing into her hairline as she read headlines. Wanting confirmation, Olivia quickly turned on the morning news just in time to see footage of Michael Ambruso in a very raunchy position with a man that was decidedly not Cyrus Beene. Michael was supposed to be an engaged man and yet, there he was, plain as day cheating on Cyrus with absolutely no shame. While the Media was currently spinning it as a young man getting a little too turnt on his last night of freedom, the truth was far messier, far more convoluted and knowing D.C. wouldn't stay hidden forever. The engagement had been a band aid over a bullet hole. Now, it was time to rip the band aid off and really clean up the mess before it got completely out of hand…
"It's a lovely week for a milestone LGBT White House wedding, wouldn't you say so?"
"Yeah."
"This should be fun…and by fun, I mean absolutely horrifying."
His laughter was warm.
The smile on her face at the sound of it was warmer.
It was real.
/
"…don't think of it as a Ring. Don't think of as…you don't have to love me. You don't have to come back to me but if you could wear this, if I could know that you were wearing this…then even if you hate me, I'll know you'll be okay. I'll know you're out there."
"…Doux Bebe, that's its name?"
"You can call it whatever you want. In English, Doux Bebe means Sweet Baby so…"
"You want me to call a ring Sweet Baby?"
"I just want you to be happy."
"…I could never hate you…"
All blackmail, homophobia, and loaded shotguns aside, it had been a beautiful wedding.
Cyrus and Michael may not be the stuff of fairy tales or even a Brothers Grimm tale but they had reached a good understanding. They would be all right or at least if they weren't, they would hold for a while. That was enough for Olivia. She had done her job. The Crisis had been Handled. Her Client was safe. She had cleaned the latest of many White House messes and now…
"You put it back on."
The previous night's sleep had been interrupted but not from nightmares. The memory of Fitz presenting her with her Ring, their Ring, had played out behind her eyes and when they opened, she had become a woman on a mission. She still wasn't okay. It would be a long time before she could say that she was okay but she was ready to move forward. Calling Fitz, confiding in Fitz, ending it with Jake had been wonderful first steps but they weren't enough. She still had a lot of work to do, lots of demons to fight and dragons to slay.
She didn't want her index finger to be bare while she did it.
Taking Doux Bebe off had been a move of utter desperation. She knew that she wouldn't be able to escape her captors or call for help so she had to leave a sign that she was alive but in deep trouble. As for why she had left it off, it had become a potent reminder of what she went through and just how out of control she felt. Throwing it at Fitz had been a way to get him to leave and a way to lash out. She had wanted him to hurt like she had been hurting…
"It was time to put it back on."
After her frantic search bore fruit, Olivia had knelt in her dark apartment and stared at it while it rested in the palm of her hand. Doux Bebe was solid gold, modeled after the infinity symbol with embedded white diamonds. The band was created from skilled hands and it was a labor of love, a symbol of enduring infinite love. Fitz's great grandmother Annette had given it to him on her deathbed but only after he promised that he would give it to someone he truly loved. He had given it to her, not Mellie, not anyone else because Olivia was the one that he truly loved, flaws and all.
And even after everything that had happened between them, all of the pain they had gone through, Olivia truly loved him back. She always had and always would. Sometimes, a lot of times, she wasn't very good at showing it but she would work on it. She would do better, be better for Fitz and more importantly, for herself. She owed it to herself to get better, to be better.
The Great Olivia Pope was gone forever but Olivia Pope was still alive. She was still Olivia and she still had plenty of fire left in her. She was broken but not beyond repair, not beyond hope as she claimed. There was hope. She had hope.
At the bottom of Pandora's Box, there had been hope and it was just a matter of getting through all the bad, letting all of the horrors escape, to get to it.
She could do it.
She would do it and one day, she would feel safe again.
She looked forward to that day.