There was a moment, a moment after they called it – his eyes had gone blank, and he flexed his jaw, his hands slightly trembling – it wasn't fear, it was disbelief. But then he blinked the doubt away, pushed his insecurities aside and smiled. That winning smile, the one that's a cover-up, rehearsed to perfection. Somewhere along the line he forgot how to smile, he forgot, but then she came along and he realized that smile is more than curving of the lips, it's more than flashing teeth – it's happiness that reaches the eyes, it's pushing way past the rehearsed-smile-lines. But this, this isn't that kind. This one doesn't speak of love; it's masking fear. And she can tell, for a moment she can tell. But then he's looking away, shaking hands, patting backs and he's surrounded by the crowd. She turns away from the small window and leans against the wall. She can hear the cheers of victory; the stories of success – and she knows she can't stay.

She hasn't seen him all day. She's been avoiding it since she said – yes, since she agreed, against everything she believed in, to go ahead. She hasn't seen him all day. Maybe she's never really seen him, never seen past the cerulean eyes, into the shadows that loom behind; because that smile, the smile she just saw – that was not a man who had won, that was a man who lost. She had done it for him; for his insecurity, for years of hearing he couldn't do it; for the demons his father left behind, the demons omnipresent in his mind. She had done it for him. She fixed it for him. But she never thought she could be breaking him, by fixing this. It was a smile of a man who lost; of a man lost. A smile that matched the tears she held back, the moment she said – yes.

"Liv." He breaks her out od her thoughts; he breaks her out. "I won." The statement, so very child-like, so simple, yet so deep – telling her, that means the world to him; that's what makes it real.

"I know." And she smiles; it's her own personal cover-up. He can see, he sees past the mask, but he doesn't know what's behind, he doesn't know the demons in her mind.

"You think I'll make a good president?" Before it was a moment of weakness, now it's a moment of victory, no longer a mere possibility.

"I think you'll make a great president." And he lifts her up; he smiles, it's real this time. And in that moment she thinks – it was the right thing. But the demons, they're still lingering. They're no longer a team. She fixed this, she fixed him; but she left the team. So now, now she has to let him go, let him be, away from her, just him; because she, she broke the team. She broke herself, to save him; she broke herself and she broke the team. What they were, what they had been, it's been broken the moment she said she was in. The shadows in her eyes, they're not fear of losing him; they're grief for them, for what they've had. So when he puts her down, she slowly steps away, putting her hand on his chest – not a soft touch to feel his heart; no it's a barrier to keep him at bay.

"We have to stop this."

"No."

"You've just been elected president. We can't do this anymore." She's hiding behind that particular wall, she's hiding and she's ashamed; but he'll bite he's a reasonable man.

"I don't care."

"Fitz."

"No."

"We have to stop." And she pulls her hand away from his chest; she doesn't want to feel his heart break; she turns around and walks away. She stumbles into her bed, fully clothed; wraps herself in blankets, she's freezing, her insides are cold. She trembles, and curls up, disappearing into the dark.

"Livvy." He's sitting on the edge of the bed. How did he get in? Why is he there? "You're burning up."

"I'm fine." And she tries to get up, but the room is spinning, her legs are weak, she can feel herself falling. And he tucks her back in, his touch the only source of warmth she can feel. He gets her something to drink; he gets her a pill and then he's in her bed; pulling her in. She moves her head to his chest; and she can hear his heart beating, a faint echo of the broken half, lingering behind. Every time she pushes him away it chips; and every time she pulls him back it heals – but the scars, they stay; they're still there. The soft thumping, the perfect rhythm – it soothes her mind, it keeps the demons at bay; it lets her drift away. The next morning she awakes and the sun is up and he's still there. It's the first time he's spent the night; the first time she didn't make him leave; the first time she admitted to needing him. It's the first time, and the last; she's pushing the present into the past. He can feel her stir and he opens his eyes, kissing her before she can speak.

"Don't do this Liv." It's a plea; his every feeling in the crack of his voice; in the way the statement holds hope.

She's kissing him back. She'll do it when he's president. But not, right now. No, now she can't.

She broke herself, all she has is him. And he's her personal brand of heroin. She can't stop. She can't leave. And she will do anything, for him. For him, but not with him – no she broke the team.