What is the sound of a broken heart? Is it a slowing of the beat, a muted version of its previously strong self, a cracking that has no beginning or ending that echo endlessly against the bare walls of one's soul? Or is it the sound of nighttime cries, the loss of will to do anything other than wallow in memories of what could have been? It's a question Olivia Pope has pondered for the past eleven months living in her personal hell. A question to which she has no answer.

Olivia isn't this person. She isn't one to feel much of anything. She's smart. Analytical. Emotions have no place in her life. It is her job to put her feelings aside to do the best she can to save others. Saving herself, well, that's another story. She doesn't require saving, or so she tells herself. It is life and she is strong and she doesn't need anyone at all. It sounds good in her head, but the reality is something much more painful, something she refuses to confront.

She spends her days hiding in her expansive office, working harder and longer than ever. She is there late into the night because it is when she is alone with the silence, with her own thoughts, that the pain takes hold like a black veil, clouding her vision, choking the life out of her.

It is late. The office is silent with the exception of the background whir of the air conditioning. The lights are dim the way she likes it. Muted televisions tuned to CSPAN, MSNBC, CNN and PBS provide a constant glow to her otherwise darkened office.

It was a slow day, so she sent her colleagues home. When the door closes for the final time, she opens a bottle of red wine and gives a silent toast to the pathetic mess that is her life. She hears the ding of the elevator, snapping her out of her pitying state.

This is where Olivia Pope thrives. She puts on her professional face and demeanor, slips her shoes back on and goes to meet her newest potential client. She looks down first, making her way up the body of the person whose face she can't quite see. Tasteful, yet low heels. A skirt hanging just below the knees. A jacket, open, slightly old-fashioned but it suits the figure. The pearls. Diamond ring that catches the light in just the right way. The face of someone who can't be trusted, of the woman who has the one thing Olivia wants, of the woman makes her feel small, guilts her, grinds her ego into a fine powder and spreads it about with sheer glee. Mellie.

This Mellie isn't quite the same woman Olivia last saw. Not the one who pushed her husband, President Fitzgerald Grant III, to fulfill her lifelong dream. Not the one who silently taunted Olivia with a look that said, "He sleeps in my bed. I have his children. What've you got?" No, this is a woman who shares the same reflection, broken by time and love.

"What are you doing here?" Olivia asks coolly, willing her breathing to return to normal. It is suddenly hot in the office, and claustrophobic. The walls are coming closer and closer, threatening to crush what's left of her. She needs to escape.

"We need to talk," Mellie replies, with an insistence in her voice that dares anyone to disagree.

Olivia sighs loudly, rolls her eyes and leads Mellie to her office, leaving two Secret Service agents behind.

"Not what I imagined from the stylish Olivia Pope. I figured you'd have the top floor of some ultra-modern building-"

"What do you want, Mellie?" Olivia asks, her patience wearing thin.

Mellie, not quite sure how to broach the subject, looks around Olivia's office as though she's memorizing every detail and filing it away for future reference. Her eyes land on the muted television screens where she sees her husband, her glossy-eyed husband, waving to a crowd as he crosses the South Lawn. "He was drunk, you know?"

"What?"

"He was drunk. He's always drunk and I can't help thinking it has something to do with you," Mellie says with an accusatory tone and expression to match. But there's something else in her voice. A resignation, or perhaps an admission that Fitz is now too far gone for her to reach. She is calling in the Calvary.

"Mellie, I'm very busy, so if you don't have-"

"He's not eating. He's not sleeping. He's not even thinking through his decisions and it's putting me – the country at risk."

Sadness crosses Olivia's face and as quickly as it appears, it disappears. This isn't her problem. She may love Fitz, but he made it clear that she was no longer a part of his life. Still, there's a part of her that feels responsible, responsible for every bad thing in his life because if she hadn't – but that's ancient history. "Not my problem," Olivia says, without the slightest hint of conviction in her voice.

"Actually, it is your problem. If you hadn't come into our lives with your pretty little face and cute little figure, I'd still have my husband-"

"And he wouldn't be President." Mellie opens her mouth to respond, but really, there is no response. Checkmate. Olivia sighs, "Look, Mellie, I'm really, really sorry for whatever it is the two of you are going through, but my ties with the White House were severed long ago."

"Do you think I'd be here if I had any other choice? This is on you, Liv. You broke his heart, again, and you need to fix it."

"I broke his heart?" It would almost be funny if Olivia still had a sense of humor. She wants to scream that she is the one with the broken heart. She is the one who gave up everything for him, based on what he said, based on his asking her to wait for him. It didn't have to be this way. She could've been with a man and maybe she didn't love him completely, but he loved her and maybe that's all she deserves? "I broke his heart?" She repeats, incredulous by the very suggestion that she's somehow responsible for a grown man's actions.

"I had a happy life with my family until you came along. Then, my husband got, I don't know, all googley-eyed over you and our life hasn't been the same. When you're on the ins, he's happy. When you're on the outs, he's drowning in brown liquid, lashing out at anyone who isn't you. And god forbid he direct his anger toward his precious Olivia. No, it's the rest of us who have to pay the price for your sins."

"You have no idea what you're talking about. You keep talking about him. What I did to him. What about me?! What about what he did to me?! What about how he destroyed me?!"

"No offense, but I don't care about you. In his world it may be all about you but in mine, not so much."

"Yet, here you are, begging for my services."

"Yes. And you'll do it because you care about the country and you want to do the right thing for the Republic and all that other crap you blabbered on and on about on the trail." Olivia has to hand it to Mellie, she knows all the right buttons to push. It's one of the dangers of someone like her, she finds your weakness and goes straight for the jugular.

Olivia stands still and mute, unable to find the words to respond to Mellie. This is what she hates, the guilt. Mellie, as awful as she can be, is a person whom Olivia betrayed. At one time they resembled friends with the same goal of getting Fitz elected, but Olivia was weak. She, who had always maintained the highest level of professionalism and controlled her emotions under all circumstances, allowed herself to become the type of woman she disdained.

Olivia, used to silently judge women who knowingly slept with married men. And when she found herself in the same position, she took a more nuanced view. It's not like he forced her, or even came on so strong she had no choice. It was more of a slow burn, the touch of his hand, a secret whisper, his breath brushing against her ear, tickling her. The moments of laughter and understanding without words. It was her choice, her conscious, fully lucid decision to sleep with him the first time. It wasn't the kind of thing that women should do to each other, yet, that's exactly where she found herself and why she's been wracked with guilt ever since.

Some would wonder, Olivia supposes, why she lets Mellie get away with so much. When Mellie stands, Olivia shrinks. When Mellie speaks, Olivia listens. It isn't out of respect. It is an attempt at atonement, though in reality, she can never atone for her sins.

"Are we just going to pretend you're thinking about it, because I don't have all night? You need to get to Fitz since you're the only person he listens to, and screw his head on right."

Olivia wants to say "No" because it can't lead to anything good. Because of what he'd said to her, the word "mistress" and his inability to control his erections around her. He took her greatest fears and insecurities and sliced her with them. She should say "No" because he's not her problem. But there's a pull that just won't be denied. "I'll handle it," she practically whispers.

Mellie smiles and says, "You always were a team player." With that, Mellie rises to her full, intimidating height with a cold stare, followed by a fake smile that sends shivers down Olivia's spine.

Olivia paces in circles for what seems like hours, the grief getting stronger by the minute. People say there are five stages of grief, but she's been stuck in a paralyzing depression ever since he let her go. A part of her died that day and seeing Fitz again, will only re-open the wound.

She picks up her telephone and stares at it as though she's seeing it for the first time. She has his private phone number, but once he hears her voice, she knows he'll hang up. Because she's tried before and he always waits for a moment, as though he's listening to her breathe, before disconnecting with a heavy slam of the receiver.

She decides to call Cyrus, his right hand, to get permission to enter the White House; her unlimited privileges having been revoked long ago. She hasn't spoken to Cyrus in weeks as the dust from their most recent disagreement is still settling. She sighs heavily, then places the call. He picks up on the first ring.

"Cy?"

"The wounds are still raw yet here you are, on the other end of my phone. It must mean you want something."

"I need to see Fitz."

"Impossible." She could swear she hears a hint of glee in his voice. He's always been against her relationship with the President and she could always care less. Against it unless he saw a benefit for himself. Cy is a useful ally and a bitter enemy; he's someone she must always keep close, if only to watch her own back.

"I know we're not on the best terms right now and you know I wouldn't ask if I had a choice."

"We all have choices and what did you do the last time you had a choice? Let me see, you hung a Supreme Court nominee out to dry because some mistress couldn't keep her mouth shut and ruined a man's chance to serve on the highest court in the land. You could've ignored the case. You could've refused it. You could've spun it differently, but no, you decided to stick it to the White House, poor choice of words on my part but you get the gist, and now guess what? We have eight justices and no tie-breaker. You know what that means for any sane or moderately liberal case that is heard in front of the court? It's gone. It's toast. We're toast and you know the way this works, Washington loves nothing more than gridlock. So, thank you Olivia Pope for making my job even harder."

Olivia takes a deep breath. There's truth in what Cyrus said, but who the hell is he to blame her for doing her job?" I was doing my job, not trying to stick it to the White House."

"That was just a bonus?"

"I need to see him. I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important."

"Then tell me what it's about?" Cyrus has a way of saying things in just the right tone letting you know exactly how much wiggle-room you have. It's clear to Olivia that without "full disclosure," there's no way Cyrus will let her close to the President.

"Mellie came to see me. She wants me to talk to him about his...issues," Olivia discloses, hoping it's just enough to satisfy Cyrus.

"Why can't she just mind her own business?"

"He is her business. And we both know she wants to be President, or, at the very least, co-President."

"When?"

"Tonight," Olivia answers, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.

"Fine. Be here at eight." Cyrus hangs up before Olivia can respond.

Why she's spending so much time and energy preparing to see an ex-lover, she'll never know. She supposes it's the same reason everyone wants to look good when they see an ex, to make them think about what they're missing.

After her conversation with Cyrus, Olivia heads home, a place she's practically abandoned over the past several months. It looks the same with everything in its place, quite homey to most. If one looks closer, or allowed themselves to feel, they'd notice the air, thick with depression, is practically suffocating. They'd notice the lack of energy, spirit, or any other signs of life. It's not a home, it's just a place where someone once loved and was loved.

She runs a hot bath and lets Beethoven serenade her as she tries to relax. Beethoven had a way of reaching her, of helping her clear her head. She thinks back to the days when she sat at the piano, playing her troubles away. Those days are gone.

In her mind, she envisions several ways the conversation with Fitz could go. There could be yelling and screaming, or he could go in the opposite direction and let his very raw and painful emotions show. Or, he could just kick her out.

She doesn't know how to deal with him anymore, or how to deal with her own conflicting emotions. Does she want him back? Is there any hope for that? Or are they done? Have they both been ruined by the once-in-a-lifetime love they share. Make no mistake, what they had, or have, it is beyond the comprehension of most. It is the dream that too few experience, but to her, it is seared in her memory. Every moment, every touch, every whisper or shared laugh; it's all right there, as vivid and powerful as ever.

She lets the water wash over her. Water has been her saving grace. Swimming. Just the general feeling of baptism, as she tries to wash away his hold on her. But it only becomes tighter and stronger.

With a heavy heart, she lifts herself from the bath and the memories. She looks at the array of powders, sprays, lotions and such, fondly remembering one he loved in particular. She walks over to it, smells it one last time and then throws it in the garbage. This, she thinks, is business. She quickly covers herself in a random scent and goes to her closet to find something appropriate.

Olivia Pope's closet is a wondrous place for even the most discerning clothes-horse. She mixes and matches several pieces before settling on a pair of jeans, a button down and blazer. The business look, she thinks, isn't appropriate. This is, after all, a somewhat personal visit.

Giving herself a final check in the mirror, Olivia Pope is ready to meet the man who breaks her heart on a daily basis. And she lets him. Because, in spite of it all, she still loves him.

Morris, for a time, was used to Olivia Pope coming and going as she pleased, in and out of the White House like any of the President's most trusted advisors. He enjoyed her presence, like everyone else. He had to admit, he was smitten with her, taken in by the aura of goodness and competence that surrounded her. Which is why it was so odd when she stopped coming around.

Whispers in Washington are never quiet or discreet. They are loud and thunderous, and take on a life of their own. Even he, trapped in a security booth far outside the White House, isn't immune to the whispers surrounding President Grant and Olivia.

When she approaches his post on this particular evening toward the end of his shift, he is too tired to try and maintain his poker face to hide his surprise. And dressed so casually too, this visit, he knows, is different from those days when she rode in on her white horse and saved the day.

"Hi Morris," Olivia says with a big smile. She genuinely missed him.

"Hello Ms. Pope. It's good to see you."

"You too."

Morris gives her a pass. "Welcome back," he smiles with all the warmth he can muster. Yes, he truly enjoys being in her presence and the breath of fresh air that always follows.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Olivia says, handing him a box of cupcakes. "Extra frosting, just like you like them."

"Thank you. Just like old times."

"Just like old times," and with that Olivia disappears into the night, walking toward the White House with a confidence that is completely manufactured.

Olivia stands outside the Oval Office, wrestling with herself. Should she even be here? What will going into that place where she shared so many beautiful and haunting memories with the President do to her? Do to both of them?

Finally, she can stall no longer. She grabs the doorknob, then yanks her hand back as if it's burned her. Another moment she takes, before finally yanking the door open and stepping inside, not giving herself enough time to change her mind.

She sees Fitz looking down at his desk. The air inside is heavy and it reeks of alcohol. She's seen him look this way before, when he's searching for a way out. Thinking something through. Feeling something that he and only he can understand. It makes her want to go to him, tell him he's not alone, that she still loves him and they can make it work.

Who is she kidding though? Time for "making it work" has long since passed. That was her doing; it was his undoing.

Fitz senses her presence the moment she steps foot on the grounds. He hopes she's there for him because he's been so lonely since he sent her away with words he knew would break her heart all over again. Pride, distrust, anger and pain kept him from calling around and finding out where she was; whom she was there to see. So when she enters his office, he breathes an unconscious sigh of relief because something as simple as being in her presence means the world to him. Yet, when he speaks, it's with a harsh tone, an angry tone, a tone that doesn't mirror the love and brokenness he feels inside.

"I told you we are over." Fitz finally looks up and there she is, his Livvie, looking more beautiful than he remembers. She is not all business, not today. She's casually dressed, the way he's always preferred, wearing skinny jeans, a blouse and blazer; she's never looked more beautiful to him.

He wants her to move closer so he can breathe in her scent, the one that drives him crazy. He wants her to move closer so he can touch her again, pull her close to him and never let her go. He wants...her.

His tone startles Olivia. She thought perhaps time would have softened his stance toward her, but by his tone, the pain is just as fresh. She takes a moment to gather herself. She moves closer and sits in a chair across from his desk. She looks at the tumbler filled with scotch. He follows her eyes. Before she can speak, he grabs it and downs the liquid, slamming it on the desk with such force, it startles her.

"What?"

"We need to talk."

"Then talk." His eyes will not meet hers, but she can see they're glistening with tears, mirroring her own.

In this moment, Olivia wants nothing more than to walk over to him, sit in his lap and whisper in his ear how sorry she is. She did it for love. Everything she did was for him, because she loved him. She wishes she could go back and undo Defiance. It's not just the election rigging that haunts her it's the choice she made that day. She knew by agreeing to steal a national election, she would lose Fitz. A relationship based on a lie never survives and with her one word, "Yes," she sealed their fates.

Fitz sees the pain, hears the intake of air and watches as she quickly composes herself. He wants to kneel in front of her and place his head on her lap while she runs her fingers through his hair. He wants to hear her whisper over and over how much she loves him and tell him that everything's going to be okay because she believes in him. How he wants her.

Olivia struggles to find the right words, eventually settling on two of the most simple, "I'm sorry." Fitz doesn't respond. "I'm sorry for keeping it from you. I can give you a million reasons why-"

"Why?"

Another sharp intake of air. "After your father's funeral, you told me you wanted to win, that it was yours. It was the first time I saw how much it meant to you."

"Don't try to blame me for this."

"I'm not. That day, I finally admitted to myself that I was in love with you. I had tried so hard to fight my feelings for you, tried to convince myself it was just sex but when I saw you and your pain, I let my guard down and admitted to myself what I'd been avoiding...I loved you. I couldn't let you lose."

Olivia waits for a reaction from Fitz and if she had blinked, she would've missed the slight rise of his eyebrows, the thing he does when he's fighting to keep his emotions under control. It's her signal that she's reaching him, so she continues. "I have never believed in anything or anyone the way I believe in you. You were meant to be great, meant to lead, and if Governor Reston had won, we would've been a worse nation for it. You were the hope and the dream of a nation and by some weird quirk of an antiquated electoral system you would have been denied your dreams. Your destiny. I couldn't watch that happen."

"That's the problem. You, Cyrus, Mellie, you pin all your hopes and dreams on me, and make all these decisions on my behalf like I'm incapable of thinking for myself. If I had lost, we'd be together. If I'd lost, you would've had our baby. Your decision destroyed us."

"You think I don't know that? You think I don't think about that every single day? I made a mistake, but I did it because I thought it was best for you."

"You were what was best for me."

Olivia catches the break in his voice and thinks this is her opportunity. Her chance to move closer to him, to soothe his aching soul, their aching soul, with her touch. She wants to heal him, heal them. He swivels his chair as she makes her way around to his side of the desk. They are both reminded of the last time they were in this position, when she commanded him to not die. Little did he know that death would be preferable to living without her.

She reaches out to touch his hair and he unconsciously leans into her touch. "I'm so sorry, Fitz. I am so sorry." When the tears well up in her eyes, she makes no attempt to blink them back. She's spent too much time running and hiding from her emotions and the truth is, she loves him with every fiber of her being and she, her life, is nothing without his love. And as difficult as it was to come to the White House after their last encounter, it was necessary. She was sinking deeper and deeper into a world of depression, finding her own addiction in an effort to cope, and something had to change.

"Do you know what it's like to not have anyone, Olivia? Do you know what it's like to be in this big house, surrounded by people and not have a single person to talk to? Not really. No one to laugh with. No one to cry with. No one to trust? You were everything to me and you betrayed me just like everyone else."

Olivia just listens to him, still running her fingers through his hair. Touching his face. Trying to love him back to life. Suddenly, he gets up and walks toward the decanter of scotch. Olivia follows him, and when he reaches for the scotch, she puts her hand over the glass, shaking her head. "No more."

Fitz glares at her. Then, his eyes begin to soften. Someone who didn't know him as well would probably not notice such a subtle change. He wants to grab her and bury his head in her shoulder. And cry. Grieve for the lost innocence of their relationship. Cry for the mean words he said to her. Cry because he is so lost right now and yet, with her here, breathing life back into him, he's finding his strength.

She whispers to him, "I know you hurt. I know you think this helps numb the pain, but you're not the same person when you drink." Their minds both wander back to that time in the elevator when he'd had too much to drink and was too aggressive with her. "Every day, you make life and death decisions, you need to be sober. The country needs their President to be at his best and when you're drinking, you're not the man they voted for...and you're not the man I love...not that that means much to you anymore."

Fitz stares at her and opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself. He gently removes her hand from the tumbler, then kisses it as he looks her dead in her eyes. She tries to read the expression on his face, but the man in front of her is different from the one she knows better than herself. There's a dark veil over his face; he is a stranger. He continues looking at her as he fills the tumbler with what has been his best friend for the past eleven months, then downs the brown liquid in a single gulp.

"Is this what you want for your kids? A drunken excuse for a father? Fitz, you are not this person. I know you're hurting, but this isn't the answer."

"Ms. Pope, I am no longer your responsibility." And she knows he means it.

She doesn't want to leave him in this state, but he's shut himself down. She is, once again, dismissed. She moves a little closer to him, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man she loves. She reaches up to him and strokes his cheek. He closes his eyes and leans into her. Words aren't necessary. Just this moment in love. They stay in this state for at least a minute before she withdraws her hand, retrieves her purse and leaves without a single word.

The moment he hears the door close behind her, he rushes toward the nearest garbage can and proceeds to vomit until there's nothing left. He wipes the sweat from his brow and falls into the nearest chair. She was right, he knew that. And she still cared after everything he'd said, everything he'd done.

He wants to yell for her to come back to him. Make it all better. Things were still electric between them and even with the tension in the air, she was able to reach him. To make things just a little better. To give life to him.

He looks at his scotch, as though it somehow holds the answers to the mess that has become his life. In his heart, he knows it is Olivia who holds the answers. Olivia who holds his heart. And no matter how hard he tries, how much scotch he drinks to fill the void, he still can't wash away the feelings he has for her.

He snatches the decanter from its place on the side table. He carries it into the bathroom right off the Oval Office and dumps it without hesitation. Then, he drops the decanter into the garbage can. For the first time in months he takes a long, hard look at himself and into his hollow eyes.

His reflection is that of a stranger. He's aged at least ten years. He is a ghost of his former self. He splashes his face with cold water then looks in the mirror again, as though his image will be replaced by that of someone more appealing. He studies his face, his eyes, his cheeks. She still loves him, even like this, she loves him. He smiles for the first time in months because right now, right now he still has a chance. She gave him an opening, he just has to walk through it.

Olivia sits on the edge of her conference room table, staring at pictures taped to the windows. Her mind, though it should be on her latest case, wanders to her encounter with Fitz. She wishes she'd stayed and made him confront his demons. But she couldn't stay, could she? He was breaking her heart all over again and she had to get out just to breathe again.

She is alone in the conference room, having insisted her Gladiators go home for the night. She suspects at least one of them is lying on a vacant couch or sitting in their office, waiting for her to bark the next set of case-solving instructions. She is grateful for the quiet.

The ding of the elevator snaps her from her thoughts. She listens for footsteps; there are three sets. Without turning around, she knows who it is. There's a sort of peace, for lack of a better word, that washes over her when she's in his presence. Everything seems to move so quickly in their worlds, but when they're together, time stands still and there is the unspoken knowledge that they can conquer anything.

The footsteps become louder as he gets closer. Her heartbeat quickens with anticipation, and nerves, about what he's there to say to her. When he enters, her breath catches. It is only then that she turns to acknowledge his presence.

She notices, for the first time, how thin he is. How hollow his eyes look. How red. He is just as broken as she. And he stands there, probably thinking the same things about her. It's a moment of suspended animation, one that each wants to savor because of the future, the only thing they can predict is their love for each other is all-consuming and forever.

"Hi," he says, not daring to move.

"Hi," she replies, leaving the ball in his court.

He moves closer, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He looks like a shy little boy, so unsure of himself, waiting for her to fill the silence. She doesn't.

"You were right," he says. She simply nods. "You were the only one I trusted. The only one who I could count on. You balanced me. And challenged me. Made me feel alive when I'd walked around my whole life...dead. I never thought you'd use me just like everyone else."

"You're not mad about Defiance," Olivia says, confidently, finally recognizing the man she fell in love with a lifetime ago.

"What?"

"It's not about Defiance anymore. You don't know if you can trust what we had was real. I can't believe I didn't see this earlier." Olivia rubs her temples and begins to pace.

Fitz hates it when she does this. How can he see the truth in her eyes if she stays in motion? It's also something he loves about her. The way he can always tell if she's trying to figure something out or if something is bothering her, just by the way she paces. She also does it when she wants to run, when she's feeling caged and just wants to get out. He speaks quietly, "How am I supposed to know? You lied to me."

"And you lied to me about Amanda Tanner-"

"Two different things. Two different situations."

"Fitz, how can you question what we had? Whenever you've needed me, I've been right by your side. Whatever you've needed, I've tried to give it to you. We were friends; you were my best friend and I could've spent every minute of every day just being in your presence. I loved you to the point where I lost myself in your indiscreet glances, your touch, your kiss and when you left me, I didn't know who I was. I still don't. What I want, what I've always wanted in life, is to be loved the way you loved me. And I have to spend the rest of my life knowing I blew it with you."

Olivia's words are like a slap to the face, the wakeup call he needed. The affirmation that in the world of Washington, where everything is about dishonesty, leverage, manipulation and lies, this one thing, the thing he and Olivia share is real. So caught up in her words and the emotion she never lets show, Fitz doesn't notice when she stopped pacing. When she started looking at him, his head down, his feet rocking back and forth like he wants nothing more than to drown in her embrace. Because he does.

The silence, to Olivia, becomes more uncomfortable by the moment. Her words are her last cards, so she waits. Waits for some response, a sound, something to let her know where they stand. Instead, there is more silence.

With a roll of her eyes, more of an effort to disguise the tears than a show of frustration, she turns her attention toward her wall of evidence, leaning against the table. And she waits.

Olivia, lost in her own thoughts, doesn't notice as Fitz slowly and quietly moves closer. Suddenly, he's right there looking down at her, standing between her thighs. Tears wet the corners of his eyes, mirroring her own. He puts his hands on her hips, and so gently moves them up and down. They stay that way for the longest time, silently apologizing and forgiving, accepting and loving.

Without words, they both know what the other needs. Without words, they open their arms for a shared embrace, one that says everything. One that says, "It's okay. I'm here. I love you."