I'm in a weird sort of mood tonight, so I decided to write and post this rambling one shot. I hope you enjoy it. This is what I call "tipsy writing".
Someday
She watches his second inauguration on television, just as she watched the first. This time, she's at home with a bowl of popcorn and a glass of red wine. She watches as the first couple dances together, closely. To ordinary people, the American public, they are the picture of the perfect couple. He stares lovingly into her eyes. She looks up him with admiration in hers. They move easily together. Familiar.
Olivia turns away, the pain too great for her. Yet, this is what she wanted. For him to have another opportunity to complete his vision for America. A chance to run and win the right way. She never imagined the pain she'd endure watching him do it from afar. Never imagined how her heart would ache, how it would break again.
She should turn the television, she knows she should. But she can't. She has to watch him. She has to see his eyes and maybe, just maybe, she can pretend he's looking right back at her. Telling her, without words, that he loves her because she really needs to feel it. So desperately she needs to feel loved, though she won't admit it. She is, after all, the great Olivia Pope, leader of the Gladiators and she has no feelings; she has no heart.
Was it just 19 months ago they were planning for their future? God laughed. Sat back and laughed at them. Then, proceeded to allow them to destroy what they'd worked so hard to rebuild. Again.
It was just 19 months ago when she went to his office, the Oval Office, with the lame excuse that her Gladiators needed her. She led them astray and had to make it right. The lies, as they left her mouth and tumbled out, felt all kinds of wrong. It was the best she could do at the time. Fitz didn't believe her, she could tell, but he let her go without a fight.
She doesn't know why it stung so much, his not fighting for her. She thought he'd always be there, always fighting for them because he knew she couldn't, but he let her walk out. He was stunned, that much was obvious, but he was also defeated. He'd reached his breaking point.
Those first few days were beyond difficult. She could barely climb out of bed. She could barely put one foot in front of the other. There were days she didn't think she could put her clothes on, but somehow she did it. Her weekly calls and meetings with Cyrus helped. At least she would get updates on him. He was hurting just as much as she, but the great thing about politicians, the really gifted politicians, is their ability to turn things off and on for the cameras. So, to the outside world, even to his staff, he was more focused than ever, more dedicated than they'd seen; his private pain masked brilliantly.
Then, there was Jake. Jake who sacrificed his career for her, his life really, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to feel any kind of way about him. Or about his sacrifice. He spied on her. Put her in the hospital. Recorded them having sex. Released the tape which somehow wound up in Fitz's hands. Even after all of that, when he got out of the hole he'd spent months in as punishment, he came back into her life, with explanations and excuses.
She remembers the day he marched into her office, a deliberate choice because he knew had he come to her apartment, she would never have let him in. In the office, she had to play it cool to avoid raising any eyebrows. So, he marched in wearing his white uniform. She saw Abby out of the corner of her eye, twisting the ends of her hair with that weird, flirtatious smile of hers.
She smiled politely and motioned for him to follow her into her office. She struggled to close the door gently, rather than slam it, which was her first instinct. She knew why he was there, and no amount of apologies, of begging and pleading, would get her to feel anything for him other than something bordering on hatred.
He was assigned, by Fitz, to follow her. She knew that to be true, but called him on the fact that he was also assigned to destroy the relationship between she and Fitz, so really, he was nothing more than a double agent. He had no response but to talk about obeying orders and doing his patriotic duty. When asked why he recorded them having sex, he had no reasonable response. His apartment was filled with cameras, but there was no explanation for sharing the tape with others. Asked about her concussion, it became her fault for struggling with him.
She listened to him stutter and stammer through every excuse, and watched him wither under her disbelieving gaze. Then, she got up and smiled, telling him he should have stayed in the hole and to stay away from her. She opened the door for him and watched him slink away, slamming the door behind him.
This time, when he passed, Abby looked away, knowing he had somehow crossed Olivia. Huck stood guard, arms folded, waiting for him to leave. Quinn kept her finger on the trigger of the gun she recently acquired. Then, he was gone.
Regardless of all she's been through the past 19 months, all they'd been through since they've known each other, beyond Jake and Verna, beyond Mellie and Cyrus, the one constant is their love. And now, watching him dance with his wife, the way she so wishes he would dance with her, the love she has for him seems stronger than ever.
She watches as Fitz and Mellie separate from each other on the dance floor, and others begin to fill the empty spaces. He goes his way, waving, smiling, as charming as ever, and she goes hers, the perfect political wife. It's all a show, all for show and she is its most captive audience member. His smile doesn't reach his eyes. His posture is not quite straight. Her teeth are clenched tightly together, as though she's trying to keep herself from losing it on national television.
Everything about this night, except for Fitz's re-election, feels wrong. She told him to run clean, run and win, but he didn't run clean. He ran under a carefully crafted image of a dedicated family man, someone who loved his wife. One half of the world's most famous, and loving couple.
She curls into a slightly tighter ball on the sofa, as she listens to the pundits. They just love the Grants. Tout them as a couple whose love is deep and powerful, so strong that even infidelity couldn't sever their bond. The first tear slips from her eye as doubt creeps into her mind. Maybe their love isn't as strong as she thought. Maybe it isn't meant to be after all.
Tonight, is an extension of the past 19 months. Cycles of absolute certainty followed by bouts of doubt. She hasn't seen or talked to him, no words of reassurance have come from his lips. So, she's left with her vivid imagination to tell her it was all a dream, and in the end, it became a nightmare.
What she has done, is communicated through Cyrus. Campaign strategy and advice, those are things she provided to the campaign, with Fitz's approval. Or so she was told. Her fingerprints were on the campaign, though they were light and soft. With unconfirmed rumors of her relationship with the President, she couldn't be seen near the campaign.
Everything feels so wrong, so out of whack. She shouldn't be sitting at home, alone, watching the festivities from afar. But where else can she, should she be? Certainly not hiding in the background of one of the many inaugural balls.
Time is supposed to heal all things, but in her case, it's not healing a damned thing. In fact, the pain is getting greater. She has nightmares about him. Relives the last day in the Oval Office almost nightly. She is haunted by the broken-hearted expression on his face. In her dreams, she reaches out to touch him, but he disappears before her fingers can make contact, pieces of him float way until he's so far beyond her reach.
She cries for him. At night. When it's too painful to sleep, she rolls onto her stomach, buries her head in her pillow and grieves for the love they had, the love she still has. She cries for what could have been, what should be.
She has no one to blame but herself. If she had let him, he would've fought for them. He would've laid it all on the line for them, but she believes it is his destiny to be a great, two term president. Not someone who resigned in disgrace or lost his re-election bid because of his affair; because of his mistress.
Friends, what few there are, have expressed their concern. Even Stephen has re-surfaced because, apparently, he has a source keeping him up-to-date on Olivia's life. She'll have to talk to Harrison about that later. They think a woman with her intelligence, beauty and style should be dating, as though a woman is defined by her dating status. Stephen though, he knows the truth. He knows of her broken heart and still he presses her. Tells her she can't spend her life waiting on a man who has, time and time again, chosen someone else.
But, he doesn't know Fitz; he doesn't know them. Time and time again, he has chosen her. It is she who has walked away. She thinks she's doing it for him, but maybe she's doing it for herself. Because she doesn't know how to love completely, not the way he does. Or, more likely, it's a combination of the two.
In another four years, maybe they can give it a try. Maybe they can they can try to put each other back together, reassemble the pieces of two shattered hearts. Will he even forgive her by then? Should he?
When did it all become so complicated? Why did it have to become so complicated. When it began, it was more than just lust. Looking back, she can see it. Them coming together, it was a slow build, it as a falling in love with the mind and spirit, long before the body.
She can admit now, she was attracted to Fitz even before she joined his first campaign. There was something about him that drew her in immediately. Resisting the urge to act on that attraction proved difficult, though not impossible. That is, until he admitted on national television that he was in love with her. Everyone thought he was referring to his wife, but she knew, she knew he was referring to her. That's when it began, and from that moment on, it was out of her control. The love grew and grew, until her heart no longer had space to contain it. Until it exploded all over her and her life, making her world nothing without him.
In those early days, she didn't want to think of the how and when they might end it. For the first time in her life she wanted to live in the moment and that's exactly what she did. And when the time came for them to end it, she really thought she would be okay. Maybe "okay" isn't the right word; she thought she could deal with it. It was clear almost immediately that dealing with it was something she was incapable of doing when it came to him.
The backsliding was frequent and smoldering and beautiful. No matter how many times she swore it was the last time, it never was. They were drawn to each other like magnets. All of this is past tense because in 19 months, they haven't seen each other and it has been hell.
She gets up from the couch, turns off the television and drops the remote on her coffee table. She's had enough. Enough reminiscing, enough remembering, enough lamenting what could have been. What should be. He really is out of her reach and that hurts. She doesn't know how to go on.
She picks up her wine glass and downs the remaining liquid. Let's it sting the back of her throat. It rushes to her head almost immediately. She takes the glass and popcorn bowl into the kitchen, and leaves them on the counter. There will be time in the morning to put them in the dishwasher. Right now, all she wants it to climb into bed and fall into a deep sleep, one from which she almost wishes she wouldn't wake.
Her bedroom is almost too big, almost too lonely. The bed should be inviting, instead, it's just a cold, empty space that makes her realize how alone she is. She takes off her sweater and watches as it slides down her body and onto the floor.
The tears already sting the corners of her eyes, and she wipes them away roughly. But, they don't stop coming. They double down, daring her to try to stop them. The dam breaks, and her body trembles as she lets go of everything she's tried to hold back this evening.
It should have been her dancing with him. It should have been her holding the bible as he was sworn in. It should have been her who shared his first kiss of the morning, and the first kiss that day in front of America. It should have been her hand he held, her stride with which he walked in sync. It all should have been her and she walked away. Thinking someday was better than today. But she's wrong. She is so wrong and now, she's lost her opportunity.
She doesn't know how her body managed to crawl into bed and bury itself under her comforter, which provides anything but comfort. She tries to drift off to sleep, but tonight, like so many others it's illusive. So, she turns onto her back and stares at the ceiling, not bothering to wipe the tears that stream down her face, landing on her sheets.
She doesn't hear the front door as it opens, but she hears the footsteps. Heavy, with a familiar rhythm. It stops at her bedroom doorway. She feels his eyes, but closes hers because this has happened before; she's thought she heard him, gets her hopes up, only to come crashing back down to earth when she realizes it's only in her imagination.
It starts up again, the mattress shifts slightly as another body joins her. A hand wipes away her tears. Lips find their way to her forehead, each cheek, finally resting on her lips. She wants to tell him he shouldn't be here. He doesn't belong to her; he belongs to his wife and the American people. But, she can't.
He takes off his shoes, then his jacket, his shirt, his pants. He crawls into bed next to her and pulls her as close to him as he can. If he could fuse their bodies together, he would. He whispers in her ear, "I love you, Olivia." She closes her eyes as he squeezes her just a little tighter. "It's you, Livvy. It's always been you. I know you couldn't be there with me today, but you were in my heart, you are in my heart, every step of the way."
He kisses her again, wiping the tears he can't see, but feels sliding down her face. He knows because his tears, they're sliding down his face too. "I can't promise you tonight or tomorrow, or even next week. But, someday. I promise you. We're going to get it right. Because what we've got, it's worth it."
"I love you," she says, as she drifts off to sleep in his arms. And this time, when she sleeps, it's not filled with nightmares or regret, it's filled with one word, "someday".