Chapter Two: The Aftermath

Fitz was seating in his desk with a glass of whiskey in his hand as he stared at the photo in front of him. She was smiling. A smile the world had learned to be genuine and truth. A smile he knew was a genuine effort in trying to show how much of a normal, happy family they were. A smile disguising the truth with a pretty lie. He traced her face. She had always been so beautiful. But the coldness had taken over her heart. It had taken away her smile. And her shine. He throw the frame away as he remembered the reason behind. How blind he must had been. How self-centered he had become to not have seen what was right in front of his eyes. The damage. The damage beyond repair his father had caused. He knocked his fist against the desk. And suddenly she felt him against it. And how she squirmed against the wood. How her nails craved into his back. How good it felt to hear her moan his name. How much of turn on her screams were. He could picture her in his desk. Her bare back agains it. He could feel her heels in his butt. Her hands roaming over his chest. The smile on her face. And the lust in her eyes. For the first time in years he had desired her. For one night only, he had wanted her. For one night only, she had wanted him. He was confused. He had stopped loving her. But he couldn't help but being drown towards her. He had told himself he was in love with Olivia. But somehow he couldn't let his wife go. He desired her. For one night only he told to himself. For one night only, he had desired her and wish upon her.

The only thing he was certain of was that if her father hadn't stolen her heart it wouldn't have been just one night only.

Or so he hopped.


Mellie was seating in the couch of her room with a glass of hooch in her hand. It had became her best friend. It would stop the memories from burning bright in her mind. It would stop the pain from taking over her heart. Just like a flash of light it would numb her. Every little piece of her. But on that night it made her come alive. She didn't remember how much she had drunk. She didn't remember how she had ended up in the Oval Office. All she could remember were his hand on her tight, her fingers in his hair, the taste of alcohol in his lips. But mostly how turned on he was. And how much it scared her when he broke apart. It was too good to be true. He could only be thinking of Olivia Pope to get that hot and bothered. But no. He took her hand on his. It was her. The lustful desired in his eye was for her. When she led them to his desk he didn't flinch. She could swear his eyes had gotten darker. And his touch was fire against her skin. She had almost forgotten how good it felt to be in his arms. To have his arms wrapped around her. To have his face buried in her chest. To feel his lips kissing every each of her skin. To have him completely turned on because of her. Only her. To have him scream her name loud and clear for all the West Wing to hear. Her name on his lips. She could feel his hands on her hips just as real as she was holding that glass of hooch. And just when she thought she was falling out of love with him. Her heart got broken again. And once more she was back in his web. She couldn't let him. She couldn't let herself go.

And it scared her. Because after all the pain, the cheat and the hell she had crossed for the man she had vowed to love and cherish until day she died…

Somehow she was still in love with him.


It was late in the night when he walked into their room. Funny how he just thought that when he hadn't slept there in months. There was an empty glass on her bedside table. She had been drinking. He had asked her not to. But he couldn't bring himself to let the bottle down how could he expect that from her. He looked at their bed. Funny how he now was thinking that room was theirs. She was sleeping. Her hand beneath her face. Her feet hanging out of bed. She looked so peaceful. And so beautiful. He went to the closet and took out his clothes. He let his boxers on and put on a sweater. He walked back to the room. He wanted to hold her in his arms. For a moment he thought about walking out and acted like nothing had happened the night before. For a moment he thought about walking out like she hadn't came to his office the night before. For a moment he thought about walking out like they hadn't made love in his desk the night before. But he didn't. He walked to bed and lay down next to her. He wanted to wrapped his arm around her waist. He wanted to rest his face against her hair. But he didn't. They might have made love the night before but they still had a lot to talk. And he didn't want to risk. He couldn't risk.

She felt the door being opened. She felt him walking around in the room. She felt him staring her. She felt him getting in bed next to her. And she felt his tension. The tension of wanting to touch her but not doing it. The tension of wanting to held her and not wrapping her arms around her. And she wanted him. She wanted his arms around her. She wanted him to held her as she slept. But she knew he wouldn't. She leaned into him. And snuggled against him. He took a deep breathe of her accent. It was roses. She had never changed her perfume. He smiled. He put his arm around her waist and brought her closer to him. He kissed the back of her head before closing his eyes.

And for the first time in months he slept.