Tapping the pencil anxiously to her desk's top, she sighed impatiently and glanced back at the clock mounted on her wall. Two minutes had passed. Her focus had swiftly deteriorated in the past three weeks. She could no longer focus on menial tasks. Instead, she was always checking her phone silently praying that her husband would call.
The partners of her shared law firm - Whelan, Wright and Pope had even noticed. While she equally adored the company of her closest friends and business partners, Olivia was not keen to share news concerning her marriage. Both Abby and Harrison had expressed concern for Olivia's most recent unfocused behavior. She had shrugged it off, refusing to answer their intuitive questions and disengaged in any conversation where her husband was mentioned. The truth was - she hadn't the slightest clue how her husband was doing. After confessing her affair two weeks previously, her husband had avoided her at every turn.
He had not moved out for the mental well being of their kids. Yet, he had taken to crashing most nights in his office under the guise of working. The nights that she could not find him in his office, she would find him crawled in bed with their only daughter, hand resting on her thick dark curls and challenging snores vibrating off the walls. There were many instances that she yearned to join them. Nevertheless, she resisted determined to allow him space and not overcrowd him. He was never a particularly complex man when it came to emotions. They were, for the most part, always quite clear about their stances.
Running a hand through her hair, she sighed in frustration. She missed Fitz terribly. Her heart yearned for his affection and throbbed painfully to outpour her love for him. The affection she held had never waned. She loved Fitz. There wasn't anything not to love about him. He was dedicated to their family. He worked hard to provide for all of them incase she ever decided to stop working. It was a brief discussion that they had before their marriage. At the time, his act of chivalry and declaration that he would be the sole "breadwinner" angered her. She was livid for days until he finally confronted her, albeit uncomfortably. His confession of traditional values had not surprised her. She knew of Fitz's heritage within the Republican Party. Nevertheless, she had willed herself to listen with an open mind and what he said astounded her. Growing up in a family where his mother was rarely respected offered him perspective. He never wanted the woman that he cherished to feel anything other than that. As it was his privilege to live with her, be with her, hold and touch her, he admitted no apologies for earning her every day. It had seemed draconian at first but Fitz truly took care of her merely due to his nurturing nature. Her phone chirped ushering her thoughts of Fitz away.
She recognized the number immediately and deleted the message. A sense of regret sat in the pit of her stomach. Weeks ago, she would have looked forward to his message all day. Her fingers were practically glued to her phone waiting for him to call, text or merely acknowledge her existence. Now, she felt anxious and violently ill. He was a constant reminder of her unfaithfulness - of her mistake. Olivia bitterly recognized her mistake shortly after the distance settled between she and Fitz. While she had contemplated the consequences of her affair for weeks, she had been too blind, too drunk from lust and too eager to enjoy the forbidden pleasures offered to her to stop or evaluate. Rubbing her temples, she used the opposite hand to turn on the phone. She opened the Facebook app, scrolled through Twitter and even updated her LinkedIn profile. The mobile remained painfully silent as she completed tasks willing Fitz to text. She had finally given up. Relaxing back into the chair with a huff, she practically jumped when the screen lit again. Her eyes widened and hastily scrambled to read the message from her husband.
"Home late today," She sighed disappointedly and pursed her lips, "Kiss the kids for me - thanks."
She read his text aloud once more for clarity. It was not particularly ambiguous but she was determined to analyze it. Why would he come home late? He always worked "late" at home in order to spend more time together as a family. She chewed her lip. Work had never kept him longer than 5pm. It was a principle that he adopted after yearning for his father's affection as a boy. Family first, he never took time away from their children (and her). Glancing to her landline, she picked up the receiver and hesitantly dialed his number. He picked up on the first ring. His laughter echoed in her ear and she instantly warmed. It seemed like years since she heard his boisterous and unapologetic laugh. Her lips quirked excitedly, but she remained silent to hear it continue.
His laughter died down and he cleared his throat politely, "I apologize, we just filmed the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge and surprise attacked the mayor. How may I help you?"
She snorted with laughter and quickly slapped a hand to her lips. She still hadn't worked up the courage to say anything.
"Liv-Olivia," He hastily corrected himself. "Olivia, are you alright?"
Her smile dropped instantly at his correction.
She frowned and steeled her nerves, "Yes."
She released a breath, "Yes, I am fine. I wanted to inquire why you'd be home late. I am making spaghetti for dinner."
"Sounds good," He remarked.
"So," She paused pointedly.
"You'll be home regular time." She began, but he spoke too soon and their sentences mixed.
"The kids will enjoy it," He finished.
Olivia was unable to hide her disappointment. Twiddling the cord between her fingers, she kicked off her heels and tucked her bare feet beneath her bum. She remained still on the line waiting for him to answer. Combing her fingers through her hair, she rested her head against the cushion of her chair. She listened to his soft breaths of assignable punctuated by a deeper intake. She remembered a time when they were apart and had merely listened to each other breathe for hours. When she left the city, state or even the country, he would call her every night and they would set up FaceTime to sleep together. His shallow breaths lulled her to sleep and his deep 6am snores was always her preferred alarm clock. Lord, how she missed him.
"I gotta go, Livvie." He murmured and she could hear a woman in the background.
"Fitz," She painstakingly breathed willing him to not go.
Silence.
Finally, she heard him sigh and relent, "I'll try to be home earlier than I planned. I'll see you at home, sweet baby."
He hung up before he could continue. The endearment had not passed his lips in two weeks. His lapse of judgment was only punctuated by the smirk of his longtime confidant. He grumbled and rubbed a hand over his face. "Lets get started," He muttered and grabbed his jacket to leave.
Tom laughed affectionately, "Don't be such a wet dog."
He snorted sarcastically and pocketed his items. Crossing the room, he held the door open for their departure. Tom stopped in the frame and clapped his back, "It will be okay."
He smiled tightly and ushered him out without another word. Tom could talk enough for the both of them.
The screeching tires of the Porsche 918 Spyder punctuated their sudden arrival to the dive bar. The bar was already crowded with blue and white-collar employees alike. A rickety hand-painted sign hung over the door and despite its poor spelling declared, "no gurls aloud." Since its inception, the bar had staunchly declared that it was a boys club only. In experience, women would often visit and vehemently opposing ever attending again. The bar was, to be frank, very man's dream equipped with all the leisure often attributed to their sex. Shaking his head, Fitzgerald quickly unbuckled the belt and hopped out of the car. He fondly remembered the days when his greatest love was his sports car. Since then, he had traded it in for a more "practical vehicle." He could not admit any regrets.
He had traded in the sports car upon the birth of his daughter. Despite Tom's clear happiness and sense of adventure, he would always choose his family. His stomach sunk, he was not sure how much longer his family would last. Every day, the distance between he and Olivia grew. Fitz knew it was partially his fault. He had taken to hiding away in his office at night and "working late." Eventually, he would crash on his couch and call it a night. The routine was so unexpected and jarring to him. He never slept away from his wife. He would eventually succumb to his loneliness and opt to cuddle with their daughter. Every day, he held onto his children a little longer before school. The life that he always dreamed of was slipping away and Fitz could not help to feel that it was somehow all his doing.
The slam of Tom's door pulled from his thoughts and he shot his friend a disapproving look. Tom shrugged and chuckled lightly, "It's a rental. Baby is in the shop."
Snorting, he followed Tom into the bar, "Baby?" He teased.
Tom shot him a serious look, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, "Baby." He echoed pointedly and gave his friend a shove through the door.
A funky theme blared through the surround sound system pervading their senses and practically knocking Fitzgerald on his ass. Years ago, Olivia had discovered his appreciation for funk, R&B and rap. Her appreciation for his morphed into horror when she realized that all his musical education was solely attributed to this bar. He had a weekend crash course on what his wife deemed "the classics." His brief reminiscing brought a smirk to his lips as he steered through the crowd to reach a table. After retrieving their beers – two draft beers – Tom sat across from Fitz, who gulped his beer appreciatively. The silence stretched between them, Tom continued to sip his beer and wait for Fitz to begin. His friend had called this abrupt meeting citing necessary advice but had not divulged why. Bouncing his leg beneath the table, Fitz was growing more nervous with each second. He had not discussed his martial problems with anyone. The last thing he wanted was for Tom to burst out in laughter or worse – refer to his wife as something that would make Fitz hit him for it.
Clenching and unclenching his fist, he relaxed into the wooden seat. Tom's laughter caught his attention and he followed his line of sight to a man and his girlfriend. His girlfriend's nose was wrinkled in disgust and she very clearly was wary to sit on any furniture. She stood by the bar: arms crossed and watching her male partner shoot a round of pool. The bartender attempted to offer her a drink but she shook her head vehemently expressing her distaste.
Tom howled with laughter again, "Oh, man– he's getting no pussy tonight."
Fitz snorted, "That would be two of us."
Turning around, Tom cocked an eyebrow in invitation to continue. Fitzgerald motioned the waiter to bring him a scotch. He was going to need it. After a quick sip, which burned his lungs and made everything a little warmer, he ran a hand through his hair. His avoidance was palpable but Tom patiently waited for him to continue.
"She had an affair," Fitz admitted but quickly added, "Hey! Before, you go and trash her—"
Tom pursed his lips in annoyance and shook his head, "You know me better than that, man. I am just…" He paused and sipped his beer to find the right words, "ya know, shocked."
Fitz sighed, "She said that I was, and let me admit this was a quote, 'boring.'"
Tom stuttered an answer - he was clearly perplexed how to help him.
"She said that I am not spontaneous any longer. Her boredom stems from the fact that I am not fucking her against walls, over tables and fuck if I know where else," Fitz explained and brought the scotch to his lips again, "I don't understand. I thought that she wanted me to make love to her."
Tom nodded, "All chicks want that."
"Not my wife," Fitz supplied helpfully. "Not her. Apparently, she wants me to fuck her. My beautiful, intelligent wife told me that I no longer 'fuck her.' I did not even know how to explain to her that of course, I don't fuck her. She's my wife. I make love to her. You fuck girlfriends, one night stands, and side chicks but your wife—"
Tom interrupted, "There is your problem."
"Wha—" Fitz questioned, his brows furrowing in surprise.
"Okay," Tom cleared his throat, "I can't be elegant about this."
"Don't be, I need the truth," Fitz insisted.
"When you and Olivia began dating, you fucked her. I know that you swear it was love at first sight but you still fucked her, Fitz. There's nothing wrong with keeping fuckin' and making love separate. They are two different things. Yet, you do not need to give up one because the other exists. Haven't you ever just walked by her and wanted her right then, right now?" Tom questioned and Fitz quickly nodded his agreement.
"All the time," He admitted.
"In the kitchen, your eyes are always on her ass. Haven't you ever wanted to just bend her over the counter and fuck her," Tom asked purposefully.
"Yeah. Of course, I fuckin' did," Fitz grunted. Tom had to stop giving him powerful images of his wife or he would be holding the rickety table up. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, "Of course, I did. My wife is beautiful."
"Your wife is hot," Tom interrupted. "Sexy."
"Look, I love you like a brother but you keep talking about my wife and I'll knock your lights out," Fitz growled.
Tom laughed, "Hey, asshole, why don't you filter some that aggression toward your wife and go fuck her lights out."
He hesitated – the scotch rested against his lips and eyes dropped to the amber liquid. Swallowing his pride, he tipped the scotch back and wheezed a heavy breath. For a dingy bar, this place surely kept the good scotch on file. Clearing his throat, he made eye contact briefly with Tom and dug out his phone. He began to dial Olivia but Tom snatched the phone from his hand.
"What are you doin'," Tom asked ludicrously.
"I am calling to tell her that I am coming home," Fitz explained.
"No. Take your shit, call a cab, surprise her and fuck her on the first surface that you find," Tom instructed.
Fitz nodded, he would do exactly that.
A/N:
Thank you so much for all the kind reviews. I am truly humbled by your excitement.
In this chapter, I wanted to explain what Olivia meant by "boring" and why Fitz would be perceived this way. I hope that I conveyed, Fitz does not have any intentions to be boring. Yet, due to their schedules, they have fallen into a rhythm and lost their spontaneity. To address a few questions -
1. Who did Olivia have an affair with?
At the moment, I do not intend to reveal nor bring him onto the scene. This story is solely about Fitz and Olivia with the occasional supporting character. I want this story to personify the consequences of miscommunication especially within relationships. A simple miscommunication or lack of communication can change an entire landscape. Unlike the show, I want Olivia and Fitz to actively participate in their relationship and work together.
2. Did Olivia cheat with Jake Ballard?
No. JB does not, will not, and cannot exist in my story. Thank you.
3. Will Fitz cheat on Olivia?
No. Absolutely not. Never.
Thank you so much for reading. I hope this was equally satisfying as chapter one.
Chapter three will contain explicit content, including but not limited to: language, sexual content, and certainly NSFW themes.