A/N: Hey y'all long time no talk. My apologies. Most of you know I lost my mom in September. Her birthday's coming up soon and things have been rough for me so I had to step away. I'm trying to get back into the swing of things again. This chapter is a little short, but hopefully it's worth it.

I'm working on a Metanoia update next.

I went through and caught most of my glaring mistakes. Hopefully I got them all and I hope you enjoy.

I'mma ask that you all try not to victim blame here, too. I know its easy because Olivia's frustrating, but it's victim blaming. you don't blame the victim, you blame the perpetrator.

Happy crossover (my money's always on Annalise).


He wakes to the feel of fingertips ghosting across his cheek. Instincts take over and he flexes beneath the foreign touch and catches the hand, forgetting for a moment just where he is. A soft 'ow' grabs his attention and he opens his eyes to the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. Olivia. She's in front of him, knees tucked beneath her, clothes rumpled, and hair slightly frizzed.

The room bathes the pair in bright light that blasts through the thin white curtains. She looks at him and then to her hand caught in his. A pang of guilt slivers up his spine as he catches sight of her bandaged hand. He relaxes his hold. He hadn't been trying to hurt her; she's just caught him off guard. Nothing in the room outside of her is familiar to his eyes. The air is thick between them, charged with promise, as he struggles to sit up, refusing to let go of her palm. Olivia doesn't resist, instead she moves closer.

Neither of them say anything as Fitz brings her fingers to his thin lips, kissing the tips as an apology for any hurt he might have caused. He hears her breath hitch and his own grows ragged. Olivia licks her lips and shudders. Fitz swallows hard, taking that as his cue to keep going. He ghosts his lips from her fingertips to her palm, using his free hand to peel back the sheer sleeve of her blouse. Bruises bloom against her deep brown skin marring her otherwise perfect flesh. He kisses each bruise before pulling back to look at her face.

A handprint careens across her cheek, a purple splotch sits under her eye. She catches him staring and turns her head. Fitz's stomach tightens. She's clearly self-conscious and he's terrified, afraid that if he moves too much in one direction, showers her with too much affection she'll run. A teardrop pools at her chin and he wipes it away with the pad of his thumb, tilting her chin so she's looking directly at him again. Her skin is warm, clammy beneath his fingers and he leans in, pressing his lips to her cheek. He kisses the bruise with a tenderness he doesn't know he's capable of exerting; he's so gentle with her that he shakes as he pulls away. He doesn't blink, worried that if he does she'll disappear like a cruel figment of his imagination.

But she isn't. Before he has a chance to pull away completely, Olivia catches him off guard. A delicate hand cups his left cheek and she tips his chin towards hers. She licks her lips and descends on his mouth. Without hesitation, Fitz reciprocates in kind. They exchange soft pants and breathless moans as their lips meet over and over again. An amalgamation of hunger and need drives Fitz as his tongue parts her lips; begging for entrance.

Just as quickly as it began, the moment ends.

A wolf whistle breaks them apart and Fitz turns his head to find Harrison grinning at them.

"Well, if this ain't a sight. Wooooh-weeeee."

They break apart.

"Looks like Fitz ain't the only one with jungle fever now, huh."

Olivia scuttles off the bed and nearly blazes a trail of fire as she scurries out of the room, pushing past Harrison. She keeps her head down. He whistles, shaking his head as he clicks his tongue.

"Now, I knew you wanted her, but I didn't think she'd want you. Not with who her daddy is. But look at that."

Fitz swallows hard, gob smacked. His chest heaves as he racks his brain for words, any words that will explain what the other man's just witnessed. None come to mind, however, and he moves to stand.

"Ay, ay, ay now. I'm not with the sugar shit and I ain't on my jungle either," Harrison fires off, eyes jutting downward.

Clear as day Fitz's dick sits at intention, shoving at the material of his boxers. Heat blazes across Fitz's cheeks and he falls back on the bed. He grabs the pillow he'd been using, a sweet hint of vanilla lingering on it, and puts it in his lap.

"I can explain…" he stutters, but he can't.

"It ain't what it looks like, it ain't what it seems. Blah, blah, blah. I've been on the receiving end of at least ten buckshots to the ass by husbands I tell the same thing to, white boy. Save it. It ain't my business, but if Marcus or Russell find out, you're on your own."

Fuck.

"Get dressed, Marcus said y'all's gonna go for a run."

/

He hates running.

The sun is high in the sky as they jog through Logan Circle. It's barely 8am. Some parts of the beaten down neighborhood buzz with life as people start their day. Other parts are dark and dim, hollowed out and boarded up, the signs of the 68 rebellion everywhere. Fitz keeps quiet as he jogs in place, keeping pace with Marcus. They don't talk as they run, rounding the corner that leads back towards the house.

"I'm sorry about Olivia last night. That was - uh - I can't say out of the usual for my cousin. Sometimes that girl lives for the drama, but Russell…" Marcus breaks the silence first, slowly to a walk.

Fitz gulps, running a hand over his sweaty face. Harrison's held true to his words, but that doesn't stop Fitz's nerves. He doesn't know what Marcus would say if he found out about he and Olivia - hell, Fitz doesn't even know what to say; she'd completely caught him off guard - but he doesn't think Marcus will take too kindly to it. And frankly, he's appalled by his own behavior. He should've stopped her and not taken advantage of her obvious questionable mental state.

Fitz slows into a slow gait, falling in step. "You, uh, you think it's like that all the time between them?" He asks, choosing his words carefully.

"Probably not. Russell is a good guy, I've known him forever. He's got some issues, but he's seen some shit in Vietnam. He'd had too much to drink last night, that's all."

A sourness rumbles in Fitz's stomach. Does he tell Marcus what he knows or does he keep his mouth shut? Is this even his business. Just because he's enamored by Olivia doesn't mean…

He thinks about the bruise beneath her eye, the tear she'd shed and the bruises he'd seen.

"She told me last night that he's hit her before," Fitz blurts out.

Marcus stops. "Excuse me?"

"We, uh, we talked for a minute. She said he hits her."

"And when did y'all talk? I know Olivia, she's a private person, she's not just going to tell a stranger something so personal and out in the open."

Fitz swallows, wonder if he'd just confessed to spending the night with Olivia.

"You sure she said he hits her?"

"Yeah, I guess it started when he came home. You know when he goes back on tour?"

"I didn't even know his tour was over. He just went back in December." Marcus picks up his pace again. "If he's really hitting her and I tell my uncle - Olivia's father - he'll kill him. Protective ain't even the word for the way that man watches Olivia. I'm surprised he even lets her out of his sights half the time. He kills Russell, that'll tear Liv apart."

Marcus's words fade into the distance as Fitz's heart thumps in his chest, blood thrumming in his ears as he runs through the math in his head. The average deployment for a combat soldier bordered on a year. Olivia had told him last night that Russell had been home for two months. Something isn't adding up.

/

Her lips are still swollen and his kisses fresh in her mind. She's never felt an attraction like this before. She's drawn to him and she hates it. Not only is he good looking, but he's kind, too, and she can't quite understand why. For as long as she can remember, her father's been warning her about the nastiness of white men - she's witnessed it first hand in the newspapers and on the TV - but she doesn't see that in Fitz. The way he'd taken care of her wrist, the way he'd caressed her cheek, and kissed her lips doesn't scream evil white man. He hadn't in any shape or form tried to take advantage of her; he's different.

He's different and it's driving her crazy. She would rather he calls her a colored girl or a nigger, spit and kick dirt at her - then she'd know how to deal with him. But this kindness, this softness, she needs it to stop.

She tucks a frizzed lock of hair behind her ear, feeling as the slight wave of her natural curls starts to peak through. Harrison sits at the kitchen table with the newspaper; Nixon's up to no good again.

Harrison sips on his coffee and Olivia avoids his gaze. Unlike Marcus, Harrison isn't her kin, but he's been around for so long he might as well be; they've known each other their entire lives.

"Auntie Thea still make the house breakfast?" Olivia asks, pulling out eggs and orange juice as she hears the floor creaking down the hall, the universal sign that her aunt's risen.

"Only when she has a house full. Which ain't often. She says you stay away."

Olivia swallows, eyes dropping to the floor. She does stay away from her family, not because she doesn't love her arms warm and understanding nature, but because it hurts to be in this house. Since Michael's death in Khe Sanh, the atmosphere of the house has changed.

"I'm glad you're here with her. She doesn't need to be alone," Olivia shifts the subject. "Even if you're getting out of serving because it goes against your religion."

"Hey, hey now. I am a member of the Nation, if religion works for those white boys it works for me. And when it stops working, oh Canada…" Harrison laughs, sipping from his coffee once more.

"You wiggle out of everything."

"Not true, I got the buckshot to the ass to prove it. Neither me nor Mrs. Robinson heard Mr. Robinson coming home."

Olivia chuckles, shaking her head as she begins to pull down pots and pans for breakfast.

"And what about you, Liv. I ain't said nothing about earlier because it ain't my business, but you're basically my kin. Don't get caught up in something that ain't for you."

She pivots, frying pan in hand, ready to tell Harrison to mind his own business because there isn't any business to mind, when her aunt enters the room.

"Livvie, baby, I thought I heard you!" Althea Pope smiles at her niece, and envelopes the young girl in a half hung. "I guess I gotta have a house full of men to get your attention, huh?" Althea comments, her hand running over Olivia's swollen cheek, a look of concern clouding her eyes. "Baby what happened? If my brother saw this…."

Olivia yanks away. "It's nothing, Aunt Thea, I was mugged coming out of Joe's last night."

Harrison coughs from the corner.

"Mugged!" Thea shouts, hand on her chest. "Lord, no. I just… this neighborhood takes a little bit of my soul each day. Let me get you some ice. I'm glad they just mugged you. Lord, my Jesus," Thea rattles on. "Weren't you boys at Joe's last night, how'd y'all let this happen? And where was Russell?"

Olivia cuts her eyes towards Harrison and he opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by the sound of Marcus and Fitz entering the room.

Almost instantly Olivia feels her heart go mad in her chest. It thumps wildly at the sight of him. He's glistening, his muscles sweaty beneath the grey t-shirt stretched across his chest. Olivia suppresses a moan as the feeling of his fingertips dancing across her skin flashes across her memory.

Will he just leave already?

"Where was Russell when?" Marcus asks as he tugs down two glasses and moves towards the sink, filling them with water. He hands a glass off to Fitz.

"When Olivia was mugged last night, look at her face!" Thea shrieks, reaching for Olivia's face, but Olivia pulls away.

"Mugged?" Marcus repeats.

Olivia closes her eyes, waiting for the boom, waiting for Marcus to repeat what he now knows about her, but he doesn't.

"Liv, can I talk to you for a moment?" He asks instead.

She rolls her eyes as she sets down the frying pan in hand and Marcus sets down the water glass. They head into the living room and Olivia folds her arms across her chest. Her bottom lip juts out and she tilts her head. She's expecting a lecture about making a scene last night, but what she gets is far worse.

"Fitz told me what you told him last night, about Russell hitting you all the time."

Her heart sinks and she narrows her eyes in the direction of the kitchen. She'd told him in confidence.

"Olivia, how long has Russell been abusing you?"

Anger pools in her belly and ignores the fact that she's walking proof of her boyfriend's abuse. "He doesn't. He'd never. I don't know what your cracker said to you, but he's wrong," she spits, venom drips from voice.

"Have you seen your face?"

"I have, okay! I have. And you don't get it. You can judge him all you want, but you don't get it. You're out at sea, you're not even doing anything real. Russell is. Don't judge him. Don't." Her voice is dangerously low.

"Look, Olivia, you sort this out or I will. And I might just have to sort it Uncle Eli's way."

Olivia takes a step back, her knees feeling weak beneath the weight of his ultimatum. Out of the corner of her eye she catches sight of Fitz; her sudden attraction turns into strong disgust.

"Tell Aunt Thea I'll be back when you two leave," Olivia declares, tearing from the room. The screen door vibrates on its hinges as she goes. She feels like she's going to throw up.

A small part of her, one she doesn't want to acknowledge, knows Marcus is right, but fuck him. This isn't any of his business. Just like it isn't Fitz's. She'd told him everything last night in confidence and he'd told her secrets to whoever would listen.

She's halfway down the block when she hears him behind her.

He shouts her name down the street and once he's near enough, she stops. She rounds on him and with her well hand, swatting him as hard as she can across the cheek.

A chorus of 'ooooohs' crack the air and Olivia looks across the street to see Mr. Johnson and Mr. Robinson on their porch. The two old men rub elbows and howl with laughter.

Fitz holds his cheek and Olivia steels herself for the worst. She waits, a mixture of fear and defiance swirling in her stomach, for him to knock her down and around. Russell would've. But he doesn't. He takes a step back, both his hands raised in surrender.

"I'm just trying to help you," Fitz insists, his tone pleading.

Once she's confident he won't be hitting her, she squares her shoulders, and locks eyes with him. Errant tears roll down her cheeks. "Stay away from me."