The next morning dawns with ten inches of fresh snow. The forecast is calling for sixteen to twenty by the time the storm moves out, and Fitz is glad that he stockpiled firewood right before Olivia arrived. They're officially in white-out conditions, snow swirling powerfully and making travel impossible.
He's down in the main living room, watching the storm happening outside. James whines softly next to him, resting his head on Fitz's thigh. He's the more sensitive dog between the two, quick to pick up on any disturbance in the house. He can sense immediately when Fitz is going out of town, or if the kids have been visiting and they're leaving again. James hasn't experienced much along the lines of Fitz being angry, or sad, but he clearly senses that something is off.
"It's okay buddy," Fitz soothes, stroking his furry head, scratching his ears.
He can hear Olivia moving around upstairs.
He wouldn't be surprised if she's stalling, avoiding him and the conversation that they obviously need to have. Kissing her last night had felt indescribably right, even though the timing of it was completely horrible. He hadn't gone after her, deciding to follow her lead and give them both space to absorb what had happened. Fitz had barely slept at all, preoccupied with thinking about what to say to her, how to tell her he's still in love with her. He's fidgeting, unconsciously brushing dog hair from his navy henley shirt, running his hands through his hair. Finally, he hears her coming down the stairs.
Fitz stays on the couch, letting her come around into his line of vision. She's wearing gray leggings and an oversized, blush colored sweater that swallows her petite frame. Her face is free of makeup and her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, a few pieces escaping to frame her face along with her bangs. She crosses her arms protectively, looking at him with a slightly guarded expression.
"Liv, last night—"
"Its okay," she interrupts, gently.
"It is?" he blinks, surprised.
"I—you were half asleep, I've had those kinds of dreams too. And I was right there, its only natural that you—"
"Me? Are you seriously—Liv, I was awake and so were you," he says incredulously, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline.
Fitz is on edge immediately. He isn't going to let her brush this aside.
"Fitz, I wasn't—"
"Don't you dare put this on me, we both initiated that kiss and we both—" He stops short of saying they both wanted it, realizing that statement is heading into very dangerous territory.
She's momentarily stunned into silence. She hadn't necessarily been expecting him to take full blame and apologize, but she certainly hadn't expected him to get into it with her. He's been so nervous, so careful around her, the release of emotion takes her by surprise.
"I don't—I didn't—"
"Have you forgotten how well I know you? How well I know your body? I felt it, Liv, we didn't do anything last night that wasn't mutual. I didn't kiss you, you didn't kiss me, we kissed each other."
"I can't do this with you," she says, closing her eyes.
"You can't do what? Talk to me? Be real with me? Believe me, I know," he scoffs, standing up, anger rising in him before he can stop it.
"Don't say it like that. When have I ever been shy about getting things off my chest?"
She's keeping her voice calm, trying not to let the argument escalate.
"Sure, maybe after you've bottled your feelings up for weeks, months even, so that when I finally push you a little bit you let everything out all at once."
She looks at him helplessly, her eyes pleading with him.
"Fitz, why are you doing this? Why are you attacking me? We've been having such a great time, everything has been going so well—"
"Because you're lying to me!" he exclaims with a humorless laugh, "Because I want you to acknowledge what happened! I want you to admit that you wanted to kiss me just as much as I wanted to kiss you. I want you to tell me that what happened last night has been brewing beneath the surface between us since before you got here. Tell me that it felt right to you too. Don't stand there and tell me that you're perfectly happy being friends. Stop pretending that it didn't mean anything, that you didn't feel anything, we both know better."
His attitude is starting to get under her skin. She catches herself clenching her hands into fists, tension collecting across her upper back.
"Maybe we both need to admit that this friendship isn't working. We have too much history, keeping things platonic is too difficult—"
"You're right, this friendship isn't working because you still can't be honest with me," he interrupts.
"How can you even tell if I'm being honest, you've barely let me talk!" she yells, finally.
They glare at each other for a moment.
"This is so typical," he mumbles, resting his hands on his hips, walking over toward the windows.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, anger creeping into her voice.
"You're running! You always run. Don't you ever get tired of running from me? Because watching you do it exhausts me, and I'm not even doing any of the work."
He's being mean and sarcastic, he knows he is, but he can't help it.
"Have you ever considered the possibility that I need space sometimes? That sometimes I run so that I can get a little breathing room to think without you shouting at me?" she shoots back.
"Right, me trying to have a mature conversation about our relationship suffocates you, I forgot."
He throws the comment out carelessly, turning his back to her and walking away a few steps.
Immediately, she's back in that room with him. She feels like she's back in the residence and they're having the same argument they had three years ago, the argument that's burned into her brain.
"Stop right there," she says quietly, her eyes flashing dangerously.
One look at her face tells Fitz he may have gone too far and he immediately regrets taking the fight in this direction. He takes a deep breath and tries to do some damage control.
"Liv, look—"
"No. You want to go there, let's go there."
"Liv, I don't—"
"Let's talk about how you plucked me out of my apartment and trapped me in the White House immediately after I'd spent the night in jail. Let's talk about how you made sure all of my clothes, all of my belongings, every last necklace and bag were in the residence so that I wouldn't have any excuse to try and leave. Let's talk about how my schedule was suddenly so packed full of dinners, and tours, and cocktail hours, and cookie deliveries, that I didn't have a second to myself to even try and absorb what happened."
"Olivia, I didn't—"
"You didn't what? You didn't think that after spending the night in a literal cage I might want the comfort of my own bed? Just for the night?" she continues, eyes filling with tears.
"You didn't think about how feeling trapped might affect me? After holding me through panic attacks and nightmares? You didn't remember that I was still dealing with PTSD on a weekly basis?"
She's crying now, and he's completely floored. Judging by how quickly they had spilled out, she's been sitting on those words for a long time. He hadn't thought about her PTSD. Why hadn't he thought about that?
"You stopped seeing me," she's saying, her voice soft and small, "As soon as I moved into the White House, I felt like you didn't see me anymore. I was trying to squeeze myself into this role that felt so wrong, I was so unhappy, and you didn't even notice. I started to think that maybe you never saw me at all," she finishes, wiping at the tears on her face.
"I was trying to—"
"You know what? It doesn't matter now, none of this matters, because we're done. We were done a long time ago and what happened last night can't ever happen again," Liv says shakily, turning around and walking toward the stairs.
"You left me!" Fitz yells, brokenly.
She turns around, and the pain she sees in his eyes takes her breath away.
"You left me," he chokes out, quieter this time, "I needed you. I needed you more than I've ever needed anyone and you weren't there. You left."
Liv doesn't have to ask what he's talking about. They've never talked about the months right after his re-election, after Gerry's death, but she knows it was difficult for him. She knows she hurt him by leaving, but now she realizes that maybe she hasn't fully grasped how much.
"I was drowning in grief, and you were off on some island vacation with your boyfriend—"
"That isn't what that was about and you know it," she interrupts, eyes blazing again.
"Whatever it was, you were gone. And so maybe I did hold on to you too tightly, but only because I was so afraid of losing you again!" he exclaims, desperate for her to understand.
"Right, and locking me up was the best solution."
"I didn't say it was right, I'm trying to tell you how I felt! If you would take one second to try and see things from my perspective—"
"Why? Because you're so great at putting yourself in my shoes? Because you thought about how I would feel when you held me hostage in the White House? When you tried to manipulate me into marrying you? When you sacrificed innocent lives and started a war because of me?"
Her voice breaks on the last syllable, her chin trembling.
"All we do is hurt each other. I can't do this," she whispers, turning away from him.
"Olivia, where are you going?" he calls after her, following her up the stairs.
"I'm leaving. This was a mistake."
She's out of breath by the time she gets to the top of the stairs, walking through the loft and into her room where he catches up with her.
"Liv, there's a blizzard outside, the secret service aren't even on duty today, you can't just leave."
She pulls her suitcase onto the bed and rounds on him.
"Then I'll charter a helicopter, I'm Olivia Pope in case you've forgotten, I'll handle it," she spits out.
"You're scared," he says softly.
"Stop telling me how I feel!" she yells, throwing clothes into the suitcase, completely exasperated with him.
"You're scared, and you don't have to be," he continues as if she hadn't spoken, walking closer to her.
"Fitz, please," she says when she sees him coming toward her, knowing she's only minutes away from falling apart, from spilling the carefully hidden contents of her heart out for him to see.
"Stop running from me. Talk to me."
"I just did! I just told you—"
"I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about last night. I'm talking about right now. If you're done, if we're done, why are you still wearing the ring?"
That clearly catches her off guard, her face blanching. She immediately clenches the fingers of her left hand, rubbing her thumb against the metal.
"I don't know what you want me to say," she whispers, starting to cry again.
"Why are you still wearing it, Olivia?" he asks, keeping his voice even.
"Fitz, stop," she sobs, backing away from him.
"Why are you still wearing it?"
"Please stop," she says again, squeezing her eyes shut as tears roll down her face.
"Why are you still wearing it, Liv?!" He raises his voice and it pushes her over the edge.
"Because I'm still in love with you! I still love you as much as I did three years ago, as much as I ever have! Is that what you want hear? Do you want to hear about how breaking up with you was one of the hardest things I've ever gone through in my life? How it felt like my whole world was ending? Of course I'm scared, because I don't know if I can go through that pain again. I don't know if I can give you that part of my heart again, and kissing you made me want to. Being here with you makes me want to, it makes me want to give you everything. Being here with you makes me wonder what the hell we've been doing for the past three years, being apart. Kissing you last night felt like coming up for air. I've been trying to get over you for ten years, and if I've realized one thing on this trip it's that I will never be over you."
She looks away from him immediately, hands resting over her diaphragm as she sobs, trying to control her breathing. Liv nearly doubles over at the waist, buries her face in her hands, and breaks down right in front of him. Her posture is defeated, body shaking. Fitz has been rooted to the spot while she talks but he moves now, getting to her in two steps.
Hands over her face, she lets him pull her in and rests her forehead against his chest. She feels so small and fragile as he wraps his arms around her tightly, giving her a safe place to fall apart. She's crying the same way she did that horrible day in the bunker, loud and breathless, and every sob feels like a punch to his gut. But unlike in the bunker, she doesn't push him away. She sinks into him, letting him hold her up, wrapping her arms under his shoulders and pressing her face against his chest. Tears flood his own eyes because he hates hearing her cry, even when he knows its cathartic. He rubs a hand soothingly up and down her back, rocking them slightly where they stand.
She quiets after a few minutes, resting her cheek against his chest with her eyes closed. Now that she's back in his arms she never wants him to let her go again. Hugging him isn't something she does often, actually. It's not necessarily a conscious choice, she just feels so much whenever he's holding her like this. He makes her feel safe, and cared for, and loved. Being that vulnerable takes a lot out of her, emotionally, and it's in her nature to shy away from the feeling. But she's already feeling more vulnerable than she's ever felt before, so she clings to him.
"I don't want to fight with you anymore," he croaks.
"Me neither," she says quietly, sniffling.
He starts to release her but she doesn't let go of him.
"Not yet," she whispers, exhaling in relief when his arms quickly wrap her up again.
"Not yet," he agrees, pressing his face to her hair and taking a deep inhale.
A/N: PROCEED TO CHAPTER 4B, ALSO POSTED! was being annoying about formatting the long chapter and I wanted to get it up rather than fight with a dumb website, so I posted in two parts.