Author's Note: Wow, it's been a minute since I've been on here! Haha I didn't count on just how busy college and work can keep you during the year. I just have to say first THANK YOU to anyone who read/reviewed/enjoyed any of the past installments I've posted, and thank you to anyone who's reading now! I really do appreciate it.

I was actually working on a multi-chapter fic that I've had outlined...and re-outlined since January (that'll hopefully be up within the next few weeks!), but I took a break and this one kind of just happened haha. I was really taken by the finale, and I guess it was more stuck on my brain than I thought. I know a lot of people aren't necessarily a fan of how dark Liv has gone but I'm genuinely enjoying it. I think there are a lot of complexities to who she is now, and many (possibly redeeming, possibly Greek tragedy) directions they can go from here. This was just a scenario I had playing around in my head and couldn't help but write it out.

Also, I apologize in advance for any typos. I just did my final proofread at 4am, but that aside, please enjoy :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Scandal or any of its characters.

It's been five months.

Five months since he's seen her. Five months since she sent him off with a public display of her love to go live the life he had always imagined for them.

It's been nice. The air is fresher there. He had forgotten what it was like to live in a space so pure, and to not feel the dirt and grime of D.C. sticking to his skin the second he opened his eyes.

He wonders often if she likes it, if being in the White House feels as good for her as being out of it feels for him.

They spoke once on the phone a few weeks after he had left. He tried to ignore the way her voice would get distant, and how he could hear her downing what was likely more than one glass of wine as he spoke. It just felt so good to hear her voice again and to be free enough to really enjoy it.

She told him she was fine, and he couldn't bring himself to believe otherwise. He couldn't acknowledge what he knew to be the truth – that she was rarely ever fine– because he was in Vermont, in the sanctuary they had created and baptized, and she was still in D.C. And there wasn't anything he could do to change that.

But one day, he finds himself watching the news longer than he has in a while, and he starts to notice things. And he can no longer ignore that things aren't fine.

To the average viewer, they're all coincidences: a senator's resignation, a congressman's arrest, a supreme court justice's untimely death. But together, they send off a series of bells and whistles in his head.

He recalls easily that those particular names had caused trouble for his administration on more than one occasion – that they were continuous thorns in his side, and he was sure that they could have only continued to be such for Mellie.

He almost shakes it off, almost ignores the sinking feeling settling in at the pit of his stomach and changes the channel. Until one report catches his attention.

"We are now receiving word that it appears Judge Richardson passed away in his sleep from a heart attack..."

It takes him a moment to remember why those words sound so eerily familiar, and then it hits him.

Luna Vargas died the same way.

They said she was found in her office the night of the inauguration. Her agents claimed she had retreated for a brief nap before the ball, and the next thing they knew, they were checking her pulse.

The country was in complete mourning in the days following her death.

Poor Luna Vargas couldn't handle the stress of her husband's death and having to uphold his legacy. And those poor kids...

At the time, he couldn't help but believe they had a hand in it. Maybe if they had just left her alone, let her retreat from the public eye in peace, she wouldn't have been so stressed; she wouldn't have died.

But now, staring at his screen five months later, he can't help but feel that this wouldn't have been the case. Luna still would have died.

Someone still would have killed her.

The realization brings him to his feet, and he begins pacing immediately. Back and forth at first because he's trying to think, and then...circles, because something's wrong. He got that from her.

Was she a part of it?

Did she have something to do with it?

He stops abruptly as a thought strikes him. His body feels too hot, and then suddenly too cold.

She had everything to do with it.

He doesn't want to believe it, and nearly convinces himself that he doesn't. But soon, he's on a plane heading south and trying to reconcile the most irrational thing he's done since the last days of his presidency.

It's all a blur, really. Calling up to have his private plane ready to go, spending just over an hour in the air, the subsequent car ride. He can't really recall any of it, because he was in such a haze – going over every possible scenario, filing through every tidbit of news he had retained of the goings-on in D.C. since his absence.

But soon, too soon, he finds himself in an all too familiar position.

It's late and he's standing outside her door.

He can't bring himself to knock, so he stares. It hits him then just how ridiculous this all is.

What the hell was he thinking?

Coming here, thinking that she was –

"Fitz?"

He turns around quickly, just in time to see her step off the elevator. She looks confused beyond words, and he can feel his cheeks begin to heat. For a moment, he wishes he hadn't told his agent to wait outside in the car, so that at least they wouldn't be alone.

The thought almost makes him laugh.

He never thought he'd see the day he actually wanted agents imposing on their private time together.

"I…" he starts, then stops, not entirely knowing how to explain the whole situation. They stand in an uncomfortable silence for a long moment.

Despite her confusion, she eventually walks over and unlocks her door, allowing him inside.

And suddenly, the wall cracks. In her apartment, hidden from the world, it feels easier to speak – easier to just be; just as it always has. He watches as she removes her coat and sinks slowly onto the couch, all the while her gaze avoids his. He moves to sit next to her, leaving a distance between them that doesn't quite feel right.

She speaks after a long moment, "What are you doing here, Fitz?"

She doesn't seem angry, but the curiosity in her tone is colored by a tinge of disapproval.

He stares at her profile, waiting for her to turn to him. A minute nearly passes before she finally does.

He's immediately struck by the bags under her eyes and the slight furrowing of her eyebrows. She's beautiful as always, but she looks…weary.

"Liv." he wants to ask her so many questions, to know if she's done anything his mind has managed to conjure up in the last five hours. He wants to ask so that she can deny, but he knows now that won't be the case.

"I know," he says instead. He watches the moment realization hits her; a series of emotions flash across her face – fear, remorse, anger. He can see as she tries to close herself off to him, armoring herself with the steel wall of defense he assumes she's been carrying around all these months.

But he can't let her. Not here.

"Livvie," he tries, hoping to remind her that it's them, just them.

It seems to work, as her eyes soften and her shoulders relax for just a moment. He knows it's his chance and, as much as he hates to, he has to continue.

"Luna Vargas." The way she looks to the side at the mention of the woman's name tells him all he needs to know, but he still goes on. "That was you, wasn't it? And Judge Richardson?"

She stands, quickly moving across the room and disappearing into her kitchen.

"Liv?" He calls out, his quickly growing frustration seeping into his voice.

She comes out a moment later carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses.

Oh.

"I can't talk about this with you without a drink."

She pops the cork like every bit of the pro she is and pours a generous amount in his glass, before nearly filling her own to the brim. He watches as she drains almost half of it in one go.

"Who told you?" She questions with the glass still held firmly in her hands.

He takes a sip from his glass and leans back into the couch.

"No one. I was just watching the news and I guess I just started putting things together."

She turns to look at him for a long moment. Her gaze is intense, and he realizes she's trying to discern if he's telling the truth.

The realization makes his eyebrows furrow.

"Are you serious, Liv?" He places his glass down harshly on the table. "Why would I need to lie to you? After eight years as president, I'd like to think I have enough experience with these things to know when they stop being coincidences."

She seems surprised by his anger and starts to shake her head. "No it's not – you weren't approached by my father at all?"

His anger gives way to confusion, and he relaxes into the couch once more.

"No, why?"

"It's just," she takes another sip, "I told him to leave you alone." She pauses for a moment, her gaze focusing on the last of the wine in her glass. "You shouldn't be here. You're done with all of this. You should be working on your foundation, enjoying Vermont. Not thinking about whatever's going on over here."

"What is going on over here?" He slowly removes the glass from her hand, trying to return her attention to him.

She lets him take her hands in his and returns his gaze, but doesn't speak. He can tell by the look on her face that she's debating with herself. He waits patiently until she finally decides on what to say.

"Luna Vargas was an active threat to both the president-elect and to this administration. Judge Robinson was a threat to this country's upholding its constitutional values. I did what needed to be done."

His eyes go wide for a moment. "You mean Luna was behind –"

"I'm not at liberty to say anymore."

The request for him to not ask anything else is written so clearly across her face, and he decides he doesn't need any further details on their deaths. But he still has questions, questions that need answers.

"Are you saying this as Chief of Staff or as Command?"

It sounds so wrong coming from his mouth, tastes bitter on his tongue. He doesn't know how he expected her to react, but the causal raise of her eyebrows throws him for a loop.

"You sound upset."

He lets out an incredulous chuckle, mimicking her actions from minutes ago by nearly draining his glass.

"I just think it's a little funny you were so hellbent on convincing me not to take the position, only to turn around and take it yourself."

"Fitz," she sighs.

He runs his hand over his face in frustration. "I just want to know why, Liv!" His voice is loud now, because he can't deny it anymore, because the reality of it is crashing on him in waves and he's forgotten just how bad this can feel.

"That's why!" Her tone matches his, and soon she's standing again, pacing…

"I talked you out of taking it because you didn't deserve to go through that. Because I didn't want it for you, not because I wanted it for me."

The moment she finishes, they both seem to deflate. The anger is gone as quickly as it arrived, and they both simply look at one another.

She slowly returns to her seat next to him, this time sitting so that there is no space between them. He instinctively places an arm around her shoulder, and she falls into him, crossing one leg over the other and letting it intertwine with his.

It feels so natural, clinging to each other in this way – a lifeline in the uncharted territory they've officially entered.

They remain quietly entangled for a long while. He's almost completely relaxed when she starts to speak again.

"I always thought my father was exaggerating with that whole 'protecting the republic' spiel. I mean, he definitely was sometimes, but there was some truth to it."

He listens to her words carefully, knowing firsthand – even if only briefly – how deeply they could ring true.

"There was always going to be somebody. Somebody trying to stack the deck in their favor, trying to have the final say, trying to have control." She sighs, and he notices just how tired she truly sounds. "There was always going to be another outsider – another Peus or Luna to fight." She turns so that she is looking directly at him. "I don't want to have to keep fighting for what's right. For what's mine."

Her final words linger in the air. And for a moment, the world doesn't seem so big. Everything outside her apartment suddenly seems so distant, so far removed from the present moment that they both allow themselves to forget.

Before either of them realize what's happening, they're leaning in.

Their lips touch in a collision simultaneously so soft and so powerful that, for a moment, it feels like the world has been set right. The kiss quickly grows heated, as she whimpers into his mouth and he groans into hers.

They've both missed this, more than either would like to admit. The time and distance has made them hungry in a way they've only been a few times before. She moves to straddle his lap the moment his tongue brushes against hers, and he takes it upon himself to hold her closer so that she can feel the effect she's having on him.

He's soon moving to her neck and his hands are gripping her ass, his hips already starting to grind against hers.

"Fitz…" she moans, moving her hand to the back of his head.

He groans in approval at the familiar feel of her hands tangled in his hair and nips at her neck. She lifts his face to hers again, and their lips meet with renewed fervor.

That seems to be the final threshold. They're desperate now and begin to remove their clothes hurriedly. He nearly snags a few buttons on her blouse, and she removes his polo in record time.

When all's gone but his boxers and her panties, he picks her up and makes his way to her bedroom – all the while she lays kisses along his jawline. He drops her on the bed, wasting no time as she stretches out and he places himself between her thighs.

He takes a moment to breathe her in, and revels in how good it feels to be here again – listening to her shallow breaths, threatening at any moment to crescendo into moans of bliss. The thought sends him over the edge, and he hastily removes the final silk barrier.

Her head falls back at the first lick, and he wonders how they've made it so long without this.

She cries out when he takes her over the edge, and he's sure he won't make it so long again.

Sometime after he's sated her twice over, he finds himself taking in her beauty from above as he aligns himself with her center. He enters slowly, crooning a low, nearly growl-like "Livvie," as she gasps.

He moves slowly at first, letting them both get readjusted after all this time.

But soon, he's being urged on by her cries of , "Harder, Fitz, please."

"Shit, Livvie…missed you."

"Right there… feels so good."

"Fuck."

"Yes! Fitz, please…missed you too."

They're panting, moving together.

It's what they do – what they've always done. And it feels so unbelievably right…

She falls over the edge with a gasp and a soundless scream, the power of her orgasm taking her by surprise. He follows immediately afterwards, groaning loudly and calling out her name.

They don't move for a long while. Her arms stay wrapped under his, holding onto his shoulders. He remains slightly elevated above her. Their foreheads touch and they try desperately to catch their breaths, all the while breathing each other in.

Eventually, he slips out of her, and she involuntarily whimpers his name at the loss. He hides his face in her neck and carefully lowers his body onto hers. They both sigh at the contact.

Later, when their eyes are heavy and he moves to get off of her, they end up making love again.

Their night persists in this way – love-making punctuated by short intervals of dozing off. They both know it to be a brief suspension of reality, the escape they both so desperately need. But somewhere, in the midst of it all, something about the rawness, the passion, the love feels so real, that they can't bring themselves stop.

When daylight finally breaks, they're slow to get out of bed.

They bring the last of the night's escape with them into the shower, letting it resonate in moans echoing off the tiled walls and drift away on clouds of steam.

They don't speak much during that time, at least not about what they know they should. They pretend that everything's normal – that the beginning of their day together won't inevitability start their next few weeks apart.

He compliments her in the mirror when she's almost fully dressed and she gives him a rare, brilliant smile in return. She gives him a shirt of his she's had stashed away in her closet in exchange for his discarded polo from the day before. He makes them coffee he finds in the kitchen and they debate whether she's stolen more of his shirts or he's snagged more of her underwear.

It feels right.

But then, the early morning hours give way to seven, then eight, and they both know it's time to go.

He informs her that his plane is scheduled to leave within the next hour, and she shares that she'll be heading to the office soon.

He doesn't ask which one.

But she sees the look in his eyes, and she knows that there's still the elephant in the room. With a resolved sigh, she takes his hand and guides him back to the couch, eyeing with disdain the bottle she left open all night.

He chuckles at her reaction, and she immediately relaxes.

Once they're settled, she turns to meet his gaze.

"I know you don't agree, but," she takes in a deep breath. "I don't need to be saved." Not yet. "I just…"

He watches her, waiting patiently for her to finish her thought.

"I need you to be safe." She averts her gaze for a moment, before looking back at him. "I know you want to be away from all of this, and you deserve to be. But…I don't. I don't want to be free from it all. Not yet. I just need to know what it's like to feel in control of my own life. I deserve that."

It makes sense, listening to her, but he can't help but worry.

"I can't let go. I'm not done yet."

It's less of a declaration and more of a plea. He can hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes – a plea to understand.

He doesn't understand completely, and knows he probably never will. He hasn't been through the same experiences she has. He hasn't lived the life she has. But he knows it's not his place to stand in her way – not now at least.

More importantly, he knows he'll be there when she is ready.

"I can't let go either," he responds, hoping she'll understand what he means.

"I know," she sighs, "and I don't want you to."

They're both silent after that, letting the gravity of their words fill the space. After a moment, he looks down at his watch.

"I guess I should get going." Just as he rises from the couch, her hand grabs his.

"Wait." She urges him to sit back down. "Just one minute. Please?"

She looks so vulnerable in that moment, and his heart clenches with the realization that this has all taken such a heavy toll on her. She was asking for one last moment to be human – a final chance to just be, before she had to go out into the world, guns blazing, in all her Olivia Pope armor to be Chief of Staff…to be Command.

"One minute." He nods with a smile, taking her into his arms.

He breathes her in, letting himself think about only how good it feels to have her in his arms, how grateful he is that she still feels like home after so many years. He can feel her breath hitch and immediately begins rubbing his hand over her back, hoping to soothe her.

The minute is over far sooner than either of them would have liked, and he slowly helps her to her feet. He grabs the blazer she's thrown over the back of a chair and holds it out, helping her put it on. He smooths his hands over her shoulders and she gives him a small smile.

They slowly make their way out her door. He watches in near awe the transformation that occurs when she steps outside. It's subtle – unnoticeable, he's sure, to anyone else – but still there. Her posture becomes impossibly straighter, the light in her eyes dims ever so slightly and he can tell that her guard is back up.

They're both going down, but they know they won't ride in the elevator together – that this is their goodbye.

She continues to stand near her door, and he takes that at his cue to go first. He can feel her eyes on him as he waits for the elevator.

When it finally arrives, he gets on and turns around, keeping it open with his hands.

After a moment, with a final, sad smile he speaks, "Goodbye, Ms. Pope."

Her expression mimics his. It's the last thing he sees when he finally lets the doors start to close.

"See you later, Fitz."

Until next time…