A/N: The alternate title for this one is "Olivia Pope is Not a Sociopath". I'm still not over the ending of the Thwack episode, so I fixed it with a more realistic reaction on Olivia's part.
"Shh…shh…shh…"
Shushing calms babies because it imitates the sound they hear in utero. The soothing effect of that sound, is something that's often carried into adulthood. Anyone who sleeps better with white noise, or falls asleep easily in a car, does so because, once upon a time, they were a fetus being kept warm and safe inside their mother's body. They listened to the loud rush of blood pulsations for nine months, being jiggled around all day as their mother went about her daily life, inadvertently ingraining sensory memories that every human being possesses somewhere in the recesses of their brain.
It's how everyone starts out.
It's how Olivia Pope finds herself being comforted right now, at thirty-nine years old.
The only thing she's aware of is Fitz in her ear, shushing.
She doesn't know how long she's been sitting on the floor in the bunker, and she doesn't remember how or why he's here. She just knows he's here, remembers hearing his voice, seeing his eyes, and being pulled up into his arms where's it's safe.
It's always safe here.
Olivia takes a deep breath, letting his familiar scent wash over her, sliding her hands across his warm, broad shoulders. From the moment she feels his body against hers she doesn't know anything else, and she doesn't want to. She clings to him, because he's the only thing that makes sense in a world that feels like it's caved in around her. She closes her eyes to it all and pushes it away.
Fitz is here, it's okay now.
Fitz will keep her safe.
It's okay to hide, it's okay to let go.
He loves her, and she trusts him.
She doesn't need to worry, she's not alone anymore, he's here.
Fitz is here.
She's not making any noise, she's nearly catatonic when he finds her, and he knows it's bad. It's very bad. So, he shushes her.
"Shh…shh…shh…"
They've found themselves in this position once before, after a particularly brutal nightmare left her hyperventilating and sobbing. Fitz doesn't have much experience comforting adults, but he's comforted three babies and he knows they like to be shushed, so that's what he'd done. And it had worked, it had comforted her enough that she could breathe again, that the tears nearly stopped.
He's rocking her now, just a little bit, because he knows she likes that when she's upset. She's taking deep breaths, her face tucked into his neck, breathing him in. He has no idea how this happened but it doesn't matter right now, the only thing that matters is the broken woman in his arms.
The doors open, breaking the silence, and Abby walks in.
"Oh my god…"
Fitz tries to turn toward Abby, to ease his arms from around her but she tightens her hold around his neck.
"No, no," she whimpers, burying her face in his shoulder, begging him not to let her go.
"Okay, I'm sorry, I won't. I've got you," he murmurs, so quietly that only she can make out what he's saying.
Her heart starts pounding at the feeling of him letting her go, and he feels it against his chest. She's clinging to him tightly, like he's a lifeline, and she's obviously in shock after…whatever had happened in this room.
"Abby," he calls in a louder voice, "I need you to give us a few minutes. Go outside. No one comes in until we come out."
"Sir—"
"Out. Now."
Her whole body is trembling in his arms as the adrenaline leaves her bloodstream, and she lets go of him for half a second to wrap her arms under his shoulders instead of over, pressing her face into his chest. Fitz wraps her up tighter as she shakes, trying to get as much contact between them as possible.
"I'm scared."
"Shh…shh…shh…"
He's scared too, because he doesn't know all of the details but he's almost certain that she's just committed murder in a fit of PTSD-induced rage.
The signs were there.
She doesn't know that he can tell when she's having flashbacks, but he can. Her tells are so subtle, so quick, but he's seen it often enough to recognize when it's happening.
For a split second, everything behind her eyes disappears while the flashback itself is happening. She's unaware of what's going on around her, and she'll often startle ever so slightly when she comes out of it. Sometimes when it's over she does a slow blink, trying to clear her head, and sometimes she cracks her neck, sometimes she does both.
All of the signs were there during their meetings in the kitchen. He'd watched her out of the corner of his eye, watched her have two flashbacks during their first meeting and three during their second. He knew she was struggling and he didn't say anything to her, and he should have. He should have swallowed his damn pride and made her talk to him. Even as he thinks it he knows its irrational, because she would have shut down immediately, but he should have tried.
He needs to get her out of here.
"Liv, we need to leave, okay?" he says, talking to her in a low, soothing voice.
She squeezes him tighter, which at least indicates that she can hear him, that she's semi-cognizant of what's going on. He rocks her back and forth.
"We're gonna leave together, I'm not letting you go. It's just you and me, don't worry about anything else right now."
He slowly moves to pick her up, looping one arm under her knees and the other around her back. She lets him, wrapping her arms around his neck, hiding her face again.
"I've got you. Just breathe, okay? Keep breathing," he murmurs, feeling her nod against his shoulder as he walks to the door and taps it with his foot.
Abby is still outside when they leave, and there are questions written all over her face, but Fitz ignores her, heading straight for the exit of the bunker.
"Sir—"
"Deal with it," he calls over his shoulder, inadvertently making Olivia jump in his arms, "Shh, I'm sorry. We're okay, just a bit of a walk."
The secret service don't question her presence, taking up their usual formation around him as he turns into the tunnel matrix beneath the White House. His strides are long and purposeful even though he's carrying her, and he can't help but realize how light she feels, how small she is in his arms. She's still shaking, shuddering violently against him every so often, her grip tight around his neck.
They finally make it up the stairs and into the service elevator. His arms are burning but he barely notices, so intent on getting her up to the Residence, where he can sit her down and make sure she's alright.
He carries her straight into the bathroom and shuts the door, quickly deducing that they're least likely to be disturbed there. She has blood on her face, he remembers, and he wants to clean her up as soon as she'll let him.
There's a chair in the corner of the bathroom and he sits down on it, keeping her in his lap.
"We're in the Residence, okay? We're just going to sit here, I won't let you go. When you're ready, you can let go, I won't move until you do."
He feels her take another deep breath and relax her grip around his neck a little bit, but she doesn't move yet, keeping her face hidden.
Slowly, she becomes more and more aware.
They're in the Residence, she vaguely remembers him telling her that. She's still in his arms, and one of his hands is tracing slow circles over her back, trying to help her relax. More than anything, she wishes she could relax, that the tremors would stop, that her heart would stop pumping so hard.
Eventually, she realizes that he's talking to her.
His voice is low and soft, vibrating through his chest, and she starts to focus on the tone, letting it soothe her. For the first few moments, she feels like she's in a fog, like he's speaking another language, but his words slowly start to make sense.
"…and the other night, I was having dinner with Teddy. We were eating macaroni and cheese, so, he was in a particularly good mood. I was too, to be honest, we don't eat macaroni and cheese as adults nearly enough. Anyway, we're sitting there and he goes 'Daddy, what is your job gonna be after you're done being President?' And, I didn't really know what to tell him. I mean, I know I'll do some foundation work, and speaking engagements, and activism, but how do you explain that to a 4-year-old? So, I asked him what he thought my job should be. He told me he wanted me to be a farmer," he tells her, chuckling quietly.
"I thought that was such a funny answer. When I asked him why he wanted me to be a farmer, he told me that they have a garden at his school. He's been going to preschool a couple mornings a week, this fancy-pants preschool that meets the security requirements, and they have a whole ecosystem there apparently. He said going to the garden is his favorite, and if I were a farmer, we could have a huge garden. And then, he said 'we could be together all day and pick the vegetables', and I realized we just wanted us to do something together. That broke my heart."
As soon as she focuses on his words, everything starts to sharpen. Flashes of memory start to come back, her heart starts to pound, her stomach starts to twist—
"Fitz, I'm going to be sick," she whimpers, sitting up abruptly, covering her mouth.
He springs into action, helping her over to the toilet as quickly as he can. "Okay, that's okay, over here."
She drops to her knees and wretches, immediately throwing up the contents of her stomach.
"It's okay," he murmurs, gathering her hair and holding it away from her face.
Taking a deep breath, she coughs and gags, dry heaving, starting to cry. There'd barely been anything in her stomach to begin with, but bile and acid rise before she can stop them, burning her throat.
"Fitz," she moans, gasping for breath.
"I know," he soothes, "It's alright, I'm right here. We're okay. Easy, easy."
She heaves a few more times before she gains control, taking deep breaths, swallowing over and over. Fitz lets her hair go, reaching up to flush the toilet and grab a tissue for her. When she turns to look at him she's crying harder, her eyes wide and wet.
"I—oh my god—I ki—Fitz, I killed him—I—oh my god—"
"Shh…I know," he whispers, tears filling his own eyes at the devastation in hers, "What happened, Livvie?"
Her whole body shudders, her breath catching as she cries. "I just wanted him to stop. I needed it to stop—I don't—I—he was so disgusting, I'm not—why—I don't understand why he would say those things—"
"What things?" Fitz murmurs, trying to make sense of what she's saying.
"He was taunting me," she gets out, her voice shaking, "He said I was cheap, and—and a s-slut, and I couldn't—I should have been stronger, but that fucking red door—I can't get away, I can't get out, why can't I get out, Fitz—"
She folds in on herself, sobbing, arms wrapped around her stomach, and he doesn't think he's ever felt so helpless. He gathers her up, holding her against his chest as she cries loud, gut-wrenching sobs.
"…help me…I need—I can't get out…"
"Shh, shh," he soothes, blinking against the sting of tears, tightening his arms around her.
She cries for what feels like forever, until he's wondering if she needs more help than he can give her.
But just when he's second guessing himself, she starts to quiet.
She's exhausted herself, finally calming, crawling further into his arms and letting him support her weight. Fitz rubs her back, trying to decide what to do next, trying to decide what she needs. Being allowed to comfort her is a foreign concept, but he goes with his gut, deciding that he should clean her up and let her sleep.
"Hey," he murmurs, gently sitting her up, "Sit up for me, okay?"
"Fitz…'m tired," Liv mumbles, holding on to his arms.
He unties her coat, peeling it off. "I know, we're gonna sleep. Let me help you change first, do you want to wear one of my shirts?"
She nods slowly, absently playing with the end of his tie, unnaturally focused on the pattern, the texture. When he goes to stand, she grabs his arm, squeezing tightly.
"Okay, we'll do this first, come here."
Helping her stand, he sits her on the closed toilet seat and grabs a few tissues, wetting them with warm water. She lets him gently clean the blood from her face, and he's relieved when he hands her a toothbrush, and she's coherent enough to use it. He coaxes her to stand and watches her brush, spit, and rinse, waiting for her to look at him.
Her eyes are a little vacant, but she makes eye contact with him, silently telling him he's doing the right thing, that she can't do it by herself right now.
Eventually, he gets her changed and into bed, stripping his clothes off and climbing in with her. She immediately buries herself in his arms, sighing in relief.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, her breath catching.
"No," he murmurs immediately, nuzzling his face into her hair, "It's gonna be okay. Don't worry, everything is going to be okay. We'll fix it."
She's crying again, quietly.
"How?"
Fitz sighs, tightening his arms around her. "I don't know, Livvie. But we'll figure it out, I promise."
A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!