A/N: I finally got to write a long chapter. It's about time. I can say my writer's block has finally gone away. Well at least for this story. My job, however, is still trying to kill me.
I hope you enjoy.
Nothing is going right. Olivia is passed flustered as she stares into the mirror, instantly hating her reflection. Despite her deep brown complexion, she's bright red. Hives liter the back of her neck and chest. Lipstick is smudged across her teeth. Her hair won't sit just right and the dress she wanted to wear is still at her father's house. She lets out a high-pitched squeal and stomps her foot.
"Aunt Theaaaa," Olivia pouts. "Aunt Thea!"
"What's going on, Bug?" Thea asks, footsteps heavy as they approach the bathroom. "Everything alright?"
"Look at me, I can't go anywhere looking like this!" Olivia gestures to her reflection, appalled. "I look disgusting!"
Thea purses her lips and sighs. The older woman slides into the bathroom and takes her nieces hands, leading Olivia to sit on the closed toilet seat. "Baby, you're making yourself upset. Just stay right here and stop crying."
Olivia sits, wiping at her eyes with her fingertips, as Althea walks out. Olivia listens as her aunt's footsteps descend the stairs and then back up. When she returns, Althea carries a cloth ice pack in hand.
She holds it out for Olivia to take. "Put it on your chest. It'll stop the redness."
Olivia does as she's told, thankful that she hasn't gotten dressed yet. "I'm just going to call the hotel and tell him I can't go," she says.
Althea reaches out and runs a hand through the heat styled waves on Olivia's head. "Girl, I will kick your ass. I will take you outside, in that street, and wear you out if you even go near that phone. You hear me?"
Their eyes meet briefly before Olivia breaks their gaze. She stares down at the cotton robe, a frown pulling down her lips. "I look awful. He can't see me like this."
"You've been waiting a half a year for him to make it back here. Pull it together," Althea tells her. "Why are you so nervous? Y'all flitted about here yesterday like lifelong friends."
"Because I didn't know he was going to be here. I don't have to think about it. Now I do. I just want to look nice and I look like a Pollack painting. My chest, my face. What if he takes one look at me and walks away?"
"That boy has both nostrils wide open for you. He followed you around here like a puppy dog. You could put a paper sac over your head and he'd still have stars in his eyes," Althea continues. She tears off a square of toilet paper and wipes at the corner of Olivia's mouth and then tears off another, motioning to Olivia's teeth.
Olivia wipes at her teeth, trying her hardest to suck in the tears, but fails. They still roll down her sharp cheeks and she sniffles. Last time she cried this much in this bathroom was a week after her mom passed. Then, too, it was hard for her to look in the mirror because she could only see her mother.
"Why are you so up in arms?" Althea asks.
Sighing, Olivia wipes at her teeth. She knows she can tell her aunt anything, but for some reason she's still having a hard time letting the words out. Although Althea promises that, unlike her brother, she doesn't care about the fact that Fitz is white, Olivia doesn't know if she completely believes her aunt. Especially since the magnitude of her feelings for Fitz are far stronger than she'd originally thought. "I like him," Olivia offers up, voice meek.
"I got that part. What else is it, Livvie?" Althea prods.
A string of stray tears slid down her face once more. She takes a deep breath and tilts her chin upwards to look at her aunt. "Because I think I'm falling in love with him and I'm scared," she finally says. The thought alone scares her for two reasons. The first reason is that she doesn't know if it's two soon or not and the second? Well, she thinks about Russell. About how he'd been her greatest piece of heaven before becoming her personal hell. What if that happens with Fitz, too?
"Oh Bug…"
Olivia looks up. "I don't want him to end up being like Russell."
Althea sighs and then nods. "It took me forever to trust another man after…" she waves her hand in air, "it wasn't easy. I was terrified."
"How did you get over that fear?" Olivia asks.
Althea tilts her chin upwards, her eyes drift across the ceiling and the room is silent for several moments. "It took a long time, actually."
Her aunt's words prompt Olivia to frown. "It's already been six months."
"And it can be six years. It takes a lot to open yourself back up after something like that. Even then, you still have your moments. You still flinch when the door slams or he raises his voice. Sometimes you turn hysterical and beg him not to hit you even though you know he won't. And you won't mean to, at all." Althea leans against the bathroom sink. "You know he isn't the one who hurt you, but you also know that the one who originally hurt you didn't start out hurting you, either…"
Olivia's eyes begin to water again. She takes in her aunt's face, noting the years that sit in the lines that gather around Althea's eyes and mouth. Of course, her aunt would understand. Olivia thinks back to that night, all those months ago, sitting in her aunt's lap as Althea told her story. Sometimes –well all of the time— Althea amazes her niece. Whether or not the older woman knows it, Olivia is still in wonder. "When did you stop thinking about what happened?" she asks, voice low and soft.
"October 4th, 1968."
"You remember the exact date?" Olivia asks.
"It's the day your uncle passed."
Olivia frowns. "Oh, I should've remembered that…"
Thea shakes her head. "Don't worry about it, Bug."
"So, you were afraid of Uncle Miggy until he died?" Olivia asks. The thought causes her heart to jerk in her chest. She can't fathom being afraid of someone who'd never done her wrong the entire time they're together.
"Yes and no. I wasn't afraid of him. Muscle memory is a bitch, Livvie. You think you're over it, but the body remembers, even when the mind doesn't want to. The body always remembers."
"How did – did Uncle Miggy ever get mad?"
Althea shakes her head. "I think that's why I loved him so much. He was gentle with me even when I wasn't with him. He was patient and I had to be honest. If you think you're falling in love with Fitz, and he thinks the same, you have to tell each other that."
"What if I'm afraid to?" Olivia asks, eyes staring down into her lap. She pulls at a fuzzy on her robe. "Or what if he can't handle it?"
"Then he's not supposed to be yours."
Olivia nods, thinking back to what she can remember the night she shot Russell. "The night – the night I shot Russell…" her voice goes low; even saying the words out loud to anyone other than her therapist hurts, "before it happened…I was belligerent. I think I tried to fight Fitz. I think I tried to sleep with him and when he wouldn't sleep with me, I hit him. I tried to get him to hit me back because that's all I could understand."
"What happened then?"
"He helped me clean myself up – I threw up – and I asked him if he'd take care of me. He did. Even though he knew Russell was probably going to show up, Fitz stayed with me."
Althea cracks a soft smile. "I think he understands a lot more about you than you know. I think he already knows just exactly what he's getting into with you and that he's here for however long you want him to be."
"You really don't care if he's white?" Olivia asks, tossing the melting icepack into the sink.
"I can't say it doesn't bother me completely, Bug, but if he's good to you and you love him, who am I to say anything?"
Althea's words are a lifeline Olivia only just realizes she needs. She stands abruptly, nearly knocking Althea over as she wraps her arms around her aunt's neck and hugs the older woman tightly.
Althea returns Olivia's hug. She pats Olivia's head. "Come on now. Pull yourself together in here and then meet me downstairs so I can touch up your hair with the hot comb."
/
Butterflies flit through Olivia's stomach as she holds tightly to Fitz's right hand. They
move through the Old Ebbitt Grill hand in hand, to their table. Eyes follow them as they move through the restaurant, passing by some of Congress's most famous and infamous faces. She's dressed in an emerald green midi dress with sheer balloon sleeves that go all the way down to her wrists. Her toes are wrapped in gold heels that bring the top of her head past Fitz's shoulder. Her hair is pulled back in a high ponytail and her makeup is light, natural. It'd taken her nearly another hour to recover from her meltdown, but she's okay – somewhat – now. Her nerves still twist her insides into knots, and she knows by the time the night is done, her hair will be fighting to stay in its heat-styled waves. Fitz wears a tailored brown suit with a vest and paisley tie.
"You don't have to be nervous," Fitz whispers, "I promise I won't let anything happen to you." He smiles as they reach their table and the waiter tells them he'll be right back.
"I know." Olivia laughs, unable to hide her nerves, as Fitz pulls her chair out for her. Once she sits, Fitz walks around the small, circular table, and takes his seat, too. She can't hide her smile as their eyes meet and she wonders if he's just as scared but is able to hide it better.
"Have you been here before?" He asks.
Olivia nods. "My dad has argued a couple of cases in D.C. this is one of his favorite places to come if he's won."
"Your dad seems like an interesting man."
"I guess that's one way to put it," she says, hoping they can change the subject soon. Before she has the chance to ask, however, the waiter reappears. He's a thin kid, white, with shaggy brown hair and a budding beard. He can't be older than Olivia. He hands them both two menus before disappearing again.
"Anything you recommend?" Fitz asks.
"I usually get the salmon."
"That does look good. So do the oysters."
"You know some people consider those to be aphrodisiacs?" Olivia asks. Her comment is off the cuff and nothing more, but as she plays the words back in her head, she blushes. She's been in his lap; they've kissed repeatedly and she's about 98% certain he's seen her topless, yet she still blushes. Hell, her legs have been wrapped around him and she's all but jumped his bones. Somehow, though, the determined and confident girl from yesterday is gone. She's been replaced by the somewhat uncertain woman sitting across from him. The one who's afraid she'll mess this up. The one who worries she'll somehow scare him away despite the fact that she believes him when he says that he's falling in love. She is too.
Fitz cracks a smile. He chuckles and she watches as a slight redness blooms across his cheeks. "I have heard that. In my experience I haven't found it to be true, though."
"Do you have a lot of experience with oysters and women?" Olivia asks. It dawns on her that she knows nothing of his romantic history, and he knows all of hers.
"Some. Not any worth remembering."
"With anyone like me?"
"If you're asking me whether or not I've dated another African American woman, the answer is no. My dating history in general is pretty spotted. I dated a woman by the name of Mellie Thomas for the entirety of college before picking up in the Navy."
"Why did you two break up?" Olivia pushes, wondering if this is impolite conversation. Across the table, Fitz sets his menu down. "She preferred my then best-friend to me and choose the day I proposed to her, to tell me that they'd been seeing each other behind my back."
Olivia's mouth forms a soft 'oh' and her eyes drop back to her menu. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up something so…awful."
"It's not awful at all. I mean at the time it was. I was broken hearted. I believe things happen for a reason though. Had I married Mellie; I would've never met you."
Despite the sentiment conveyed by his words, Olivia still frowns. It isn't that she's not moved by his words, but they're bittersweet. "Yeah, I must've made a perfect first impression. Getting smacked around in a bar hallway…"
"Hey, hey…" his voice is soft, "that's not on you. Now did you give me hell when we first met? Yeah, but I'd step in front of you a million times over. Plus, that's not even the first time we met. You sang to me. Why me? Out of everyone there that night, why me?"
A tight smile tugs across her face. She doesn't like to think back to that night. She's never told anyone that before she and Russell got to Old Joe's, Russell had spent the day drinking and knocking her around. If she thinks too hard about it, she can still feel the carpet under her thighs, burning her skin as Russell drug her down the hallway half by her hair, half by her left arm.
"I wasn't going for you actually," she confesses, faintly rubbing her left wrist. Her aunt was right; muscle memory was a bitch. "I was heading over to Russell, but the way you kept staring at me just felt…nice. Like I had all the power in the world. Like I was in control. Something I hadn't been feeling for a while."
Fitz nods across the table.
"So, I pounced. One of the comments I kept getting from managers and record execs was that I wasn't sexy. I was too cutesy. And they wanted someone they could bill as a Lola Falana type. I tried to sex it up. Russell didn't like it. And now we're here…"
He extends his right hand across the table, palm up. Just like he had the night he checked out her wrist. She slips her left hand into his and smiles as he squeezes their palms together. "I like being here," Fitz says.
"I do, too." Her smile loosens. They lock eyes for a moment and just stare at each other. Olivia gets lost in his slate eyes as her gaze roams his face, taking in fine lines and long lashes. The world shrinks down to the two of them and for a minute, it's just them. The hustle and bustle, the sound of silverware scratching plate, and the restaurant as a whole, falls away.
The moment is brief, fleeting though. Someone clears their throat and Olivia looks away, towards the sound. A woman stands at their table. She has porcelain skin and bright red hair. Her eyes sparkle green and her dress looks painted on.
"Can we help you?" Fitz asks, lifting his head.
The woman licks her lips. "My friend over there," she jerks her head to the right, to a small table where a blonde woman with ice blue eyes and a soft red dress sits, "she's shy so she wouldn't do this herself, but…" the stranger extends a napkin.
Olivia's eyes catch sight of loops and hearts that form a name. Annette.
"She wanted me to give this to you. She says you should call her," the red head says.
Fitz tilts his head. A look of confusion crosses his face and Olivia moves to pull her hand away, but he doesn't let her. "Please, tell your friend that I'm flattered, but I have a girlfriend. One who is gorgeous, intelligent, and has all of my attention."
The red head's eyes slide towards Olivia. A tight smile crosses the woman's face and her nose tilts upwards. She sets the napkin down in front of Fitz. "Who knows, maybe you two won't make it past this week. It's always good to keep your option opened." Just as quickly as she comes, the red head goes. She rejoins her friend.
Annoyance buds in Olivia's stomach. She knows exactly what the redhead and the blonde are thinking.
"Well, that was a waste of a napkin," Fitz says as he lets go of Olivia's hand, grabs the napkin, and crunches it into a ball.
Uncomfortable, Olivia returns her hand to her lap. "Have you ever been to Ben's Chili Bowl?" she asks, wanting to bolt from this restaurant all of a sudden. Her eyes sweep across the room and she finds a few other patrons staring at them before looking away.
"I can't say I have. I haven't spent much time in D.C. Is something wrong? Is it that woman? I can ask the maître d' to move us. I have no interest in that woman and I actually find her behavior quite rude."
"I think she finds the sight of us quite rude."
Fitz's brows crinkle, his mouth opens and then closes. Olivia watches him with a raised eyebrow. "I couldn't care less what she thinks. Excuse me for a moment." He stands, pushing his chair in and picking up the napkin he'd just balled up.
Curiosity colors Olivia's gaze as she watches him cross the room. The blonde smiles wide as Fitz approaches and she puffs her chest out. Her smile soon fades, however, as Fitz sets the balled-up napkin in front of her. Though Olivia can't hear their words, she knows whatever Fitz has said it isn't what the woman wants to hear. The woman – Annette – stands and stomps away. Her red head friend runs after her.
"I don't think she'll be bothering us anymore," Fitz says as he sits once more.
"What'd you say to her?" Olivia asks.
"The truth. I am already with the prettiest woman here and had no interest in any of her advances."
/
D.C after dark isn't exactly a safe town. Olivia knows they should be on their way back to her aunt's house, but she doesn't want the night to end, either. They walk hand-in-hand, gazing at the row houses in LeDroit Park. They're maybe a mile away from her from aunt's home. Everywhere around them Black D.C buzzes with life. LeDroit is one of the few areas that hasn't been touched by the chaos that unfolded in the wake of Dr. King's death. The impending fall guarantees a chill in the air and Olivia wishes she would've put on a pair of thicker stockings.
"Are you okay?" Fitz asks. "Do you want my coat?"
"No, I'm okay."
"You're shivering." He takes off his coat and slips it around her shoulders. "You don't always have to be so tough, Livvie."
"You didn't grow up with Elijah Pope as your father," Olivia says, tugging his coat around her. "Even when my mom was around, he was hard on me. After she passed, he just…. He raised me to be a warrior. Twice as good. Half as much."
"Twice as good. Half as much?" Fitz repeats. He reaches out and wraps one of her hands in his.
"I have to be twice as good to have half as much as someone who's white." Olivia sighs. "It's why he wants me to go to law school."
"Oh. I –" Fitz fidgets, "I'm sorry."
"For what?" she asks.
"That you think – or your dad thinks – you have to be twice as good to.."
"He's right, though. That's the way the world works. Or at least the way it works for people like me."
"I don't understand why it works like that. I just can't fathom it. You're intelligent and gorgeous and talented. The world should be at your feet."
Olivia stops. She turns towards Fitz and looks up. They're underneath a lamp. His eyes sparkle in the light and Olivia knows he's being sincere. He truly doesn't understand, and she doesn't know how to explain it to him.
"I want to give you the world. I will give it to you," he says, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead. Olivia smiles at the sweet gesture. "I should probably get you back to your aunt's before she sends the Calvary out for me."
"I wish she'd let you stay. You shouldn't be in a hotel. Not when you have people here."
He runs his right thumb over her bottom lip before tipping her chin upwards. They share a chaste kiss. "I don't think your aunt trusts me alone with you."
"I don't think she trusts me." Olivia grins. Tonight, has been an up and down of emotion and it's nearly taken her all night to relax. "I was nervous about tonight."
It's Fitz's turn to chuckle. "Really? The same woman who didn't hesitate to crack me in my jaw was nervous?"
"I know. I just…I like you, Fitzgerald."
"Fitzgerald?" Fitz repeats. "That's my grandfather."
"Fitz…I'm. I'm scared. I think I could fall in love with you – I think I am falling in love with you. And it's terrifying."
"Because I'm white?"
Olivia shakes her head. "Because the last time I fell in love," she pulls away from him, glancing down at the ground, "he ended up hurting me. Mentally, emotionally. Physically. I know you aren't him, but he didn't start out like that either." The tears she shed earlier rise once more. She sniffles and wipes at her eyes. "Please be patient with me."
"Look at me, Livvie, please." He doesn't give her the chance to lift her head. Instead he lifts her chin.
Olivia keeps her eyes closed, not wanting to see the disappointment on his face.
"I don't plan on being anything but patient," he continues, "Please. Look at me."
Finally, she opens her eyes. Stray tears slip down her cheeks. She searches his face, waiting to find doubt, reluctance, or even anger in his eyes. When she doesn't find any, she leans forward, gently kissing him on the lips.
/
"Tomorrow night, I plan our date?" Olivia asks from the doorway of her aunt's home. Behind her, she hears her aunt roaming around the house. Fitz's cab idles at the curb. "Call me when you get back to the hotel. You remember my aunt's number, right?"
"I do. Get some rest pretty girl. I'll see you tomorrow."
They share a sweet, soft kiss. Their noses bump together, and Olivia feels light. Far less nervous than she had been earlier that evening. She believes him when he says he doesn't plan on being anything but patient with her.
"I don't want you to go. Saying goodbye to you is awful."
"The sentiment is very much so the same on this side. Sorrow goodbyes make for sweet hello's, though."
"You sound like one of those beatnik poets dressed in all black," she jokes as he presses his forehead to hers.
"I am from California, but I can promise you I've never even entertained the idea of poetry. I enjoy reading it, but anything outside of that is not my forte."
"We could stand here and talk all night, but I don't think your cab would appreciate that much. Maybe if I asked my aunt again—"
Fitz presses another kiss to her lips, effectively silencing her, before he pulls away in one swift motion. "I'll see you tomorrow, Livvie. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Fitz."
He descends the short set of stairs in seconds before he files into the cab. Olivia watches as it pulls away from the curb and disappears into the night.