AN: Hey, guys. I tried to make an update quickly while still making it better quality and more detailed than other chapters, because this is extremely an important one. So it'll be a lot longer. Also, thank you so much for your helpful reviews. I'm not a genius on all things law related and I try my best not to sound ignorant, so any corrections/criticizes you can give me are always appreciated. Tell me if you like the detailed chapters better or if you prefer simple, clear cut ones. Oh and I write this on Google Documents and there are glitches, so sometimes a character will be in one place and then another place in the next sentence with no explanation. I'll try to fix that.

Also, do any of you guys watch Grey's Anatomy? Did you see Derek dying? Because ugh. It's kind of helping me update faster for some reason? RIP Derek Shepherd. 3

Fitz's POV

It's nice to feel not so alone. I mean, obviously I miss my family to death but I'm on bail and Olivia is helping gonna prove me innocent and I'm gonna be with my wife and kids again, so it's somewhat better?

I swear I'll do things differently when I'm proven innocent and I can be with my family again.

First things first, we're gonna find the bastard that actually did this. That actual tried to kill Mellie and my babies. Then, after their ass is thrown in jail, I'll take Mellie on a vacation. Fiji, maybe. Somewhere she always wanted to go but campaigning always got in the way. But when I get her back, I'll take her there. And we'll be happy. And I'm gonna be a better husband and protect her, you have my word. I'm gonna protect all of them. It's just them and me from here on out. I'll be there for them. Like I should have been. I'll take Mellie on dates every other night and I'll take Karen for ice cream whenever she wants and I'll throw a baseball around with Gerry whenever he just wants to talk guy to guy.

But right now, I can't.

Right now, I have to get my shit together and focus on this case with Livvy.

'Livvy'. I heard David call her that in the courthouse today. Olivia is a very pretty name but Livvy suits her better. Not that she's not pretty. She's gorgeous. And smart. And in general a very attractive person. I swear, if I weren't so determined to make things right with Mellie, something might happen between us. And I would act on it. But that's not the case right now. So I'm just gonna focus on this and see what happens.

"First order of business is to get me some clothes," I announce, staring down at the stained dress shirt the court provided me with. "I appreciate the court's effort but this just won't cut it."

"Mhm," Livvy walks across the small motel room and parts the curtains. Sunshine floods the room, along with the view of a stumpy, dead spruce tree.

"And can we get some extra towels in here?" I peep into the dark, moist bathroom and try not to gag. I don't want to sound like a white country club, frat boy. I know that's literally who I grew up to be, but beggars can't be choosers. I don't want to complain to Livvy. She seems to be trying her best.

"Whatever you want," she calls from by the window. I turn and she's staring at her feet, looking very hard, as if if she analyzes them hard enough, something will appear on them. It's bizarre. Although I haven't known her for a long time, I do know that this is out of character for her. She always has more to say. Now she just looks regretful, like she wishes she could disappear.

"Olivia?" I say ever so softly, not wanting to alarm her or make her feel uncomfortable. I'm a little uneasy now myself. I have been for a while. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," her head snaps her and she inches back away from me, even though I'm at least six feet away from her. "Fitz, I'm okay. It's just been a long day."

I don't want to annoy her and I don't know her well enough to judge anything or jump to conclusions, but she seems like a woman that can handle a lot. So I don't know why she's acting so weird right now and it's kind of concerning me.

"What's wrong?" I ask gently.

She abruptly turns her head and faces me, her eyes locked onto my mind.

"What's wrong?" Livvy practically spits to my surprise. Her voice is quiet but it's anything but calm. Her tone and expression change throws me off completely. "Maybe you should be asking yourself that, Fitz! You're here, eating your burger, pretending like everything is okay. But it's not. You're being accused of murdering your son and trying to murder your wife and daughter and...nothing is okay, Fitz. Something is wrong. Act like it."

Okay, now I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that something is truly wrong. I try to not take what she said personally. I'm not a sensitive person by nature so I'll get over it, even though it's stings just a little bit. She's stressed out and I don't blame her. But something about her wording doesn't sit well with me. I can't exactly pinpoint it, so I walk to the window and lean my head on the dirty glass.

'You're being accused of murdering your son and trying to murder your wife and daughter'

It takes me a minute to find the context of the sentencing and when I do, I see Livvy's unsteady, shaking reflection in the stained mirror. She's staying still, but she's not looking at me anymore.

"W-..." I try speak but I can't form a sentence of my own.

Why would she say that? Surely she made a mistake. Yeah, she was rushing and hissed out a sentence that simply didn't make sense. Gerry's not dead. She told me he was okay. And she told me she wouldn't lie to me. So...he's okay. She made a mistake. As perfect as Livvy seems, she surely makes some mistakes. Right?

I want to bring myself some logic, some relief but right now, I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. My mouth is going dry. I want to talk it out so she can correct herself, but somehow I can't speak. It's like something is stuck in the back of my throat.

"Fitz," her crystal clear voice speaks up,a steak knife cutting through my thoughts. "I am sorry."

"I-it's okay," I stutter, rubbing my hands together, still not quite ready to look at her. "You're stressed. I don't blame you. It's okay."

"About Gerry, Fitz," she replies, sounding exasperated and guilty at the same time. No. No. Please be apologizing for jumbling up your sentence about him. Apologize for fucking up and making me feel this way. PLEASE. "I'm so sorry. David just texted me. He was in the Critical Care Unit of the hospital and he was stable until this morning. He was septic..."

What is she saying? I can hear her but I'm not listening. All I can think about is how Gerry is gone. How he's gone and it's not fair and how he's too young and how I wasn't there for him. He was probably scared and I wasn't there.

Fuck this. Fuck all of this.

"Fitz," I hear her say. I know she said a whole lot more that I was tuned out to but I couldn't care less. No offense, but I don't really give a fuck about her right now. She lied to me. I know it's not logical to be mad at her, but a seven year old innocent boy is dead so is any of this really logical? "Fitz, honey, I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry. So is David. But this dramatically changes the case and the course of this trial, so we need to talk right away..."

I don't give a fuck about the trial. I am wholeheartedly trying to not curse Olivia out right now. Shut up. Please just shut up. I know you're sorry and I know you couldn't possibly understand so just shut the hell up. I don't want to hurt you or yell at you. So please shut up. Please.

"Can you talk to me?" she reaches up and reaches for my shoulder before deciding not to do so at the last minute. No. I can't talk to you. Don't take it personally. I can't talk to anyone. I can't do anything because I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that my son is dead. "Fitz, please. Understand that I'm sorry. And I know you're hurting but we need to figure some things out."

No. I need my son back. We're supposed to be a family. I'm supposed to come back home and toss a baseball around with him. It's not fair. When he gets older, I'm supposed to talk to him about grades and acne and girls. Or boys, if that's what he's into. I wouldn't care because I would love him anyway. He's my son. That's my job. I'm supposed to protect him. And love him, no matter what. It's not fair. We're suppose to fight. We're supposed to argue. We're supposed to be best friends. I have to teach him how to drive a car. I have to take him to his first hockey game. We're unfinished. It's not fair. We're supposed to have so many more moments, so many firsts, so many memories. I can't even remember the last conversation we had. It's not fair.

- Two Months Ago -

I'm not drunk. I drank, but I always drink and I'm not drunk. Drunk is being loopy, not of sound mind, clumsy and loud, shouting and walking into the house knocking things over. But I'm here, trying to sneak my way into my own house at midnight on a Sunday. I guess it's Monday now. Fuck.

I walk quietly into the kitchen to get a glass of water down. I don't want Mellie to smell those three pomegranate margaritas on my breath. Adjacent to the kitchen is the living room, where a blanket and pillow is folded on top of the brown futon couch. As I walk closer I see a yellow posted barely hanging off the pillow with Mellie's handwriting on it.

'if you come home past eleven/smelling like booze, don't bother coming into the bedroom'

Ugh. I respect her wishes but that doesn't mean I'm happy about it. I wish Mellie would talk through our problems instead of scribbling down harsh notes on post it's and avoiding me. I hate to say it, but our marriage isn't going so soundly. It hasn't been for months but lately with the campaign, it's been growing worse. And the kids are noticing it too.

The campaign means promoting. And we need sponsors. Even with Big Gerry's money, we need sponsors. That calls for a lot of meetings in fine dining bars throughout the night. I know that's a pain in the ass for Mellie and the kids but the least she could do is talk to me about it. The concept of actually working through marital problems is foreign to her. Oh well. I crumple up the note and keep it in my fist, starting to spread out my blanket. I kick my shoes off and I'm ready to get into bed when I hear tiny footsteps behind me. Gerry, in his little Despicable Me pajamas, is in the doorway.

"Daddy?" he rubs his eyes before brushing his dark brown hair down with his fingers. "Why are you sleeping here?"

I sit on the couch and inhale.

"The real question, buddy," I dance around his question. "Is why you're still awake. It's late and it's a school night."

Gerry walks across the rather large living room and curls up next to me. It's such a simple, affectionate gesture yet it means the world to me. I don't get to spend nearly enough time with my kids these days. I am just realizing how long it's been since I had a real conversation with either one of them. I don't feel good about that. I don't think everyone needs a father figure in their lives. But I don't want my kids to go through what I had to.

"I couldn't sleep," Gerry offers a half hearted explanation. I lay down next to him. Have I ever mentioned how much he looks like Mellie? He has a recessive gene of brown eyes, but they're round and in her shape. He also has thick dark brown hair and a full pink mouth. I guess he has my straight, narrow nose but that's about it. He has the most delicate features and when he was a baby everyone used to gush over him. They still do. I still do. He's the best son I could ever ask for, inside and out.

He nods at the note in my fist.

"What's that?"

I hold my breath for a second, pondering a lie. I give up. I'm so used to these lies by now, it should come easy. But it's not. I hate lying to my kids, even if the truth will hurt more.

"It's a note from Mommy. She doesn't want me to sleep in our room with her tonight," I explain, before quickly adding, "It's okay, though. I'll sleep in our room tomorrow night. Don't worry about it, Gerry."

He doesn't say anything for a minute. He just lays there and what can I do except lay with him?

"Are you guys getting a divorce?" He finally asks. He's so small and such a big, ugly word coming from his mouth doesn't seem quite right. I want to tell him the truth. I want to tell him we both want one but the election doesn't make it possible. But there's so many factors to the situation, I can take hours to explain and it still wouldn't make sense. There's nothing logical about love.

"No, Gerry. Don't worry about. Everything is okay," I lie straight through my teeth. "It's okay. Everything is okay."

He just accepts that and turns to his side, falling asleep I assume. It's miraculous how he just is at peace when I tell him everything is okay, even though it's not. He didn't need any evidence. He just trusted me, even though I was lying to him. My son trusted me. Even though I barely see him nowadays, even though he barely knows me as a person, even though I miss every school band concert and parent teacher night, even though I skip so many dinners Mellie took my chair out of the dining room...

He trusts me.

If only he knew how much I love him and Karen. I want to shield them from every bad thing in the world. I will always be there for them, no matter what. I know it may not seem like it, but things won't always be this way. When this election is over, I'll be a better father. We'll be together again. I promise.

Olivia's POV

Does he even know how shitty I feel? Sitting here, on the foot of the bed with him above me, laying in the fetal position with a pillow on top of his head.

Does he even know?

It's been hours. It's getting late and it's no longer sunny, as our dirty window displays. I don't know exactly how long it's been but I'm not leaving until he sits up and talks to me. Not just about this case, just in general. I've never lost a child - I've never even had one. So I can't size up his loss. But if this guy isn't talking to me for more than at least three hours, I know something is most definitely wrong. Maybe like he knew something was wrong with me before I had to tell him his son was dead.

I know it's not fair to myself but I can't help to feel somewhat to blame for this. If I could rewind things, i wouldn't lie to him. Every second we're together, our relationship develops this untouchable trust and I wouldn't jeopardize that. At the same time, the way I slipped up and told him was terrible and now everything has fallen apart. If he won't even talk to me, how can we move on with this case?

"Fitz," i try again. I gave up an hour ago, but I know he's still awake. I can hear his shaky, uneven breaths and if I hold my own, I can almost hear him crying. It's a painful sound. Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe I really can't go on with this case.

I don't know what time it is, but my phone has been buzzing like crazy. I can't bring myself to read any message or email. I can't bring myself to care. I crawl to the other side of the king bed and lay down, facing Fitz, bringing my legs up to my chest. I haven't laid in a dirty, motel bed in ages but neither has he, so this is an experience for both of us. I gently take the pillow away from him with my hands, uncovering his still bruised, tear stained face. He doesn't resist.

"Fitz," I repeat. It seems like that's the only word I can say lately. It sounds pathetic coming from my mouth. That, and the words 'I'm sorry' have lost all meaning to me. "Fitz. Please, talk to me."

The only sound that follows is the clicking of the ceiling fan. He won't even look at me. I'm at a loss for words and actions. I know he's hurt - there's no justification for a seven year old being dead, no matter how he died or whose being accused of doing it. I can't comprehend this loss but I too have experienced so much of it. I just block it out. But Fitz has had such an easy life so far, not working for a thing. He hasn't experienced tragedy until these past few days. So the blow hits him harder. I know it's not fair - none of this is far but I know more than anybody that the world does not stop even though yours does. It hurts - more than anything it hurts. But you have to move past it. Because the world does not stop or even hesitate for anybody. I wish I could tell him that. I wish I could tell him everything. But he won't even look at me. I'm the only one he has, and he won't even look at me.

"He wasn't in pain," I tell him, as if that has any meaning. I don't know if it will help. I don't even know if it is true. But it seems like the right thing to say. "When the sepsis hit, he passed out until he died."

From the angle we're in, I can see him close his eyes. It's getting dark, way too dark to see much anything except the lids covering his crystal, reflective like eyes.

I pull the pillow I took from him and lay down on it myself, turning it around so I'm not laying on his tears. It's warm from where his hands were grabbing it. He's not talking to me. I should give up yet again. I should give up this case all together. I know he's innocent, I know it, but if he's not gonna fight for himself, how will we win this? Does he even want to anymore? The questions are endless, but I don't know the answer to any of them. I don't think he does either.

Against all my ethics, values and the screaming in my head telling me otherwise, I reach out to him. I wipe the tears that still stream down from his face. He doesn't react to my touch - I didn't expect him to. But maybe it's a gesture that'll show them that I care.

And if he even remotely knows that, it's worth it.