AN: So, I hope the time jump didn't throw y'all off to much. All your questions will be answered in due time, I promise. That said, I told you before and I'll tell you again,

this is an Olitz fanfiction. Olivia and Fitz are endgame. But if you refuse to believe that and you stop reading because you think there's too much Jake, that's on you. No matter how

much I dislike him (and I dislike him a lot), he is important to this story and I'm not gonna fast track it.

Olivia's POV

I flick off the TV. Even though Jake's not home and I don't have to worry about him waking up, I still kept the volume really low. Like I was hiding a secret.

I'm not surprised by how handsome he looked. I have kept up with Fitzgerald Grant ever since I left him in that prison visitation room five years ago. I refresh his Wikipedia page every week. I follow him on Twitter. Yes, me, Olivia Pope, made an anonymous Twitter page just to follow him. It's literally stalker behavior. I'm not the same person I was five years ago.

But I guess neither is he.

I look around me, in this house I have lived in for three years. It still feels empty, while still being fully furnished and lived in for three years by three people.

I rub my eyes. Even though I can sleep in our bed just fine when Jake's not here, I don't feel like it today. It's been too long of a day and I am too exhausting to walk to the stairs. The brown couch in the living room will have to cut it tonight. I walk across to get the red plaid blanket strategically folded on top of the fireplace and turn off the lights. My last thoughts revolve around Fitzgerald Grant. And how much I miss him. And how I am not happy. And how I never knew I could be this sad.

X

I wake up in a cold sweat. I don't remember my dream but it must have been a nightmare. My heart is pounding. I roll over so I am facing the top part of the soft couch and I try to remember last night. It's difficult.

All that comes to mind is the self pitying - which is uncalled for. I know for a fact that a lot of people would be jealous of my life. It's seemingly perfect. A successful, attractive husband, a lovely, modest house and a precious little girl. I should be happy. And in some ways, I am. People make me happy. Little things make me happy. But for the most part, I let Fitz down. I got out of DC. I left with Jake. But I am not happy.

After I stop being a lazy bum, I get off up my ass and drag myself upstairs. Once I am in the master bedroom bathroom, I pull aside the white lace curtain and look at the sunrise staring back at me. It's still really early so the horizon is blue but through the spruce trees growing in the huge, empty backyard, I can see the big sun peeking out. I pull my hair back into a low ponytail with a hair tie I had on my wrist and start the water. I brush my teeth and wash my face. I look up in the mirror and a stranger stares back. I look... different. I feel different. I am different. I don't even know when I am comparing to. All I know is that somewhere along the line, things changed drastically for Olivia Pope. Of course, superficial things - I have longer, straighter hair. It used to just touch my shoulder when straightened, but now it falls below my chest in loose waves. I dress more casual. Even though I am in my thirties, I look pretty young. People around the neighborhood, particularly the insecure PTA moms, are always saying I could pass for a college student but realistically, that's not true. Maybe a graduate school student. But not a college student. That's The basic stuff. Internally, and I mean way deep inside where I don't let anybody in, I feel different. I feel like i am a hundred years old. I feel as though I have gone through everything a woman should in her life.

showered last night after dinner, I don't need to right this minute. I head back downstairs, still in my black sweatpants and a white t shirt. I walk back to the kitchen/living room big area and grab my phone off the counter. I log in and check my email. Even though we technically live in Maryland now, the Potomac where our neighborhood is residence to a lot of politicians, so I still get business being a defense lawyer slash crisis manager. It's ridiculous how I can tackle a career oriented and parenthood lifestyle at the same time.

"Olivia?" I look up and see Jake coming in through the garage door, in the little hallway with a bathroom and a shoe closet. "Hello? Are you awake?"

I squint my eyes and my nostrils flare at the scent of booze. Is he drunk? Is he really drunk right now?

Jake catches my glare and throws a lopsided smile my way. I try not to gag. He tries coming over to the counter to hug me, but he knocks over a trash can on the way. He laughs, trying to ease the tension. "What's good in the hood?"

"Are you drunk?" I hiss, grabbing his shoulders. I don't need him tumbling over anything noisily, waking up my daughter. She doesn't deserve to get out of bed and see her father wasted. "It's six thirty in the morning, Jake. For fucks sake."

Jake has come home drunk before, just never in the morning. He thinks he slick but I know very well that the Pentagon doesn't keep its employees overnight. And they definitely don't send their asses home drunk as hell. That, and it was only a fifteen minute drive from home, so he can't tell me he got caught in traffic. Lucky for me, he's out of excuses this time. It's not like I would have believed him anyway. After five years of marriage, there becomes a level of bullshit that you just can't lie your way out of.

He leans over, attempting to sloppily kiss my cheek. With all my force, I push him off before realizing that that's the first time he has kissed me in...how long? I don't even know.

X

Five Years Ago

"You look," Mrs. Ballard steps back to look me up and down. A smile grows on her face and she covers it with her hands and squeals. "Beautiful! Simply gorgeous, Olivia! Oh!"

I smile softly, sort of as a thank you. I turn back to the full length mirror in front of me and analyze myself. The dress is yet another thing I compromised on. And by 'compromised' I mean let the Ballards dictate. I wanted a simple gown but they went all out. Don't get me wrong - it's a beautiful dress. It's what's called a modified a-line and it has white crystals on the waist and up the sides. It's very glamorous. It's just not me. Jake and I haven't even been engaged for three months and here we are, getting married in the biggest wedding I have personally attended. Jake made it his personal mission to through us the wedding of the decade - even with only a couple of weeks to plan. Out of four hundred guests here, I only know a small fraction of them. There's Abby, my cousin, some close clients and just seven or eight friends from college. That's basically it. Jake, however, has almost all of the Pentagon in attendance.

"Thank you, Mrs. Ballard," I reply politely. She reaches over and pushes a side bang out of my forehead. I gently step back onto the white carpet, respectfully letting her know that I don't want my hair to be messed with. Jake's mother is sweet but she's a bit touchy for my comfort. I made it very clear that I would do my own hair this morning. It took me forever to curl it just right and I will not have this white lady ruin it in seconds, even if she thinks she means well. I'm not trying to be rude, but Mrs. Ballard doesn't understand that I am black and therefore my hair is a different texture than hers or her family's.

Before Mrs. Ballard can call me out, we both see in the mirror reflection that the door has opened and a figure is walking in. Mrs. Ballard's green eyes widen when she sees that it's Jake, all dressed up in his tux and everything. He looks really nice and all but I don't know he's in here. His mother probably doesn't either because she yells, "Jake Sebastian Ballard! You can't be in here! It's bad luck."

"Calm down, Mom," Jake rolls his eyes and approaches me. I turn to face him and a smile grows on his face. His arms wrap around my waist and he leans down to kiss my neck. I pull away. I love Jake and I know he's about to be my husband but I don't feel comfortable with so much affection in front of his mother. That, and the morning sickness was especially bad this morning, so I am in a cranky mood to begin with.

"Mom," Jake mumbles, still looking at me. "Can you give Liv and myself a minute?"

Surprisingly, Mrs. Ballard collects her bag and makes her way towards the door, her heels clicking. Before she leaves, she blows us a kiss. "See you in a few at the altar, kids."

When she's gone, Jake's smile instantly drops. Still holding onto me, he whispers, "What's going on?"

I smooth the silk dress over my stomach. There's not exactly a bump there yet, but my belly doesn't lay evenly between my hips anymore. You can't see my hipbone anymore, even though my stomach is relatively still flat. "What are you talking about, Jake?"

"You know exactly what I am talking about!" Jake cries, his arms now having left my waist. He throws his hands up in the arms and paces around the large, sunny bridal room. "You have been avoiding me for the longest time, Olivia. It's our goddamn wedding day and you can't even look me in the eye. This is not how I pictured it-"

"This is not how I pictured it either," I whisper angrily. Yes I have been avoiding him, but I can't tell him the reasons. I haven't told him for his own good. But now it looks like I have to. "I would never have agreed to having the wedding if it weren't for -"

"Weren't for WHAT?" Jake demands.

A tear I was trying to hold back runs down my cheek, probably messing up the three hours worth of makeup that was applied. I take a deep breath. "If it weren't for the baby, Jake!"

He stares at me. He stares at me for the longest time. I didn't know my heart could be so fast. He takes a deep breath before whispering, "You're pregnant."

"Yes," I inhale and close my eyes. "Yes, I am pregnant. And I know that I would look trashy waddling up to the altar in a couple of months when I practically have a basketball up my shirt. That, and it would even worse if our kid was in our wedding pictures. So I agreed to this wedding before I was showing. I'm pregnant, Jake."

A few seconds later, with my eyes still closed, I feel Jake's arms around me. I open my eyes and fold my arms around his neck, pleasantly surprised but still nervous. He kisses my cheek before mumbling, "We're gonna have a kid, Liv. We're getting married and we're gonna have a baby. This is a good thing."

I nod but for reasons I seriously can't fathom telling Jake, I don't think it is.

X

After we had our baby girl, our marriage had a serious downfall. Jake never put his hands on me but that didn't mean that we didn't fight and that things were never violent. One time, only two months after I had given birth to our baby girl, Jake through a glass at me. I dodged it luckily and he was super apologetic but I was really pissed off. After that, he never tried to physically harm me. But that never meant he didn't emotionally stab me. Every. Single. Fucking. Day.

"I'm not drunk," Jake slurs his words, proving the contrary to me. He can be so disgusting at times. Our marriage is already severely compromised by the amount of resentment we have for each other right now, so I don't know who he thinks he is fooling. Himself, maybe. He pushes me against the counter and stuffs his hands in the back of my sweatpants pockets. "You look so beautiful, Liv..."

I roll my eyes. Unlike Fitzgerald, when Jake is drunk, he is crazy. He can jump around, acting like a complete, reckless, violent fool. It's really ugly and I am so sick of it. I jump up on the counter, take my fists and push him away with everything in me. "Stop it, Jake! Where were you all night? And don't you dare lie to me!"

Nowadays, my patience is really wearing thin with Jake. I'm not the submissive young girl I was five years ago. I can't put up with any of this shit anymore. I gotta keep my daughter in mind and Jake's really an idiot if he thinks he can act this way while she's in the house.

Jake stares coldly at me when I push him away. He is too pissed off to answer. Our anger is the only thing we have in common nowadays. "I was working. I have a job, you know?"

"I do too," I snap, sliding off the counter. I shake my hands off, trying to get the stench of scotch off me without gagging. I go over to the kitchen sink and run warm water over my hands. I hate when Jake begins this bullcrap about how he's off making a life for us and that I should be thankful. I work too. And I make just as much, if not more, than him. "Despite what you think, I have an actual job. No, it may not be as conventional or as boring as yours, but it's a job nevertheless and I make just as much as you. That, and I still juggle my time so I can stay home with Anna. And that's more than I can say for you."

Jake reaches over and slams the tab on the faucet, making the water come to a stop. He stares at me but I refuse to return the glance. Still, I can feel his angry vibe. "What is that supposed to mean? Are you calling me a bad father?"

I wasn't exactly, but I wouldn't be wrong if I did. Jake isn't the worst father in the world, but there's definitely room for improvement. Anna just isn't...close to him. It's not like she hates him or anything but ever since the beginning, she was always kind of uncomfortable around him. That, and she is a shy person by nature. If Jake spend more time at home and more effort trying to get Anna to open up to him, things would be different. But he doesn't. He complains about how his daughter hates him yet does nothing to change it. I am always there for her. Even if I have a client, she is my first priority and I am just home a lot more than Jake, since I work from here. So the odds work in my favor and she's just a lot closer and comfortable with me.

"I'm not calling you anything," I reply. I could go into all of this but I really don't feel like arguing right now. Then again, do I ever? "But something has got to give, Jake. You need to get your shit together. You can't be a fucking mess, not around Anna."

"What do you want from me?" Jake demands loudly. I close my eyes. I wish he would stop yelling, but there is no reasoning with impaired Jake. "Honestly, Liv! Would you get off my ass for one minute? You wanna know where I was last night? At my buddy's place, to get away from you! I am sick of coming home and being attacked by you! I dread it. I take extra hours at work just to avoid coming back to this house!"

"I'm glad you enjoy negotiating with terrorists more than you enjoy spending time with your wife and your four year old," I sigh. I don't take anything he says personally anymore. I just don't care. But I won't stand back and let him throw his shit at me when I don't deserve it. "I'll tell you what I want. I want you to make a change or get the fuck out of this house. I mean that, Jake. I don't need you and Savannah most definitely does not either."

Jake narrows his eyes. Maybe he knows that this time, I am not bluffing. He grabs the keys he threw on the dining room table and leaves out the garage door. Half of me wants to go remind him to not drive drunk, half of me does not care. The latter wins.

I decide to take a shower anyway and go upstairs. I undress and start the hot water. Despite my wishes, I begin to cry in the shower, before I can even wash my hair.

But I am not crying out of self pity or sadness or weakness. I am crying out of pure anger. I know that a long time ago, I cheated on Jake. He said he forgave me but if he's just gonna be passive aggressive...if this is just his way of getting revenge...ugh. I know what I did wrong. I know that that made me a bitch or a whore or maybe even both. But I did it and if Jake wanted to break up with me, he should have. He could have. And now it's too late and we're raising this beautiful little girl together and she doesn't deserve to see the crap we give each other.

I collect myself and get out of the shower. Since it's a Saturday and I'm not working, I just slip into a pair of black yoga pants and a red Harvard Law School sweatshirt. When I begin stepping down the dark brown carpeted stairs, I stop in my tracks. I hear the TV playing downstairs and I don't know why. Unless Jake is back. I take a deep breath and begin down the stairs, praying to a God I don't believe in that it's Savannah. Sure enough, she's sitting on the couch, eating a granola bar in her purple pajamas.

"What are you doing up so early?" I approach her. I sit down next to her on the couch and she habitually comes over and sits on my lap, chocolate chips from her granola bar flying everywhere. A SpongeBob SquarePants rerun plays on the TV but she turns her attention to me.

"Thcool," she replies, laying her head on my collarbone.

I try not laugh at her adorable lisp. She can't pronounce the sound that 's' makes and I don't think she will be able to anytime soon. And I don't think she knows just exactly how cute she is. I run my fingers through her wild hair. She takes after her dad with her thick, curly light hair. "There's no preschool today, baby. It's a Saturday."

"Thaterday?" Savannah asks, raising her eyebrows.

I giggle and nod. I wonder if Savannah knows how much I love her. How these days, she is the only good thing in my life. I hope she knows how much she reminds me of her dad. And how once he was the sweetest, most amazing thing in my life.

I wake up everyday to see Savannah's smile. I wake up everyday, hoping that my first sight in the morning will be her bright blue eyes fluttering open.