Fitz closes his eyes and concentrates on the flavor of the smoke.

He's always been a man of few vices and, historically, this is the one in which he least indulges. A cigar is saved for special occasions.

Today, at this time of night, it only felt natural to turn off his laptop and lounge on the dark brown chair on the balcony.

He puffs and releases.

The cold night feels comfortable and familiar. The smell of rain lingers in the air.

It is easier to enjoy scotch. The guilt that he is damaging his body less present.

To be honest, if only the last few hours were considered, he might've been frustrated with the state of his day.

He knew better than to conjure up any illusions about the level of difficulty of choosing the right words to make sense of his life. However, that did not ease the struggle with the reality of the task.

It could be worse. He has time and most importantly he has Olivia. At least for now.

For years she was a sort of vice of his. It's not a nice way to view it, but it is accurate to how he felt. When they were apart he became erratic and restless. Belonging fully to someone else transformed what he'd formerly thought possible of the world and above all else of himself and his life.

Even though judgment and condemnation would be widespread were it public knowledge, it would be a lie to say he loves and cares for anyone more than Olivia.

The complexity of loving another person like that brought out a unique set of consequences. These last eight years could be described as deprivation.

Their separation now lacks the anxiety that before permeated every moment of his day. Although it doesn't affect him the same way anymore, the thought that he'll see her soon soothes him.

This morning, waking up to her touch and loving gaze moved him more than he expected. Carefully, he treads this tightrope of their relationship in hopes that she'll meet him halfway. It might not be wise to consider less than twenty-four hours of interactions, but he'd fallen for her much faster than that. Noticing her efforts isn't a stretch.

Fitz takes another puff of the cigar and shuts his eyes.

Once Olivia commented on his ability to choose the perfect words. She wasn't exactly wrong. If needed he could write his speeches, eulogies, you name it. Similarly, in the past, his mother had said something of the same nature. Nevertheless, it was an arduous process. He'd never attempted to write about himself and his life like this before. Some parts flow much easier than others and so far making sense of their love is the toughest of them all.

A campaign filled with silences and tension. A simple movement, an inch closer, a look could mean everything. The challenge of properly describing everything, how alive he felt when he heard her speak and at that exact moment knew.

Every thought and each decision can only be understood by an accurate description of his feelings for her and how it all started. How to explain how easy it was to risk it all for her? The beauty of finally discovering a part of him that lay dormant until he laid his eyes on her and his body froze as she exposed how public the failure of his marriage was. She dared to do what no one else would.

Many drafts were written, and just as many discarded. The truth of their relationship is clear to him and yet too sacred to truly be captured and held back by words. Their story is a lived one. The time will come when he will succeed and finally do it. Now, that leaves the rest of his life to make sense of.

There's a knock on the door and just like that, reality snaps back.

Fitz smiles to himself.

She's here.

Fitz opens the door and takes in the sight of Olivia.

"You stopped home first," he smiles looking at her. His writing clothes lack a tie but they are similar to his presidential attire, a particularly nice contrast to Olivia's informal look. In gray silk pants, a cream blouse, and a gray cardigan, joy ripples through him. She's here to stay.

"Yes," she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him softly.

Fitz lowers to make up for the significant height difference made greater by Olivia's lack of high heels, then brings their foreheads to touch.

"How are you?" he asks.

"Better," Olivia relaxes in his embrace. "Not an awful day."

"Good," Fitz places a kiss on the top of her head and takes a step to the side so Olivia can walk in.

She sets her bag next to the vinyl record player by the door, takes off her shoes, and lies down on the couch. Getting comfortable, she rests her back on a pillow and stretches her legs.

Fitz stays motionless by the door with his gaze fixed on her. With her eyes closed, Olivia is calm personified. One of the upsides of the last few days is this: looking at her without the worry that he should avert his eyes. He is well aware that he'd always been bad at hiding his love for her, but that part being altogether gone fits this new era of his life. If he considers it, he could just–

"You taste like a cigar," Olivia breaks his train of thought, not moving a single muscle she doesn't have to.

Fitz walks to the sofa and taps her legs, signaling for her to move so he can sit beside her. Settling down, he now taps her ankles and she stretches back this time with her legs on his lap.

"I was smoking before you got here."

"Everything alright?" Olivia looks at him with worried eyes.

"Yeah. I needed to relax," he explains.

Olivia doesn't say anything, only nods in understanding.

Fitz opens his mouth, prepared to talk but stops halfway, changing his mind. "Do you want to sleep?"

Olivia shakes her head no. "How was your day?"

Fitz sighs and gives Olivia a timid smile.

"That bad?" she asks.

"Can't complain. I've had worse."

"I'm sure you have," Olivia says candidly.

"When you called earlier–"

"It's fine," Olivia interrupts him. "I fixed it, what I could I mean. I'll tell you about it tomorrow."

Her eyes scan him and she looks at him so tenderly he could cry. Things are always nicer when she doesn't disguise her emotions.

"Liv?" he asks and waits, second-guessing himself.

"Mhm?"

It's probably not the best time, but Fitz doesn't contain himself. "Were you happy?"

"These last years?"

"Yeah," he bites his lip, unsure whether she will share the information or not.

Olivia watches him carefully. "Fitz, where is this coming from?"

"I tried writing about us today," Fitz replies, trying to convey part of what he's been feeling today.

"You mean our relationship?"

"Yeah," he massages her ankles and her calves.

"Ok," her reply is cautious, "for the memoir?"

"Yes," he looks up at her. "What were these years like? For you?"

Olivia groans. "We're doing this?"

"Sorry. I know you're tired. We can do this another time," he amends, in an attempt to not bother her.

"Alright."

Fitz raises his eyebrows. "Really?" happy but above all else shocked that she would agree without further questioning.

"Really. But you're telling me things too."

"Fair enough," Fitz shifts in his seat, eagerness arising.

"Your questions are going to have to be more specific. You can't just ask about eight years like that."

"Okay. Answer the first one. Were you happy?"

"Is anyone really?" she shakes her head. "I had happy moments. Those were rarer in the first couple of years. I had work and they are my family. It's hard to only suffer. Do you have trouble sleeping?"

Fitz frowns, not expecting this to be her first question. "Depends. Some days are worse than others but I get a full night of sleep often. I couldn't do that for years," Fitz immediately follows up with his next question. "Did you do anything that brought you joy?

"I started to swim again."

"When?"

"A couple of years ago, right after my father died."

"Did it help?"

"You know we weren't close."

"It doesn't mean you don't grieve," he comments.

He sits in silence and watches her think, likely remembering the death and funeral of his own father all those years ago.

"It helped," she answers. "Do you regret it?"

"What?" Fitz asks, confused.

"Running for president. Running, winning, getting reelected."

Fitz ponders for a moment. He's thought about this multiple times in the past.

"No, but I don't think I would do it if I knew then what I do now. There are other ways to effect change that don't involve me ruining myself. Do you still swim?"

"When I can, I did it more when I wanted to stop thinking about you," Fitz lowers his head as Olivia answers his question. "What did you miss the most?" she asks.

Even with unshed tears, Fitz crinkles his eyes and glows at the easiest question she could've asked.

"Besides that," Olivia rolls her eyes, refusing to indulge his behavior.

Fitz stops to think. There are many things he missed out on, and the answer could probably change a few minutes from now, but at the moment, there's one particular aspect that comes to mind.

"Privacy. My personal life being mine and not something the public thought was owed to them," Fitz's next question is already on the tip of his tongue. "Did his death help?"

"Yes. I already felt like I didn't have a father but it was different. Mostly it was letting go of his expectation of what my life should be like."

Fitz nods, unable to forget how similar some parts of their journey are.

"So you're not going back to the public eye?" Olivia asks.

"It's impossible to be truly gone. But I plan to avoid it as much as I can," Fitz says. "Did you date?" he asks genuinely curious. "Besides Edison I mean."

"Yes, but nothing serious," she replies. "Did you have anyone? After the divorce?"

Cautious of what her reaction will be, Fitz takes a deep breath. "Yes," there's a shift in his eyes and he continues, "and one time before."

Fitz watches the way Olivia winces. Though she does not leave her seat, she recoils her legs and draws back, away from his touch.

"Please don't," he pleads as she moves.

Completely still, she simply stares at him.

"Can we talk?" Fitz asks calmly, careful not to push her more than the situation requires.

Her reply is calculated. "We were until you admitted to cheating on your wife. Again."

He looks down, a mournful smile on his face. "Why didn't you marry?"

"What?"

"You were engaged. Why didn't you marry Edison?" he knows he shouldn't antagonize her, but he asks anyway. The conversation is too important to avoid and she's always more honest when pressed. As of now, he needs something, anything from her to keep them grounded.

"What does that have to do with your cheating?"

Fitz shoots daggers through his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she yields.

He silently forgives her and exhales, relieved things didn't escalate.

Olivia crosses her arms and, though reluctantly, she still answers his question. "I didn't love him." Trying her utmost to restrain any judgment from her tone she asks, "Who did you cheat with?"

"A member of the White House staff."

"Why?" Olivia probes.

"It's my turn. Did you want to find someone?"

Olivia's laugh is ironic. "It wasn't for lack of trying. It would've helped."

His smile is gentle as he listens.

"Why did you cheat?" this time, despite herself, resentment slips through the cracks.

"I was sad and lonely. Mellie and I hadn't had sex in months. She was there."

Fitz observes with no pleasure, the hurt caused by his words. He tries to move closer, somehow trying to offer some comfort but she raises her hand and stops him.

"It's fine," her voice is sharp enough to make Fitz flinch.

"Liv," he looks for some kind of opening from her.

"What was her name?"

He sighs, frustrated at the turn of things, but chooses to go along. She deserves to know. "Amanda."

"Did you sleep with her more than once?"

"No."

"Did you sleep around after the divorce?"

"Liv."

"Just answer," she begs softly.

"No."

"But you did date?"

He knows she's asking multiple questions at once yet he can't help but abide by her wishes. Already having pushed her further than usual, he only regrets that he's about to hurt her even more.

"Yes."

And just as he knew would happen, she tries to stand up and distance herself from him. Prepared, he stands just as quickly and his hands are on her arms before she can go far.

"Don't touch me," she retorts.

He lets go immediately and takes a small step back. "Liv."

Tears fall down her face and he takes a step and brings his body closer to hers. "Liv," he repeats. With another step, their bodies almost touch. "Livvie," he brushes his cheek against hers, then kisses a singular tear.

"Please," Fitz whispers. He hadn't planned for the night to go like this. Looking for a way to reconnect, he brings his lips closer to hers.

He can feel her withhold from him. Resisting the urge to kiss him, her lips quiver and her breath is uneven. Against his expectations, Olivia caves but doesn't kiss him. Instead, she digs her nails into his scalp, presses her body to his, and pushes him toward the sofa.

She towers over him and starts to unbutton his shirt, eyes locked on the wall behind him. When the task is done she takes a step back and removes her pants and underwear in a single movement.

Unable to read her expression as she halts and looks at him, he waits, hands resting by his sides. He swallows dry and sits up taller. Her gaze shifts from his abs to his chest, then finally, dreadfully slow, to his face. Fitz holds his breath when her eyes meet his, the redness and unshed tears make him shiver.

Her gestures are deliberate when she settles between his thighs, undoes his zipper, and unbuttons his pants. Fitz slightly lifts his hips so she can undress him. Olivia discards the pants and follows up with his briefs thrown somewhere on the hotel's white marble floor.

Fitz submits. Conscious of her need to let off steam, he keeps his movements minimal, only responding to her. Right now he can only wish that his touch is enough to ease her turmoil.

Fitz raises his chin, in hopes that her eyes will meet his once again. Rather, she pushes him back and, with her hands on his shoulders for support, she brings her knees to the couch. Settling herself right above his crotch, Olivia presses her body closer to his, and with her right hand behind her back, she goes extra slow and caresses the tip of his cock with her thumb. She fluctuates her movements, though never the pace, going from the tip, to his length or his balls with no particular focus, until he's rock hard.

Adjusting herself right above his crotch, her left-hand moves to his neck, caressing it with her thumb, while she brings her right hand to his chest. In a quick motion with barely any strength, she pinches his nipple and Fitz lets out a groan.

At the sound, Olivia immediately moves from the nipple to the center of his chest, bringing her nails to it and dragging them through his skin. It isn't strong enough to truly draw blood, but the red trace will undoubtedly be there tomorrow.

Fitz watches the way she feels the marks she's left on him. She doesn't take the lead like this often and, although it has happened before, this type of sex isn't common either. He tries to focus on everything all at once, the hot breath on the side of his face, how she rubs herself against his lower belly. The way her walls stretched around him as she sank down, the sway of her hips, the way her arms cling tighter to his neck as her cries intensify when she brings herself to climax, her whimpers quieter than usual.

Olivia, exhausted both physically and emotionally, stops for a few beats before she lifts herself and pulls him out.

Fitz remains on the edge of his orgasm and calms his breath, mindful that this moment isn't about him, consoled by the fact that in a circumstance such as this, he could help her relieve stress. He buries his face in the crest of her neck, holds her on his lap, and runs his hand through her hair.

"Better?" he asks.

The squeeze on his shoulder soothes him, so when she moves to stand he doesn't cling to her. He watches attentively her retrieve her pants and underwear from the floor and put it back on and does the same. The situation feels somewhat controlled now as they both stand and she takes him in.

Fitz holds his head high as he looks her in the eye, his voice strong and steady. "I'm sorry," he apologizes.

A rueful laugh escapes Olivia leaving Fitz to recoil and cringe at her response.

"Liv."

"I need a minute," she exhales, clearly frustrated.

Fitz puts his hands on the pockets of his pants and looks down. While he waits, he listens to her pace in small circles around the room.

When Olivia finally stops, she readjusts her shoulders and suddenly somehow she seems more affected. "You didn't call but you tried with someone else," Olivia's mournful expression is enough to break his heart. Distraught and anguished Fitz is confronted again with the ache of disappointing her. "How many?"

"One," he takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he repeats his apology. "When I finally gathered the courage you were already with Edison. I didn't want to disrupt your life."

"Better than be silent for all this time."

"So you wouldn't run from me?" his words are spoken softly. "In those circumstances, with me as president? Would a relationship have been that different?"

"I don't know," Olivia sighs and admits. "Maybe we could've tried."

"Come here," Fitz opens his arms and when she doesn't move he makes his way to her. A few inches separate them but Fitz tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. When Olivia doesn't refuse his touch he relaxes and moves his left hand to her cheek and strokes it with his thumb. The comfort is enough to make her soften.

"It's fine," she says, dismissing the situation.

"It's not," he contradicts her.

"I just need time to get used to the idea. But-" Olivia quiets.

"Tell me," he lifts her chin so she'll look at him.

"You tried with someone else and we both know my relationship status would never have mattered to you."

"I love you but I meant what I said the other night. I thought you wouldn't want me anymore. If it wasn't for that interview I don't think I would have called, even in the pain I was in."

"So I'm supposed to be grateful?" she furrows her eyebrows.

"Of course not, but we're the same. I learned to live with my pain just like you did."

He touches her elbows first, pulling her to him. Then he embraces her and lets Olivia bury her face in his chest.

She's quiet, but Fitz can hear her sniff. He leans forward and smells her hair.

"Spend the night," he whispers, not sure whether she's changed her mind about it.

When Olivia reaches for his face, caressing both his cheek and ear, as she's always done, Fitz sighs in relief.

Everything is fine.