AU: Hey guys. I am so sorry for the terribly late update and I have no excuse except I was just too lazy to post. Anyway, I'm going to try to make chapters longer as time goes on. As always, I never plan out story lines, I just type whatever whack shit comes into my brain so beware. Also, I AM AWARE THAT OLIVIA AND JAKE ARE ENGAGED IN THE BEGINNING OF THIS STORY. This is in fact an Olitz story! Please be patient. I just didn't want Olivia to be miserable and empty before Fitz because that's not only unfair, it's unrealistic. As always, review to improve my writing because I need/appreciate it tons! Also, I tried to make this chapter longer and I will be updated more frequently and making longer chapters. I promise. Enjoy!

Olivia's POV

He looks...tired. That's only way to describe him.

I've seen clients look angry, heartbroken, defensive and guilty. Or a combination of all of those. But this guy, this tall, weak man with the most beautiful royal blue eyes just looks tired.

Tired of what? Life itself, maybe.

But I force my feelings aside and like always, approach the case with indifference and motivation. I will get this man out of this horrible place, no matter what evidence is pulled against him. David gestures me to take the phone and I put my bag in my lap and do just that.

"Hi, Fitzgerald," I try to be casual, but I can't look him in the eye. "How are you?"

"Never been better, Ms. Pope," he tries to smile but it comes out as the most heartbreaking thing I've ever seen I can't describe it exactly. "How's the glitterati out that?"

I recall the number of reporters in my face a few minutes ago and brush that memory away. I'm used to it.

"I've seen worse," I shrug. "What I'm really concerned about is you. How are things in there?"

He doesn't reply, which worries me slightly.

"Fitz," I coax. "You can tell me. In fact, you should. I'm your only hope in getting out of there."

"Ms. Pope..." he begins, then inhales. "To be honest, I'm scared. The other guys have been saying threatening stuff but the guards always heard so they never acted on it...but you never know. I feel like it's only a matter of time. They all think I did it, but I didn't. Anyway, I know this one guy who is this close to kicking my ass-"

"Good."

"Good?"

"Good," I repeat. "If you get hurt in there, it triples your chances on bail. And Fitz? You'll have to spend another night in there - I'm sorry. I'll meet with you first thing in the morning."

What hurts me the most is how it looks as if he doesn't even care.

"Fitz..." I reach up and press my hand against the already smudged glass. "I am gonna get you out of here."

He locks eyes with me and looks grateful, but reckless. He mumbles into the phone.

"Thanks, Ms. Pope. But I don't care."

Fitz's POV

She's so beautiful. It just be the last thing on my mind, yet it's the first. Not just in the way she looks (but she's pretty damn attractive too) but in the way she talks, in the way she delicately moves and in the way she promises me the impossible. It hurts because she's lying - she's lying to herself. I didn't do this but I don't have the energy to fight it. If my family is dead, I don't want to live in a world without them.

David knows. I'm not stupid. If he's not telling me, it must be bad news.

David is a strange guy. Yesterday he visited me for the first time and promised me ridiculous things, much like his friend here. I don't know why he's so invested with me.

"Thanks Ms. Pope," I swallow. I really think she's a great person but I don't want her feelings to get hurt or her hopes to get high when I don't cooperate with whatever she wants me to. "But I don't care."

She looks like I just punched her in the face and she's a really pretty girl and she looks like she would work hard for me, so that really sucks. But at this point, I could care less.

"Fitz," Ms. Pope says warningly. "Listen to me. You do not get to quit on me, okay? You're gonna stay strong. I'm going to get you through this."

"I don't care," I repeat. I don't mean to snap at her but why can't she just move on with her life and leave me alone? "Please. I don't care."

"FITZGERALD GRANT," she practically shouts into her phone. "You will not quit on me. This is not an option and your lack of motivation will not be tolerated. You will get out of this shithole and you will fight for your freedom because you are innocent. I know you're innocent. You will be reunited with your kids and your wife and -"

I look up.

"They're alive?"

"Hell yeah they are," Ms. Pope smiles and somehow I know she's not lying. "They're all in critical condition but they're alive. They're fighting for their lives and I'm sure they would want you to fight for yours."

I breath into the phone and close my eyes. I have spent hours thinking my family, my children are in a morgue somewhere, holes in their body and now this woman this telling me otherwise. I know there is no point in believing her - there's no evidence and she has all the means to lie to get me to cooperate. But something, some weird hope in middle of this hell, tells me otherwise.

"You mean it?" I ask softly.

"I'm won't lie to you," she promises and I can tell she won't. "But all I ask is that you don't either. And that you try."

I don't plan on lying and if my kids are really alive, I will try. I will try like hell.

"Okay," I say after a pause. "Okay, Ms. Pope."

Her nervous smile grows slightly bigger.

"Please. Call me Olivia."

I don't know what to say. The next morning, they're sitting in front of me and I can't speak or even think. I'm speechless, I'm ashamed. It's just Olivia, David and my fucked up self.

Seven Hours Earlier

I like showering late at night. Even when I wasn't in this hell hole, I liked it. It helped me think after a busy day - ground myself. Now I've come to know that barely any other prisoners shower at this time, which is ideal for me.

I've never considered the possibility of going to prison so I had no expectations coming here. All I knew was the stereotypes - dropping soap in the stall and teardrop tattoos and whatnot. When I was in the military, as a part of my training we toured Guantanamo Bay and that's the only experience I have with these types of situations. Never in a million years did I think I would end up like this.

I figured everyone there would be depressed and scary but they're just scary. Where they get all this energy is beyond me. I also thought it was like every man for himself in here but everyone has a squad or crew with them. Everyone except me.

Nobody has really fucked with me so far because every time they come too close, a CO cuts in. I must be one of the four white guys out of two hundred others in here and everyone knows it. Most people in here recognize me from the news - if they don't, it's only a matter of time before they come into the break room to watch the evening news. Apparently I'm on TV and newspapers everywhere. I'm infamous. It's so surreal.

It doesn't mean they don't try to mess with me. The worst part is when there's a bunch of prisoners and the guards don't give a fuck unless they touch me, so they get all up in my face and scream until I cry. It's more than just hazing - they hate me and I know they would kill me if they could.

I can't blame some of these guys though. They really think I killed my wife and kids and they're acting upon their anger. It makes sense. But if only they knew that I didn't do the things I'm being accused of.

But how would I convince them?

Would they ever believe me?

Even if they did, would they show mercy?

The questions and endless and that's why I like times like these, in the shower getting soaked by lukewarm water - the hottest setting. Even if a CO is standing three feet away, this is still the most peace I'll ever get around here.

"Hey, man," the CO clears his throat. "I gotta take a dump. I'm trusting you won't cause trouble? I mean, I hope you won't fuck up a shower."

Without saying anything else, he exits, his meaty chest heaving with laughter.

I lean my head back and allow the now cold water to rinse off my head, full of Irish Spring soap. Because my commissary has literally zero dollars in it, I can't buy shampoo. But nonetheless, a shower is a shower and I can't complain.

I stand for a few more minutes, allowing the water to wash away all the pain from today. I don't know if it's working, because at this point, it's ice cold and my body is numb, but its still better than being in my cell with roommates willing and ready to murder me at the tip of a hat.

I absently run my hands down my arms and think about tonight. For the first time in a while, I felt...hopeful. I had some faith. Hearing that my family was alive gave me a surge of relief I haven't felt before in my entire life. I love the woman that gave me the news - Olivia. I mean, I don't LOVE her like that of course, although I wouldn't be surprised if I did. She's stunning, she's smart and at this point, she's my savior and the only person rooting for me. And for that, I love her.

But it doesn't get any simpler from there. How can she prove my innocence? I mean, no, I did not try to shoot my kids, but how can she even attempt to convince anyone that? I was there and I know they'll snoop around like they always do, try to find some shit that makes it look like I had probable cause. The thing is, I know my political career is over and I don't give a fuck. I just want my family. That's all I want. My family.

I turn around, wondering where the CO is. It's been at least ten minutes. How long does it take to shit? I suppose if I just stay I won't get in trouble. But it's really quiet here and that just doesn't sit well with me. I close my eyes and rub my hands together against the freezing water.

I can't really remember anything from two nights ago. All I remember is being in that cop car, wishing I was dead. I know I didn't try to kill my family but why do they think I did?

"Turn off the water," an unfamiliar, quiet voice demands from behind me.

I stand directly underneath the shower head, as if the water will protect me. I'm scared to open my eyes. I hear more footsteps and muffled chatter.

"Did I fucking stutter?" the same voice barks. I wince, hoping they can't hear. "TURN OFF THE GODDAMN WATER!"

I obey and take a shaky breath, finally opening my eyes to multiple men, their orange jumpers up to block their mouth and nose from view.

"Guys," I swallow. They inch closer. This is it. This is the end. "Guys, please, stop. Don't do this."

"We don't take orders from killers," a older looking blond guy in the back shouts.

The front guy takes me by the collar and even though I'm a big man, he pushes my naked self so I land ass first ten feet away, close to bashing my head on the tile wall. My ass stings so bad that I couldn't get up and even if I wasn't numb with fear. One of the guys clicks on two showers so loud I can't even hear the sound of the sudden sobs creeping up my throat. I'm not ready to die. I was wrong. My kids are alive. Im not ready.

The front guy comes up and gets on top of me, then bashes my head on the tile - not enough to seriously hurt me, but I feel a thin strain runny, watery blood lurking down the back of my wet neck. I whimper.

"Shut up!" Front Guy screams into my face. "Shut the fuck up if you don't want me to kill you, you little bitch. Shut up!"

But I don't shut up - I can't. I've never, not ever been in a position like this - not even in combat. I remember us top dogs used to haze young boys all the time and I am caked with instant regret and guilt. This is humiliating, terrifying and it hurts like hell.

"I'm not a killer!" I yell out. His left hand creeps up my neck and chokes me. His other blows my left eye socket. I keep going out of sheer panic. "STOP IT! PLEASE!"

Another guy pins down my legs as more showers are clicked.

I'm outnumbered. I couldn't fight back even if I wanted to. I'm bleeding - they're going to leave me soggy and crippled on the wet floor like a dog. I'm going to bleed out like a helpless bitch. I'm going to die.

After what feels like years, they stop. One by one, they leave quickly, mumbling profanities. I am barely conscious at this point and in so much pain, I'm wishing they actually killed me.

Olivia looks like she's going to cry. She seems like such a strong woman, so it hurts to see her like this. She gives me a sham of a brave, sympathetic face, then turns to David and whispers in his ear. I can barely hear it. She seems very capable, but she can't whisper for her life.

"I can't handle this."

Everything in me falls apart. I didn't expect her to. But I never wanted her to see me cry. And when I cry, I cry. My stomach churns and my cheeks turn beet red and big, round tears drip from my leaking eyes and burn my cuts. If that wasn't enough, ugly sobs croak through my throat.

I don't blame Olivia for saying she can't handle it. I never thought she could. How can she prove me innocent when I remember absolutely nothing from that night? And how could she stand to see me like this, all bruised up and disgusting.

"Fitz," David throws Olivia a glare and rushes to my side, awkwardly rubbing my shoulder blade with his palm. "Hey, Fitz. Come on, now, she didn't mean that..."

"I-I'm sorry," I sniffle, wishing the ceiling would cave in and kill us both. "I didn't mean to cry."

"You don't have a reason to. Everything is gonna be fine. I'm gonna get you out of here."

"We are," Olivia corrects him firmly, staring at her fingers. "We're gonna get you out of here, Fitz. You can hold me to that."