AN: Hey guys! I hope you like this update...I'm planning on updating a ton of chapters this weekend, but let me know what you think....

Fitz's POV

Grief is horrible. It's terrible and painful to go through. Add fear on top of it and it's damn near impossible.

Between my sobbing fits through the night, I also had a series of panic attacks.

If I got beat up in a heavily guarded prison, who knows what would happen to me alone in a Los Angeles motel room? Every time I heard footsteps outside my door, I would hold my breath. And as weak as I feel admitting this, I wished Livvy would have stayed. I wouldn't talk to her but I would feel better knowing she was here, next to me. But that's selfish thinking. I don't know where she is right now but I don't blame her from getting the hell out of this hotel room. The only good thing that's come out of these past few hours is that some investigators sent a duffel bag of my clothes to the motel room. I was scared as hell when I heard the knock on the door but I opened it, kept my face low and the overnight manager handed me the bag without any problems. I showered, searched through and put on a pair of light washed jeans and a navy Henley. The shower was nice - it was the first one I had ever since I was beaten half to death. My cuts stinged a bit under the water and I was too scared to close my eyes so I got shampoo in them, but it was okay. Bearable.

I'm sitting here on this dirty, tear stained bed with a cup of nasty complimentary coffee, reminiscing about happier times. Times with my family, when things were okay. I don't know why I keep on thinking of these better times. I'm never gonna get them again, so what's the point?

I'm too much of a coward to kill myself. Believe me, I've considered it. But I'm too lazy and too indecisive and it's pathetic I can't even do that. The only thing keeping me going is the fact that my daughter is alive and there's an off chance I'll see her again. But I miss Gerry like crazy. It's so unreal that he's gone. It doesn't feel like reality - just a really awful, sick nightmare. A nightmare that I want to be over so badly.

I don't know when Livvy is coming back. I don't know if she's coming back at all. Again, I don't blame her. She's such a beautiful soul and she's got so many things going for her. She deserves so much more than to be holed up in a motel room with a basket case like myself. I just hope she knows that. And I hope she knows I'm so sorry for wasting her time. She deserved so much better. And I'm so grateful that she even attempted to help me. If I were her, I would've run the other direction. Even though I don't know her all that well, I know that she's not that type of person. She's brave. And I can't stress this enough - she deserves so much better.

So I don't know what happens from here on out. Is anybody ever gonna come save me from this room that seems to be getting smaller by the minute?

What about David? Does he still care? He's a great guy and now that I think about it, he deserves better too. He's been helping me from day one and he's gotten no credit for him. If only I could tell him how much I appreciate him and everything he did for me. But does he even care enough to hear it?

A knock breaks through the motel room, making me wince in surprise. This is it. This is how I die. When I open that door, it'll be either the cops with a warrant for my arrest or a mob of family extremists with torches. Either way, I'm screwed. Now it's time to accept it.

"It's me." Livvy's voice comes through instead. I exhale, noticing how she doesn't yell my name. She's so smart. "It's me, Livvy. Open the door."

So she knows I call her Livvy. And she's here. She's back. She came back. For me. Somehow, nothing else matters. I set my coffee down and open the door for her. She looks beautiful - she's dressed down wearing a silk white sleeveless top with matching pants. She's also holding two paper bags in her hands. She analyzes me for a moment before brushing past me and settling the bags down on the motel table.

"You showered," she says. I close the door and simply stare at her, stunned. How does she manage to make the simplest actions look graceful? Like the way she moves aside some trash from the table and puts two bagels on a brown napkin. "It looks good. You look good."

She wipes her hands, spins around and to my pleasant surprise, wraps her arms around my neck. I go through a sea of emotion - guilt for not talking to her last night and regret for not being able to thank her for everything she's doing for me. I fold my arms around her waist and return the hug sheepishly. She looks like she would wear a fancy, strong perfume but she smells like a light, jasmine body spray which is so refreshing. She holds me for a few more seconds before leaning back, cupping the side of my face and returning to the table.

I walk to the table as well and pull out the single chair for her and she graciously accepts it. But she takes two cups and pours orange juice from a large Tropicana canteen and passes a styrofoam cup to me. It's the simplest of gestures - pouring me a drink. Yet when she does it, my heart is swollen. It's a strange feeling, getting taken care of. Even if I'm paying for it through a lawyer-client system.

"Are you okay?" Livvy drinks her own orange juice and scoots a napkin with bagels on it towards me. "I mean, that's a stupid question. I know that's a stupid question. It's just the type of question people ask in these situations. Then again, also in these situations, no one denies that they're just fine. So I don't really know why I asked you that. And Fitz? I don't expect you to be just fine."

I sit at the foot of the bed and pick at the bagel I set on my lap. I consider what she's saying and try to...I don't know, try. But I'm not okay. I'm not even remotely close to okay. I'm better than I was but...I'm not fine. And I'm not gonna lie to her and say that I am. I appreciate everything she's doing but I'm not gonna say I'm okay for her conscience. I still lost my son of seven years. He didn't deserve to die and I'll be grieving his loss until the end of time. I guess the memories and guilt will fade after some time but I'll always remember him and hate himself for letting him slip away. For not being there. This isn't a thing I can get over. Especially not in just a matter of hours.

I know she says she doesn't expect me to be fine but she's my lawyer, not my therapist. So she'll do or say anything to keep the case going. And I don't blame her for that. But I wished she wouldn't act like she cared. It just makes it that much harder.

"I'm not gonna get much better than this," I choose my words at last. I sigh. "So I'm guessing we may actually have to get some work done?"

Olivia throws me an apologetic smile but also pulls out a miniature iPad from her bag. I know she's not trying to be so heartless. She's just trying to be professional and do her job. But still, I wish we could have a few more empty hours laying next to each other. Not even in a sexual or romantic way - it just feels nice to have her close. Maybe that makes me an asshole to my practically dying wife, but it's better than being the pathetic, sobbing loser she already thinks I am.

"You're right about that," she taps some keys on the iPad before settling back in her chair and sighing. "Now Fitz, I know I already told you this but I need you to not only hear me, but listen. It's very important that you don't lie to me. I'm here to protect you and that's what I promise to do. But if you lie to me, all bets are off. I need your complete honesty. Always."

I raise my right hand and try a grin. It comes off as sheepish. But she gets the clue and goes on. "Good. Now let's put that empty oath into action. I hate asking you this. But did you try to kill your family?"

I knew this was coming. I honestly think Livvy believes that I am innocent. She just needs to be sure. She's never really asked me, I realize.

"No," I reply firmly.

"Okay," she nods, not looking any different than she previously had. Okay, good. So she never thought I was guilty. That makes me feel a helluva lot better for some undetermined reason. "I believe you, Fitz. I hope you know that - I hope you did all along. Because never for a minute did I think you were guilty. I can't say the same for the jury."

Olivia's POV

"What about Mellie?" I shoot back at him, two hours later. I don't mean to yell, but we're on a roll and I don't want him to lose him momentum. He's doing so well answering my questions. As long as his adrenaline is running, his mind is clear. He's such an Aquarius in that way. "Did she have any enemies? People she didn't like, vice versa?"

Fitz's eyebrows furrow, his fist crushing what used to be a piece of bagel. "I...I don't know! I don't think so, at least. I mean, she was kind of a bitch back in her hometown so there's always drama back there in Wichita, Kansas. But politically? Someone who would do something like this? No. Of course not. I can't even imagine!"

"What about the kids?" I demand, almost as a last resort. For the past two hours or so, I've grilled Fitz on every political and personal crisis he's ever had in his life. I interrogated him on thirty dollars that appeared on his trust fund twelve years ago. The seemingly most insignificant things could mean anything. The best way to clear Fitz as a suspect is to help the investigation itself. It will also help with reasonable doubt. But there are no leads. "I'm sorry, but did they have any enemies? Jealous soccer or PTA moms?"

"I... No!" Fitz shakes his head rapidly. "Karen only ever had playground fights and no crazy parents of her friends or anything. I didn't make school events to know everything, but I'm aware of that much. And she never spoke to strangers. And...Gerry? He was just about the nicest, least problematic kid in all of Southern California. So I don't...I'm sorry, Livvy. I don't know what to tell you."

I can see the question took a serious toll on Fitz emotionally, so I try to backtrack. I didn't mean to make him reminisce about his son's death, but it sort of just happened and I feel responsible for it. I've been doing my best to keep him focused but nothing can change the fact that his seven year old is dead. I feel bad for challenging that.

I think it's funny how he calls me 'Livvy'. Not bad, not good, just funny. Only my good friends use my nicknames and it's almost always just 'Liv'. Sometimes 'Livvy' is thrown out there. My parents used to call me that a lot when I was younger and it used to annoy me but I kind of matured into it. Even though it hurts because it feels reserved for my late mother. Now I don't love it when someone calls me that but I usually just shrug it off. It's weird when Fitz says it. It reminds me of my mother. Not saying that Fitz resembles my mom in any way, shape or form. But he says it so casually, so caringly - not to tease me. I'm just 'Livvy' to him. And it feels...different. And foreign. Yet so familiar. I don't love it but I definitely don't dislike it. It's just funny.

"Fitz. I'm sorry for asking you that."

"Don't be," he adjusts his seating, looking uncomfortably at his lap. "You need the information about your case. I'm just a big wuss and-"

"No!" I argue, a bit too loudly. He looks up. "No, Fitz. Don't you call yourself that. And don't try to justify what I'm doing. You don't think I know I'm being a heartless bitch? That's my job and sometimes I hate it. Sometimes I want rewind back to last night and just lay down with you too and be there for you-"

"I'm married." He says point blank. I look at him and looks right back at me, a hollow expressionless face. What the fuck just happened?

"I'm married," he repeats, his eyebrows clashing together. He chews his bottom lip.

"I-I," I fight stutters. "Obviously. I didn't mean it like that, you know. I..."

"You just said you missed laying down with me," Fitz licks his lips, looking more confused than confrontational. He's not mad or uncomfortable - just really confused. I, however, am full out humiliated. I am literally fighting back tears and sobs from my chest. I feel like my lungs are closing in on my heart and I can't do anything about it. "But I'm married and so are you. Or at least, you're getting married. Aren't you?"

"Yes," I breath in steadily, still more puzzled than ever. "I don't know why I said that. I was just playing around."

What the hell is going on? Why did you say you wanted to lay down with him? What's your problem? You obviously didn't mean that. He's married and just lost the son. And you're soon to be married as well. So you obviously don't want to hook up with him. Why did you give him the impression that you did?

"O-Kay..." Fitz says lightly, trying to void the awkwardness that he himself brought into this situation. "I was just making sure."

I press my lips and try to chuckle through a closed mouth. It's extremely difficult and it sounds forced. But Fitz is oblivious and smiles, which somehow seems genuine. It allows me to inhale and smile too, like I mean it. I click off the iPad. "You know what? That's enough for today. You did really good. And that calls for a hot meal. I'm gonna go pick up some burgers for you -"

To my surprise, Fitz actually stands up and fishes for those NutriVitamin cereal bars in the bottom of the grocery bag.

"I'm not that hungry."

"Still," I gather my things. And this is not my excuse to leave him after this majorly awkward experience. I actually want to look after Fitz, especially in a time like this. Even if that means going through the most weird moments ever. "If you don't want burgers, tell me what else to pick up. Anything. I'm not gonna let you starve. Those cereal bars are snacks and it's lunch time. What do you want to eat?"

Fitz picks at the bar wrapper before sighing. I know he's hungry because as far as I'm concerned, he hasn't eaten anything since that burger a day ago. He's pretty well built and muscular so I'm guessing that's not really healthy. Even if he's not hungry, he should eat. And I think he knows that I won't take 'no' for an answer because he finally says, "Burgers are fine, thanks. And I know this is a violation of my parole but do you think you could sneak some alcohol in here?"

I raise my eyebrows. Yes, it's absolutely a violation of your parole, dumbass. And I'm also a bit concerned that he's asking. I know he's hurting more than anything but he cannot turn to alcohol. Not right now.

"I'm not an alcoholic," he speaks up quickly, as if he read my mind. I suppose I didn't try to hide the reluctant expression on my face. "I never was and I don't plan to be. I'm not gonna drown my sorrows in alcohol. I may be dumb, but I'm not stupid. I just want to...maybe not think so clearly tonight. Just for tonight."

I know the feeling, hon. I know it's really pathetic of me but I'm seriously considering going out and buying Fitz a small amount of alcohol. Not enough to enable him but enough to compete the job he asks. He's done so good today and I know this sounds ridiculous but he deserves it.

"I'll think about it," I grab my things and swing the door open. But I think he already knows that I'll do anything for him. And fuck, didn't I say I wasn't gonna enable him?

X

Gatorade, Powerade, Monster, Redbull, Rockstar?

Jesus, what happened to plain old energy drinks?

I ponder this as I stroll down the Target juice and soda aisle, a bright red basket on my wrist. I thought about picking Fitz up some generic things like toothpaste, mouthwash, some medicine for his still healing injuries but after I got mobbed by a reporter at a pharmacy, I decided against looking like I was shopping for anybody but myself. I toss in two fruit punch Gatorades...I don't know if Fitz will like them but he better drink them. Just as I turn into the cereal aisle, my phone buzzes in my coat pocket. I flick it on and Jake appears on the Skype screen. I keep on holding the phone as I stroll down the aisle.

"Liv!" Jake calls into the screen. He's shirtless and in the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. It's probably lunch time right now, so I don't know what he's doing in the apartment bathroom, but since I haven't been responding to his calls lately, I let it slide. He doesn't give me a choice either. "Do you know how many times I have tried to reach you? Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

"I have a feeling you're gonna tell me."

"Is this a joke to you?" Jake demands. I can't take him seriously without clothes on. These days, it's getting hard to take him seriously, period. I set my iPhone 6 Plus against a box of coffee mix and skim through packages of tea bags. "Honestly, Olivia! Hey, as stubborn as you are, you aren't in this alone anymore. This is an engagement - a partnership. Would you quit being so selfish?"

I snort. I don't care if he can hear me, but I snort. Honestly, I can't justify not wanting to speak to Jake right now. Maybe it's the angry guilt of spending the past twenty four hours emotionally intimate with another man.

"Okay, fine!" Jake snarls after he realizes I have nothing to say to him. It's not like I'm trying to actively annoy him. I just don't have a reply. I know I'm being selfish but he's the one who begged me to take this case. The grass isn't always greener on the other side. "Okay, you don't have to talk to me! Just know this - the whole world knows Fitzgerald is on bail. And we also know Gerry is dead. So if he did it, it makes him a child murderer. I'm not letting my fiancé represent a child murderer!"

"Good thing she's not!" I finally face him and he looks taken aback. As do the other three people in this aisle but I couldn't care less. I'm crazy defensive when it comes to Fitz and not just because I'm his defense attorney. "He didn't do it, Jake. And even if he did, you don't get a say in it after you practically begged me to take this case. You're such a hypocrite. You can call me selfish or irresponsible, but at least I'm not as hypocritical as you!"

As soon as I'm done with my piece, I hang up and slam dunk a package of chamomile tea into my basket. I angrily make my way to the alcohol area of the store, trying to stop myself from picking up three bottles of fine red wine. Jake calls me non stop and when I'm finally in the car I rented this morning, I pick up, no less pissed off. "What?!"

"Olivia," he says, his voice low. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm not trying to control you. And I understand how what I said contradicted myself. But we're in this together. And you need to start communicating with me. Is that a deal we can make? A compromise?"

It should be easy - communicating with my fiancé. It should be a given. But it sounds easier said than done. I start the ignition and begin to pull out of the crowded parking lot - watching the rather amazing sunset from the windshield. LA is so different from DC, but not in a bad way at all. It's just not me. But it's definitely Fitz. And I can see why he's so passionate about his state. It's really something.

I drive for so long I almost forget Jake is on speaker until he clears his throat. I jump and then sigh. "Okay, Jake. I don't want to talk to you about this right now."

"I just want you to be safe, Liv."

"And I can take care of myself," I assure him, but it's hard to blame him for caring about me. That's just his generous, protective nature. Still, it's annoying when he tries to control me or order me around. Even when it's reasonable. "I'm staying on this case. I'm sorry, but I am. The way I see it, as long as it's not contradicting our romantic life, it's none of your concern. I love you, I do, but it's none of your business, Jake. I know you're worried about me, I get that. But David's here and he'll keep me in line. Everything will be okay. I will be okay."

There's a pause, then an exasperated sigh. I realize then that Jake may have been crying. I look at Rearview mirror and notice the own tears drooling down from the sides of my eyes. Being engaged shouldn't be this painful.

"I thought you'd say that. That's why I went online this morning and bought a ticket to LAX. I'll be there by tomorrow night."