Chapter 3 – Running away

The young man in front of her looked clean cut, smart, European. Liv had taken from his resumée that he had studied law in Berlin and worked as an aide at the European court in Brussels before "looking for new challenges" as he had put it in the interview she was just concluding. Alex Leeman, 33, excellent resumée, good court record, lauded by a few influential people with connection to various governments and big names. He was perfect for this place. And yet there was something missing. And she knew this something was the fact that he was not Harrison or Amy or any of the others. Not a gladiator. And the fact that this was not OPA. Never would be, never would be again. There was a shiny bronze sign on the front door to that old yet fancy building in the best business district of Vienna, there had apparently been no expenses spared in furnishing the office rooms to her liking – modern and simple yet with a sense for style – but it was… different.

"Well," she said, uncrossing her legs and closing the application folder that was on the dark wood desk in front of her. "I am very impressed Mr Leeman, you will hear from me very shortly, thanks for making time."

"I am the one who has to thank you for taking it." His smile was just as charming as the rest of him. A good guy. Maybe, back then, she might have considered him a good addition to her gladiators. But those times, too, were over. Off to a fresh new start, no matter how much she could hear the hinges of that brand new machine grind and screech.

He got up, she did as well. They shook hands and he left. He was the third and when he left, Olivia was not sure whether she would call him. She knew she should, she´d need two people, maybe three. Heck, she knew how to start off a successful office of her own.

She reached for the resumée again. Perfect. Nice. Just like the new bronze sign. Just like the new fancy name in her passport. Carolyne Bishop. Her father was showing some interesting humour there. Using her middle name made sense, it was something she would get used to more easily than using a completely new one. Her new last name however seemed like a symbol. Stepping down from the high ground, retiring from the high ranks of power. Not a pope, but a bishop. Not in the front lines of power any more, but tucked away. Hopefully safe. She wasn´t sure she liked it. Maybe she never would. But sometimes it was maybe better to try and get along with decisions, make grown up decisions because in the end at least that kind of safety would stop her from getting hurt all over again. It had been two weeks. Maybe things just needed time. Wounds needed time to heal, didn´t they?

"Not sure if I´m comfortable to see you in the company of handsome men any more."

"Well, I guess you´ll have to, Jake. I can´t handle this place on my own and I don´t want to, either."

He was standing in the door frame to her office, carrying a stack of papers, watching her for a moment, before he pushed himself off casually, walked over and placed the papers on her desk. Mail. Adressed to her new alias. More applications, she guessed. A little paperwork. She reached for it, browsed through it. The mild, nostalgic feeling of disappointment was familiar by now. Of course she couldn´t hope for…

If he caught that brief, sad glance and she guessed he did, he didn´t comment on it.

"Did you decide on an associate already?" In this moment it sounded as if his question was meant to distract her from her thoughts.

She looked up. "Yes…No…Maybe. The one who was just here was promising. Him I guess or maybe the woman from yesterday morning. Maybe both. I´ll have to see how much work is getting in. Whether I even need them both."

A raise of eyebrows and small smile. "You don´t really doubt that, do you? There are strings that can be pulled, already have been pulled. Soon as this place is open for business, you will not have any starter problems. Your reputation is already out there, carefully placed by the right people."

"Because my father would not gladly see me off into exile only to then see me starve?" Her words sounded a little sharp.

"Because he has no interest in personal failure and letting that happen to you would reflect badly on his pride."

"He´s thousands of miles away and you still keep talking like this."

"He could be even further away and I´d still be worried."

She cocked her head to the side a bit, almost angrily.

"It´s a fresh start, we both knew it would be." he continued.

"It should be." she said curtly, picking up the folder on her desk and moving towards the door. He probably didn´t deserve that treatment. She didn´t feel like arguing but she could tell she was on edge. She even knew why. But the answer to that was one of the things she had left behind, tucked away in a chest to be stored in the most hidden corners of herself, the same chest that held unrealistic talks of marmalade jars and memories of that house in Vermont.

His hand moved out against the door frame, blocking her way, causing him to glare at her. "Jake…"

His smile was gentle, his eyes worried but with a small glimmer of annoyance. Of hurt. "I think we both knew it would not be easy, didn´t we?" His words were almost a whisper. "You ran Liv, you already ran. Stop running now. And stop looking back." She had decided this. She had decided it on her own. To turn her back on her old life and leave everything behind. Make a clean cut. But that wasn´t easy, not at all and she hated that it was hard.

She could feel a lump in her throat, a feeling that felt both uncomfortable and familiar. She avoided his gaze. "Jake, I don´t want to…"

"…talk about this." he completed her sentence. She didn´t like his uncanny ability to do that sometimes. Never with the same certainty as… well, he still could. Jake knew her better than she liked. Because she had let him close, had turned to him to soothe her wounds a few times too often. Was doing so even now only to push him away again. He raised a hand, cupped her chin. "We´ve been through this, Liv," he said, his voice still low. "We ran away. The two of us. And now we´re here." A little pressure to his fingers and she felt herself looking up at him, knowing that right now her chaos of emotions was probably clearly written on her face. "No more running. No more looking back." When he leaned in she did not move away and when she felt his lips gently brush against hers before becoming more urgent, she let herself fall. It felt right. It felt wrong. It felt like her only option. And maybe that option was not the worst she had ever chosen.

Later:

It was time to return to their apartment, a cozy place that strangely felt like home yet wasn´t, similar to this office. Olivia didn´t know how much time had passed since Leeman had left as she ran a hand through her hair, stepping into the corridor. The resumes were all in her main office, she would take them, get them home. Jake was … somewhere. A phone call he said. She wondered whether she was the only one breaking habits or whether he was following an own agenda, not completely breaking ties. Her eyes had asked that, his had dismissed the accusation. Not right now she thought. Not right now. Not tonight. Tonight felt…okay. Tonight didn´t hurt as much.

The sun was about to set. Days were short this time of the year, no matter where they were it seemed. The sun was low even though it was still later afternoon, shining deep orange rays into the hallway. A few of the boxes were still unpacked. New things, not really anything she had brought. A complete, brand new start. Tabula rasa. A white board. Maybe a good time to don that white head again and start anew. Even with new boxes, new pencils and new folders. Could she see the thinnest veil of dust on those boxes she wondered briefly? Had they gathered dust as in had they been sitting here for a while , awaiting her maybe inevitable exile? She halted for a moment, wondering. It was just the boxes there, new, clean, those and Jake´s coat and hers, hung more or less neatly. And then she saw it:

Later it would strike her as odd that she had found it that easily, that he had not hidden it at once. He was Command,…had been. He had experience in hiding things, keeping things secret. Blatant envelopes sticking from coat pockets for her to be spotted easily was not his style, Jake was not that careless. Anyways, there it was, in plain sight, making her wonder what secrets he might keep from her. Possibly he had not thought they´d stay. He had maybe planned to just poke his head in and give her the mail, had taken this very envelope, pre-sorted her mail and kept that one away from her deliberately. Not planning to stay but knowing he´d get back to this hallway and leave, maybe Jake had planned on just telling her he´d go "home" already, maybe order some food, tell her to not stay long. No, she would think later, Jake had certainly had no intent on things going the way they now went. In his version of events, he would tuck the envelop away and destroy it, so she´d never find it. So she´d never see what it contained.

She walked over to the coat, her hands reaching out, picking the envelope from the pocket. It seemed so out of place yet so guiltily tucked away that she immediately knew it was meant for her eyes originally. She turned it, discovering he had already opened it. It was mail paper brown, a bit larger than regular size, half that of a paper sheet, a bit strengthened, maybe that was why it had been a bit difficult to easily conceal it in a hallway that so far had no real hiding places. When she turned it around, she found no sender. Turning it again she found her address. The fake name one, with one difference: It was not addressed to "Carolyne Bishop" but to "Carolyne O. Biship." O. Olivia. The sender was someone who knew who she was. Who she had been.

Only then, only when she had realized that, not able to sort in the neat, clear handwriting though, she reached into it. Took out what it contained, feeling instantly it was no regular paper, no letter. It was a small stack of photos. The kind that one sees in boulevard magazines. Shots taken from secret corners and from behind bushes. And when she saw what they showed, she could feel her heart beat. Slowly. Painfully.

She had seen no such photos in the press. No such photos had gone around the world because they surely would have gone viral. Any magazine, any newspaper, American or international would have paid a fortune for these pictures, any semi corrupt reporter would have given a right arm to have them and sell them. But there had been no such pictures. The press has been distracted from the funeral and it had been held in quiet on a cemetery in DC. The White House had shielded them to avoid them. At least, so it had seemed.

It was depressing, hurtful, the most painful images she had ever seen of him. The first picture must have been taken from a distance but with a large zoom because she could see each line of his face clearly, his head bent, his eyes dark with grief, the lines of his face, his mouth set in firm pain as he was trying not to cry. Again. His hand holding that of his wife.

She swallowed, turning to the next picture. In that one, Fitz had stepped closer to the grave, his hair untidy from the wind as he was clutching on to the shovel that had just heaped the first bit of dirt onto the coffin that was veiled from her view. Burrying his own child. The look on his face…

Stop, something told her. Stop. Don´t do this to yourself. But these pictures ... they were addressed to her, were they not? How dare he? How dare he try and keep them from her? How dare he keep Fitz from her? She knew those thoughts were dangerously irrational because she herself had decided to keep herself away. She was the problem that needed fixing, but It was already too late. All the pain, all of a sudden it was back. She felt tears well up in her eyes as she turned to the third photo. His head was turned to the side, giving her a full edge view on his profile. Just that. A zoom in. Close up on the pain. She had never seen him like this before. He seemed incredibly vulnerable…

Someone knows where you are, she thought. Someone wants you to have these. Someone is tormenting you. Reasonable thoughts, but they barely echoed in her mind. Only pain. Longing. How she missed him…

She felt her knees give way as she slowly sunk to the ground, the pictures clutched in her right hand.

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