A/N: It's been a minute! I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update, but ya'll this semester is really kicking my ass. But I'm on break this week and I'm feeling extra inspired because of the premiere so I was finally able to finish this chapter! I have outlines on top of outlines for the next few chapters, so I'm definitely going to try to update more regularly. As always, thank you so so much for the reviews for the last chapter. I hope you enjoy this one and let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: I do not own Scandal or any of its characters.

Fitz couldn't wipe the scowl from his face as he watched his boss slide into the back seat.

He didn't know what was worse: the fact that he was picking him up before seven in the morning, or that he was picking him up from Olivia's apartment.

"Good morning," he greeted dryly.

The man fumbled with his seatbelt for a moment, seemingly dazed, before glancing at Fitz.

"What? Oh yeah, uh, good morning."

Fitz eyed him through the mirror, barely waiting for him to get settled before pulling off.

"Sorry," he suddenly yawned loudly, "I didn't get much sleep last night."

Logically, Fitz knew he had no reason to be upset, but that didn't stop his hands from gripping the wheel tighter at the mere thought of what could have kept him up. He didn't bother with a response, instead focusing on the road ahead.

After a few minutes, he was finally starting to forget about his passenger when the silence was broken by another obnoxious yawn.

"I'm telling you," Dean spoke, his mouth still stretched open, "the second I get on that plane, I'm going straight to sleep."

Fitz held in a groan. He had hoped for a silent ride, but that obviously wouldn't be the case. Lost in his own thoughts, he almost didn't notice when Dean began speaking again.

"I don't know about you and the women in your life," he chuckled, "but I swear, trying to keep up with Liv is gonna kill me one of these days."

For a moment, Fitz saw red. His foot stomped harshly on the brake, jerking the car to a stop.

"Shit."

"Sorry," he deadpanned, not meaning it in the slightest.

For once, Fitz was grateful for the angry mumbles that slipped from his boss. He wanted no part in whatever faux friendly conversation Shaw was trying to get at – especially not when it concerned him and Liv. Again, the car fell silent and Fitz released a breath.

He needed to regroup.

This wasn't him. He wasn't a jealous man – even at times when life had presented him with every reason to be. Sure, he had felt a flare of possession when it came to high school girlfriends and his ex-wife in their earlier days, but that's all it ever was – a vapid reaction to the threat of a bruised ego.

But this…this was different; it was a visceral, potent surge of heat that coiled tightly in the pit of his stomach and made his entire body tense.

And it was completely absurd.

He and Liv were friends. That's what they decided, and that's how things would stay.

Though, as nice as it sounded, the thought immediately flooded him with a sense of dissatisfaction, and he grimaced.

Could they really just be friends?

"Hey," Dean suddenly called out, pulling him from his thoughts, "can I ask you a question?"

Fitz let out a quiet huff, his frown deepening. When he didn't say anything, Dean took his silence as an answer and continued, "Well, actually it's more of a favor." Again, Fitz's silence was taken as a sign to continue. "I just realized that with me being gone for the week you'll probably have a lot of time on your hands –"

Fitz rolled his eyes. While it was true that he was used more as a personal driver, he still made the rounds during the day for other company purposes.

"– and I know this isn't exactly what you signed up for, but I'd make it worth your while."

Now suspicious, Fitz came to a stop at a red light and eyed him through the mirror.

"I'd like to know what I'd be doing before I agree," he finally spoke, his tone just barely concealing his annoyance.

"Right well," Dean clasped his hands together, "Liv's car is still giving her trouble, and I know you helped her out a little while ago…"

Fitz's eyebrows furrowed.

Had she been talking about him?

He wondered briefly how much she had shared – if their interactions stayed on her mind as much as they did on his – before quickly clearing the thought from his head. It didn't matter what she had or hadn't mention to this man; he was still her boyfriend and his boss.

"And I'd really appreciate it if you could, you know, drive her around for the week?" He finally asked. "I want to do something nice for her, but I don't have time to pick up a gift. I figure this works pretty well too." He paused, adding as an afterthought, "Oh and you won't have to worry about things at the office, I'll tell them to let uh, Michael and Budd pick up the slack."

Marcus and Doug – he wanted to correct, but he was far too busy thinking over the request.

It was cruelly ironic, to say the least, and he didn't know how to respond.

Had it been the day before, when he was still reeling on a high from their lunch together, he would've agreed in a heartbeat. But now, knowing that the very idea of her with another man still left him unsettled, he began to think better of it.

He must have been taking too long to respond, because Dean suddenly offered, "I'll make sure you're compensated for it, I'll even double your pay for the week if you want."

Fitz held his breath. He certainly needed the money, and the offer was already tempting enough as it was. Truthfully, the prospect of spending more time with Olivia was incredibly enticing, but that also meant that it was incredibly dangerous. He knew the more time he spent with her, the more he'd be setting himself up for disappointment.

And yet, as he turned the decision over in his mind, he couldn't help but think of how beautiful she looked sitting in his passenger seat, how easily she had gotten him to open up, how much he enjoyed simply being with her.

"I'll do it," he finally answered.

His boss chuckled. "I should've started with the money."

But money was the last thing on Fitz's mind.

Just as he had been told, Fitz pulled up in front of her apartment at 8 a.m. sharp that Monday morning with the directions to her office already in his GPS. When he didn't see her anywhere near the entrance, he continued down the block until he could park and decided to circle around in another five minutes.

He took the time to look himself over, running one hand over his suit jacket and the other through his hair.

He was nervous.

He tried to tell himself that he wasn't, but the slight churning of his stomach and the rapid beat of his heart told him otherwise.

He was nervous – hardcore, high school crushing nervous – and it made him feel every bit as juvenile.

They were friends.

He reminded himself, the words practically now a mantra.

He took a deep breath and got ready to round the block again, but just as he reached for the gear shift, there was a knock on his passenger window. He was surprised to see Olivia standing there, coat and bag in her hands. Quickly, he rolled down the window and unlocked the door.

"Hi."

"Hi," she smiled, leaning into the window. "I'm sorry you wasted a trip, but I just came down to say I won't be needing any rides this week. I didn't even know Dean had asked you, but his assistant called and I don't have your number –"

"Olivia."

She stopped, her smile growing softer at his interruption.

"Just get in the car," he continued, a smile growing on his own face.

A long moment passed, and then, with a resolved sigh, she climbed into the passenger seat.

"Fine," she began to buckle herself in, "but this is the only day."

He nodded, taking the opportunity to watch her as she got settled. She looked as beautiful as ever, and he resisted the urge to tell her as much. She turned to him when she was done, and he caught the way her eyes roamed over him quickly. Before he could say anything, she tilted her head and reached out, adjusting his collar.

"There," she said with a definitive nod.

He grinned. "I should have you around when I get dressed in the mornings."

He paused, starting to grow embarrassed by the implication of his words, when she suddenly smirked.

"You should…" her voice trailed off, carrying something that sounded like an implication of its own. She blinked, then added quickly, "Because I definitely wouldn't have let you outside in that busy green tie you wore last week."

He let out a surprised laugh. "I'll make sure to burn it when I get home."

Her laughter joined his. It made him feel lighter, and he could sense the tension in his body slipping away as he relaxed into his seat and finally started to pull away from the curb.

"So how was your weekend?" She asked after a few minutes.

"Uneventful," he answered truthfully. "I did some cleaning, ran errands, jogged –"

"Wait, you jogged?"

He could hear the surprise in her voice.

"You sound shocked," he chuckled.

"I specifically remember you telling me that you hated running when I mentioned that I ran regularly."

"That doesn't mean I don't do it." He shrugged. "I have to work out somehow, and gyms are expensive."

She was silent for a moment before suggesting, "We should run together some time, maybe one of the paths at Central Park."

He glanced at her, catching sight of a shy smile directed entirely at him.

Unable to suppress a grin, he nodded. "I'd like that."

He didn't know if they ever would actually get around to it, but right then and there, it didn't seem to matter.

After a moment, he returned the question, "What about you? How was your weekend?"

He regretted it as soon as it left his mouth. Although Dean had left Friday morning, he wouldn't be surprised to hear that he had planned some elaborate skype date or had his assistant order a parade of gifts to be sent her way. If there was one thing his eavesdropping and little experience with the man taught him, it was that Dean Shaw did extravagant, and he did it well.

"Pretty uneventful, too," she answered, much to his relief. "I mainly caught up on work and finished off a bottle of 1994 Châteauneuf du Pape my boss once gave me."

"That sounds –"

"Don't finish that sentence unless you're going to say amazing."

They laughed, and he shook his head.

"I was going to say productive."

"Oh, well that works too."

He glanced at her again and they shared a grin.

They grew quiet after that, the only sounds coming from his GPS. Several minutes passed before she suddenly reached out and turned it off. The car before him eased to a stop, allowing him to turn to her with raised eyebrows.

"Sorry," she scrunched up her nose adorably, the sight making his heart swell, "I hate the sound of that thing. I'll tell you how to get there."

"What?" He feigned surprise. "You don't like Bertha?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You named your GPS Bertha?"

A honk forced him to return his attention to the road.

"I had this teacher my freshman year of high school whose first name was Bertha. She had the most monotonous voice, and she'd drone on the entire class about the same thing." He smirked. "I thought it was fitting."

"That poor woman," she giggled.

"That poor woman made my life a living hell for an entire year," he shot back. "There will be no Bertha-sympathizing in this car."

As they both laughed, she began reaching for the radio.

"Fine." She turned it on, leaving it on the station he already had it on. "We'll table all Bertha discussions for the foreseeable future."

The music quickly filled the space between them, and he stole several glances at her as he drove, noting the serene look on her face as she tapped against her leg absentmindedly.

"Have I turned you into an avid jazz fan already?" He questioned eventually.

From the corner of his eye, he could see her gaze fall on him and a smile start to spread across her face.

"I may have listened to a playlist or two over the weekend."

Something about the thought of her listening to music at his suggestion brought a wide grin to his face.

"Maybe I'll let you borrow some of my CDs."

"I make no promises that you'll see them again," she responded nonchalantly. "I've always been notorious for forgetting to give them back."

"Oh trust me, I'll make sure I get them back." His tone was playfully threatening, and he turned to see that she was still looking at him intently.

"Is that so?"

He nodded silently. She didn't say anything at first, only smirking as her eyes stayed locked on his.

"Eyes on the road," she suddenly directed, pointing forward.

He returned his attention to the front slowly, still acutely aware of her attention on him.

"Make this next right."

They arrived at her office in no time, and she directed him to the parking garage. After putting the car in park, he watched as she began digging through her purse, expecting her to pull out some sort of key card when she instead produced two protein bars.

"Here." She handed one to him. "It's breakfast. Eat."

He accepted it with a smirk. "How do you know I haven't eaten yet?"

"I could hear your stomach growling the entire way over here." She laughed. "Now, eat."

"Thanks." He eyed the packaging. "I don't think I've had anything this healthy for breakfast since my mom used to shove oatmeal down my throat."

She groaned. "My mom used to make me eat the most disgusting porridge when it got cold out. I used to beg for a dog just so I'd have a way to get rid of it."

Chuckling, he continued, "As much as I hated it then, there are some days when I'd give anything to have it again." His voice grew unintentionally serious. "Sometimes I miss knowing there was someone looking out for me."

He turned when he felt her gaze on him.

"I know what you mean," she spoke quietly.

He didn't respond. There was a depth to her words that told him she understood – that she knew loss and loneliness as well as he did. It stirred something deep inside him, and made him want to reach out for her. He wanted to talk about it all with her – to discuss life and loss and love – with her in his arms and the rest of the world kept at bay.

It was a foreign feeling that left him unnerved, and he abruptly turned away.

They were silent for a long moment, when she suddenly spoke up, "Tell me something."

He couldn't contain his grin at her request, recognizing his own words immediately.

"I don't know if there's anything left for me to tell."

He took a bite of his bar before turning to her. She was still staring at him, her brows now furrowed in contemplation.

"Oh I know." She suddenly smirked. "What were you like in high school…all things Bertha aside?"

He chuckled. "Why would you want to know that?"

"Oh," she crossed her arms and titled her head, "did I hit a soft spot?"

When he didn't say anything, she gasped playfully. "I did."

"You didn't." He let out another laugh as she gave him a pointed look. "Ok so I don't have the greatest memories of high school," he finally relented, his hands raised.

"What? Did they stuff you in lockers? Make you do everyone's homework?"

"No," he shook his head, "it was more like the other way around."

"No way." Her eyes were wide with amusement, and he couldn't help but chuckle. "You were a bully?"

"Bully is such a strong word –"

"I can't believe you. So not only did you torment your poor teacher –"

"Hey, I said that woman tormented me –"

She leaned forward, pressing an accusatory finger into his chest. "– but you also tortured your innocent classmates."

He grabbed her hand before she could pull it back, holding it in place. "They weren't that innocent."

She giggled, shaking her head. "I don't believe that…" her voice trailed off, and she glanced down at their hands, still connected.

Embarrassed, he gently released his hold. Deciding not to ruminate on the moment, he quickly shared, "I had a big head back then. Everyone used to call me the golden boy and I believed them." He shrugged. "I've only been to one reunion, but those kids that used to sit in the back with their heads down, those are the ones who made a name for themselves."

He was silent for a moment, and then, he added, "I sometimes think that I'm just one of those people who peaked early – that maybe those were the glory days, and I'll just spend the rest of my life trying to live up to them."

"You want to know what I think?"

Her eyebrows were raised and her expression unreadable.

Slowly, he nodded.

"I think the best is still ahead." At his look of confusion, she smiled softly. "I mean, think about it. You said yourself that you did what you were supposed to do, went through the motions, but then, someone set fire to that picture-perfect life, and…"

"And what?"

He rarely felt comfortable discussing the trajectory of his life and had only done so with few other people, but talking about it with her so candidly seemed almost natural.

"And you still need to figure out what you want." She paused, watching for his reaction. "I think once you figure out what you want from life, you'll get a lot more out of it."

He had never given it much thought before, but she was right.

He always did what everyone wanted him to do – said what everyone wanted him to say – and assumed it was for the best. But, now looking back, not once had he been truly fulfilled by any of the paths laid before him. The more he thought it over, the more he realized no one had ever encouraged him to figure out what he really wanted – let alone to go after it. No one except for her.

"I…" he didn't know what to say, instead turning to the side.

Almost immediately, her hand was on his arm. "I'm sorry if I overstepped –"

"No," he returned his gaze to her, placing his hand atop hers, "I appreciate it. Thank you."

"Anytime." She smiled, and he slowly removed his hand as she did the same.

They were quiet again, when she said suddenly, "I was captain of the debate team in high school."

He grinned. "So while you were off in Europe, you were captain of the swim team and debate team?"

"And top of my class."

He scoffed. "I definitely would've stuffed you into a locker."

Gaping, she playfully punched him in the arm.

"Some friend you are."

Before he could respond, her phone rang.

She raised it to her ear, her eyes not leaving his. "Hey Cy…yeah…ok take a deep breath…I'll be up in a minute."

Hanging up, she feigned a grimace. "I have to head up early."

He nodded, watching as she started to gather her things.

"Thanks again for breakfast."

"Thank you for the ride." She glanced at him a final time before opening the door. "I'm meeting a friend right after work, so you don't have to pick me up. I guess I'll see you –"

He reached for her hand just before she got out. "Tomorrow."

She turned, eyeing their joint hands. But rather than pull away this time, he felt suddenly emboldened and tightened his grip for a moment.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

She smiled softly, hesitantly. "Ok, tomorrow."

"I can't believe you got off for the week."

"I'm not off, I'm just doing…other work."

"Yeah, well compared to the load you left over here, I'd definitely still say you have the week off."

"Did you just call me to complain, Walker?"

"Pretty much."

Fitz rolled his eyes, about to respond when there was a knock on his window. Glancing to his right, he smiled at the sight of Olivia waving a paper bag in front of her face.

"I've gotta go. Good luck with everything."

"Wait –"

He promptly hung up and unlocked the door.

"Hi," she greeted, sliding into the seat.

"Hi."

He eyed the bag as she got settled.

"What's in the bag?" he gestured towards it as he began driving.

Beaming, she immediately opened it. "I'm out of protein bars, and I figured we could have something a little more filling." She took out a croissant, waving it in front of his face. "My friend – the pepper spray one – owns a bakery, and she brought me some before our run this morning. They're fresh and –"

He didn't wait for her to finish and leaned forward, taking a bite. Letting out a groan, he took a hand off the wheel and reached for it.

"That's amazing."

"Isn't it?"

He licked his lips and glanced at her, just barely catching sight of her gaze quickly shifting from him to the bag. He chose to ignore the feeling of his face heating and cleared his throat.

"Thanks." He gestured to the croissant as he took another bite.

"Don't mention it."

They rode in silence for a long while as they both ate. At a light, he finished the last of his food and, after dusting the crumbs from his fingers, toyed with the buttons on the radio until the CD player turned on. The sweet crooning of Ella Fitzgerald flitted from the speakers, and within seconds – much to his surprise – Olivia began to hum along.

It's not the pale moon that excites me

That thrills and delights me, oh no

It's just the nearness of you

"This has always been one of my favorite songs," she said after a moment.

He grinned. "Mine too."

It isn't your sweet conversation

That brings this sensation, oh no

It's just the nearness of you

She continued to hum, the sound flooding him with warmth, and he suddenly became acutely aware of the song's lyrics. They seemed fitting – too fitting – and he couldn't help but feel exposed. He held his breath as Louis Armstrong's rasp joined in, wondering if she could sense just how true the words rang. He certainly hadn't done it on purpose and started to regret his song choice. But just as his fingers began itching to change it, he pulled into the parking garage.

The second he put the car in park, she turned to face him completely, laying her head against the headrest. She didn't say anything for a long moment before finally asking, "What are you doing for lunch?"

"Well that depends." His eyes ran over her face, memorizing her features for what felt like the hundredth time. "I'm at your service all week. What did you have in mind?"

She smiled slyly. "Can you meet me here around one?"

He considered her for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I'll see you then."

When she slid into the car ten minutes after one with a wide grin, the last place he expected to end up at was Barneys. During the ride, she simply read off directions to the department store, not telling him where exactly they were going until they were about to pull up. When he put the car in park and didn't show signs of moving from his seat, she looked at him confusedly.

"What are you doing?"

He returned an almost identical look. "I'm waiting."

She laughed and shook her head, taking it upon herself to unbuckle his seatbelt.

"No, you're coming with me."

Still confused, he got out and locked the door, quietly following her into the store. She didn't give any hints as to what they were doing, only expertly guiding him from one department to the next. She finally came to a stop in front of the tie selection.

"Ok." She clasped her hands together and turned to him. "Take your pick."

He eyed the ties, then her.

Did she just want his opinion? Was it supposed to be a gift for someone?

Almost immediately, images of his boss bombarded his thoughts, sending a shot of bitterness straight through him. For the past two mornings, he had allowed himself to forget – even if only briefly – the circumstances that surrounded their relationship. He was just Fitz, and she was just Olivia, and they just worked well together.

He frowned, his brows furrowing under the sudden weight of reality. "I don't think I'd be much help." He took a step back. "I'm just going to wait in the car."

"Fitz?"

He knew he had been setting himself up for disappointment, but the sting of it still caught him by surprise. Maybe he had been right originally to keep his distance. He was playing with fire, and he was bound to only continue to be burned…

"Fitz," she called again, reaching for his arm as he started to walk away.

Her expression was colored by confusion, her eyes narrowed slightly and her lips settled into a small pout. "Why are you going back to the car?"

He shook his head, trying to mask his frustration as he chuckled dryly and responded, "Trust me, you don't want me picking out ties for anyone. I mean, you already made me get rid of one of mine –"

"Which is why I'm getting you another one." Her face lit up with a small smile, and she gestured to the display. "Your choice."

He stood, stunned, for a moment before running a hand through his hair. "You're not serious."

"Oh I'm serious."

And she was. She looked at him pointedly, making him shake his head. "Come on, Liv."

She stepped towards him, her gaze growing sharper by the second. "Pick. A. Damn. Tie. Fitzgerald."

His eyes went wide for a moment before he began chuckling. "Full name? Really?"

As her giggles joined his laughs, the world seemed to shrink again. There was only them – just Olivia and Fitz – and it just seemed right.

"Ok," she spoke as their laughter died down, "now, really, pick one. I think one of these would be nice." She led him to a table covered by more shades of blue than he could ever remember seeing.

"I appreciate the offer, Liv," he said honestly. "But I'm not going to let you spend –" he picked up a tie to glance at its price, his eyes immediately going wide, "$220? For a tie?"

"Ok, so maybe not that one," she took it from his hands and rolled it back up, returning it to the table. "What about this one?" She held another up to him and tilted her head to the side.

"Liv," he shook his head, "come on, put it back. We can go get lunch or –"

"Hello, do you two need help?" He turned to find an eager sales associate standing only a foot away. "Any special occasion you're shopping for?"

Olivia faced him, smiling politely. "Hi," she glanced at his name tag, "Mark. No, not today. We're just looking for something for work."

"Oh, well did you have anything specific in mind? Solid? Patterned?" He reached for one on the table. "If your husband wants one like what he's wearing now, I think this is –"

At the mention of husband, he sucked in a breath and promptly let out a loud, surprised cough. Olivia glanced at him, an amused expression on her face as she patted his back gently.

"Sorry, Mark – uh, fiancé, actually."

"Oh," his eyes lit up, "congratulations!"

When he turned to reach for another tie, Fitz pushed aside his shock to give her a pointed look. She shrugged innocently and returned her attention to Mark.

"That's the one." She gasped, reaching for the tie he had just picked up.

Immediately, she threw it over Fitz's shoulder and directed him to a mirror.

"Look, it's perfect."

He looked it over. It did look good, really good. The silk was colored a soft blue, accented by alternating lines of gray and a deeper, navy blue. In a way it almost reminded him of –

"It complements your eyes." She stood behind him on her tiptoes and placed her head on his shoulder. He watched her eyes drift from the tie to his own eyes in the mirror. "Really well, actually."

Their gazes remained locked, and he was suddenly struck by a surge of desire. Though it was all in the name of innocent fun, the pretense of her being his fiancée was immediately at the forefront of his mind. His thoughts filled with images of mornings starting out like this – her picking out his ties, them getting dressed together in the mirror; it made something deep inside him ache for the chance to call her his, and his earlier frustration returned tenfold.

But before he could think on it too long, Mark suddenly approached him. "So is this the one?"

She looked at him expectantly, her eyes suddenly wide and pleading, and her lips forming a small pout. As much as he wanted to say no, he couldn't – not when she was looking at him like that, and his head was still swimming with thoughts of them together.

He nodded slowly, and her face instantly lit up with a smile.

"This is the one, Mark."

Ten minutes later, they were returning to the car – him with a new tie in his hand, and her with a pep in her step. Once they got settled, he turned to her, a slew of questions racing to leave his mouth.

"So, fiancé huh?"

It came out first, without warning. She looked embarrassed for a total of five seconds before smirking and folding her arms.

"I was just trying to not make things awkward for poor Mark, unlike some people."

He shook his head, chuckling, "Alright, fair point." He peeked at the slim box filling the bag in his lap. "But, I can't accept this." He tried to hand it to her. "Liv, it's too much –"

"Fitz," she pushed his hand back, "it's yours. You're keeping it." Before he could refuse, she continued, "Consider it a gift."

He just barely contained the smile threatening to spread across his face. "A gift for what?"

She thought it over for a moment. "All the birthdays and Christmases I haven't known you for."

Her words were playful, but, for the second time in that hour alone, they spurred an ache deep within him. His gaze turned serious, and – obviously sensing that something had changed – she looked at him curiously, her smile starting to falter.

Before he had time to think, he gently grabbed her hand and ran his thumb over the back of it. He was silent for a while, and then, "Why didn't I meet you sooner?"

It was all he could think to say – the most honest expression of his sudden longing.

His words hung heavily in the air, their weight pushing everything else to the side. Again, the space around them seemed so small, the world momentarily confined to them and them, alone.

A myriad of emotions flashed across her face: surprise followed by fear, and then, at last, yearning – her final expression closely mirroring his. "Fitz –"

"I'm sorry," he spoke, but his hand continued to hold hers. "I shouldn't have said that."

She shook her head, opening and closing her mouth several times before finally sighing. When another minute passed and she still hadn't said anything, he let go of her hand and started the car. He didn't know what he had been thinking, but he knew he shouldn't have said anything. He suddenly felt dwarfed by embarrassment; it seemed to smother him until all he could hear was a consistent roar in his ears.

It became so loud and so overwhelming that he didn't hear her calling out to him until she placed a hand on his leg.

"Fitz?" She called again, softly.

He stopped the car short just before they entered traffic and turned to her. She swallowed, and for a moment, he thought she still wasn't going to say anything.

But then, her eyes softened, and he could practically see the last of her resolve melting away.

"I don't regret it," she finally said, looking away briefly. "That night, meeting you, being with you – I don't regret it. I...I think about it a lot, actually." Her eyes met his again, and his chest tightened. In that moment, she appeared so open, so vulnerable that he swore he could see all of her. "I just thought you should know."

A/N: The song used is "The Nearness of You" by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong.