Author's Note: Thank God for fanfic. That's all I can say right now. The post Season 5 Hiatus is going to be much longer than usual (some are saying February 2017 for the show's return, others October-December of this year…) and I am so grateful for the respite. Plus, with all the extra time, some long overdue revisions to scripts, cast, and hopefully the fucking showrunner could be made.

Scandal 6 is supposed to be the Curtain Call so I say that they should clean up their mess as best they can and go out on a high note or recover enough to get a small Season 7. It likely won't happen but a girl can dream, can't she?

It's painfully obvious that canon Liv's not going to get any sort of mental tending yet so I'll do it in here and properly. For the time being, this story is going to stay in Liv's POV but perhaps I'll go into Fitz's head a few times or do a companion fic exploring his own healing journey as he supports his Livvie. I don't know yet. The possibilities are endless for stories from me. I will keep our Olitz alive and happy one fic at a time.

Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"

"Esau finally crawled out of his Hole on Saturday and I stood by my decision to end it with him. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. It did hurt a little but it was a good hurt, an overdue hurt. He came over looking for a booty call like we used to do and I just…it was like turning the lights on and seeing all the roaches scatter. He literally made feel sick to my stomach with all his excuses, all his pretty little manipulative words. I didn't even open the door for him and I told him off when he wouldn't fuck off faster. Esau says that that we're still friends but that's not true. There's no friendship between me and Esau. We used each other as a way to run away and hide from all of our problems. He saw me as an ego boost, as someone that he can play with, manipulate into doing whatever he wants. For a long time, I was that girl. I was his puppet, his babysitter. I was his toy. I was the trophy that he could show off. I was…I convinced myself that there was something between us that wasn't there. There was never love. I only have love for one man and it's not Esau. It won't ever be him but when I was with him, I thought there was enough fondness, enough lust for him to cover over the past hurts, to ignore my doubts, and make it work. I thought that I could settle for him, that I deserved to settle for him and the toxic way he treated me but I don't. I deserve better. I should be with someone who's honest with me. I should be with someone who would never even think of raising a hand to me. I should be with someone who wants me for me. I should be with someone who sees me. I should be with someone who loves me. I already have someone like that. He's been in my life for years and when I talk about him here, I'll call him Boaz. He's been so good to me and so patient which is damned lucky because I haven't been very good to him. I've hurt him so many times but he's never given up on me, even when I gave up on myself. He's my best friend and I love him. He's a brilliant and honorable man, a protector. He's kind, gentle, and…well, I've always thought that Boaz had to be quite the silver fox to keep Ruth's attention, y'know? My Boaz is the type who gets better with age. He's like really good scotch or wine…"

BOXING REGIMEN FOR BEGINNERS (A/N #2: All info taken via Quora)

Pre-Workout:

Stretch for 10-15 minutes (whole body to prevent muscle cramps/injuries)

Light warm up jog (gets the blood flowing and also helps to protect muscles)

The Workout:

(1 minute rest for every round; 1 round is 2 minutes)

Heavy Bag Sprints- 3 Rounds (continuous punching at top speed)

Shadow Sparring- 3 Rounds (refine movement, punch technique, and defense)

Heavy Bag Power Shots- 3 Rounds (hook, cross, and uppercut; punches: singles for 1, doubles for 2, and then all out for last round)

Punch Mitts- 3 Rounds (combinations and defense with coach)

Double End Bag- 3 Rounds (singles, doubles, and combinations; footwork and defense to evade the bag)

Speed Ball- 3 Rounds (continue to hit the ball without stopping)

Midsection Exercises for 10-15 minutes (floor workouts for abdominal toning)

5 minutes of nonstop skipping (jump rope) to warm down muscles, burn fat, and tone muscles

It had taken longer than she had expected for word to begin spreading about her recent activities.

At first, Olivia had thought that it was B613 tailing her, possibly Jake or Franklin Russell (her hunch of his true occupation had been confirmed…) but as time passed with no contact from Rowan, she realized that it was the Press. Freelance Press, nobody major (yet) and she heard the faint sound of camera shutters when she went into the Clinic for a Wednesday session with Dr. Beck. She had also spotted a lighting quick flash from a camera outside of the Rec Center after her latest Group meeting.

The story would break any day now: 'Has The Pope Pistol Gone Postal?' or some other snappy headline, accompanied by everyone from BNN Talking Heads to gossip bottom feeders weighing in.

Initially, she had thought about confronting them all head on, shutting the story down before it could get out but she decided not to. Although The Great Olivia Pope was gone inside of her, her Reputation, her Name still meant something around D.C. She was The Fixer and that would always make her a person of interest, especially with her ties to the Grant Administration. Add in the rumored ties she had to Fitzgerald Grant III himself, it was simply good business practice to have someone on her day to day movements, even if she was staying low key and boring.

She wasn't ashamed of anything she was doing. To shut it down would imply otherwise.

There was nothing wrong with needing mental tending. Just like a person needed to set a broken bone or to take insulin, making sure that one's mind was sound was critical to being well. The stigma attached to mental illness, particularly in the black community, especially among women stuck deep in Olivia's craw. That stigma, that feeling of shame and failure had also made her hesitant to seek help in the past. She was supposed to be a strong and capable black woman, wasn't she? Strong and capable black women handled their shit on their own. Well, she had already tried to follow that Rule and had failed miserably. She tried to ignore the pain inside of her, tried to dismiss it, and when that didn't work, she self medicated.

She tried to be a "strong black woman who don't need no man/help!" and had made herself worse. She had also hurt others with her callousness, her bad decisions, her hubris…

Let the Press find out. Let the whole fucking world find out about her getting treatment.

She was in therapy. She was taking an antidepressant and anti anxiety medication. She was seeking the mental help she needed and fulfilling that need had made her stronger than ever. She wasn't whole and healed but she was stronger. She was better.

She had hope again and they'd have to pry it from her cold dead hands if they wanted to take it!

Anyone who had something negative to say could kiss her strong and capable black ass!

As if the universe had heard her throw down the gauntlet, Rowan entered the room. Olivia continued her warm down, keeping her jump rope rhythm steady. It would be a while before she was done and Rowan could wait or leave. She'd prefer the latter but she knew he wasn't going anywhere until he got to say his piece, whatever it was this time.

Rowan stood out like a sore thumb in the facility with his three piece black suit, a dark gray coat, and a black fedora with a white band. He looked like a mobster or a pimp. Both labels fell under his mandate as B613's Command. La Costra Nostra could learn a thing or two from his playbook and as Jake Ballard and Franklin Russell proved, he had no qualms about putting his minions' bodies in motion for profit.

Her father in name only sat down on the bench next to her magenta duffel bag and Olivia could feel his evaluating gaze on her. He was deciding what method to use to manipulate her. He could either be harsh, verbally battering her or he would go with the gentle, concerned parent approach with his words. Words were his weapon of choice and he could wield them with a sniper's precision. He could take someone out or maneuver them into self destructing, into giving him exactly what he wanted.

What exactly did he want from her, now?

Did he want her to start fucking Jake again? That wasn't going to happen. She was done with Jake Ballard. He was untrustworthy and unworthy of her. Did he want her to give him the Files back? That wasn't happening. The Files were hers now. Her mission to dismantle B613 was still on but she was keeping it on ice currently. Her last moves in the Game had backfired spectacularly. Olivia had no intention of making the same mistakes as before. She had gotten cocky, gotten smug, and things had gone terribly wrong.

Was he here to try and convince her that she didn't need treatment, that she was strong enough to handle things on her own? If he even implied that, it would take every bit of control she had not to break his jaw. Rowan wasn't stupid. He had working eyes. He knew that she needed help, had needed it for years but he had been content to let her suffer, to let her self destruct over and over again. He probably enjoyed it. After all, he had locked Maya Pope away for 20 years for daring to cross him, for daring to fall short of his expectations. Granted, she had been playing him for an Op from the start but still, it took a complete sadist to condemn someone like that. It also took a complete sadist to con a man into marrying and raising a baby with her for 12 years for the sake of Intel arms dealing. Eli/Rowan and Maya Pope were utter psychopaths.

No wonder she needed mental help. Look at the primordial gene pool she had slithered out of!

Olivia stopped her skipping with a small flourish and draped her white with black handles jump rope over her right shoulder. The same color scheme was used in her attire. Her shorts were black and her boxer's boots were black with white trim. The piece de resistance was her racer back tank top. It read in big bold white letters A WOMAN'S PLACE IS IN THE HOUSE, THE SENATE, AND THE OVAL OFFICE. She had laughed when she first spotted it in the sports apparel store and grabbed it, along with a large baseball shirt with #44 on the front, also in black and white. Since it was in the 'politics' section, Olivia knew that the #44 represented her 44 so she grabbed it with a smile on her face.

She was looking to forward to Fitz eventually seeing it…and taking it off.

Damn, she missed him. Her mind knew that she wasn't anywhere near ready to get back to that level with him but it didn't stop her body from reminding her that it had been a long time since she had felt Fitz's touch and it was not happy with her about it...

Quickly getting off of that train of thought, Olivia placed the jump rope and her gloves into her duffel bag. Her red hair tie was removed and opening the small lunch bag inside the duffel, she pulled out a large bottle of chocolate milk. Chocolate milk was one of her favorite drinks and it was a wonderful post workout drink, full of good things for muscle recovery.

"What do you want, Rowan?"

"I wanted to see how you were doing."

"Don't you still have your Sons feeding you Intel or did you finally kill both of them?"

"…you're finally getting your fire back. It's nice to see."

"Says one of the main people who caused it to go out… look, you and I both know that you're not here out of the goodness of your heart or love. Just tell me what you want."

"That's an interesting message on your top, Olivia. Some people would call it controversial."

"Only small minded people…look, if you're here looking for information about Mellie's campaign or whatever other politically based nonsense that's gotten your attention, you're out of luck. I've accepted that I'm a better Fixer than Political Kingmaker so I've decided to play to my strengths. I am retired."

"That's a wise decision."

"I've got a streak of wise decisions going on that I want to keep up."

/

"I want beef stew."

"Well, that wasn't one of today's specials."

"Beef stew… and then, I would like an orange creamsicle for dessert. Orange, that's important…I know that they have others, blue-raspberry, lime but I grew up on the orange ones. This is the meal that I would like, and then I would like to be shot in the head!"

"You want to be shot in the head?"

"Yes."

"Why would you be shot in the head?"

"Because I'm going to die and I want to decide how…"

Taking a deep breath, Olivia let the scent of the caramelized onions pull her back to the present. She wasn't in the "bunker". She wasn't watching the fallout from Fitz's decision to save her over the Common Good. She was home safe and sound in her apartment. She was clean and fresh from her post workout shower. She was in Week 3 of her boxing regimen and her body had already become accustomed to it. She was still sore but it wasn't enough to slow her down. She was toning up nicely and while she was still soft where it mattered, there was a power in her body, in her body language that she welcomed.

She was cooking beef stew for dinner and there would be enough for her to share for lunch with Quinn and Marcus Walker, who had been hired by her after the Brandon Parker protests. Huck was a vegetarian so she would bring him some tabbouleh, hummus, and pita bread.

She was making beef stew for dinner. She had asked for it during her Captivity and hadn't gotten it. She was making it from scratch. She wasn't going to end up eating the kind from the can, the kind she used to love as a kid, despite it looking suspiciously like dog food. She wasn't in the "bunker" with Ian and his minions. She was in her apartment. She was home safe. There was no one there monitoring her or threatening her with rape, torture or death…

She took a longer, deeper breath, opened her eyes, and turned the eye off, using the remaining heat to finish off the onions.

Part of her research had indicated that the sense of smell was the least likely to be affected by feelings of irrationality within one's self. The stronger the scent was, the better the anchor would be, unless of course, the strong scent was a Trigger.

Onions didn't trigger her. Caramelizing onions correctly required focus and precision, which would ground her further, plus they would make a lovely addition to the beef stew she was making from scratch. She had a previously unused Dutch oven that was white and had multicolored butterflies on the lid. The deep pot was full of tender meat, aromatics, stock, and chunky vegetables, simmering on low heat. Her stomach growled in anticipation of the meal and Olivia added the onions before cutting the heat on the stew, stirring it from the bottom to get everything balanced.

Cooking was something that she had always enjoyed. Rowan and Maya had both taken the time to teach her the basics before everything went to shit. She had taken culinary classes at her various boarding schools and she had honestly missed doing the task. It just seemed so sad and unnecessary to cook for one. Plus, the pace of college and then the demands of her vocation had kept her to an On the Go diet. Said diet had consisted of takeout, quick meals, water, and her trademarked pairing of wine and popcorn. Nowadays, it was chocolate milk and popcorn.

Part of what helped her avoid facing her pain was drinking. As time went by, her alcohol intake had been spiraling out of control like she had been. When she started her treatment, Olivia had decided that it was best to cut back. She still enjoyed her red wine but she no longer was able to get through 2 bottles in less than a week by drinking it. Most of it was used for cooking, now. The reduced intake helped her sleep better and her skin was clearer, having a healthier glow than before. Eating regular balanced meals had helped with her energy and for the first time since before puberty, she was her correct weight.

She was thinking clearer than ever, which was a relief. One of her biggest worries about taking the Zoloft and Xanax was that she'd trade one mental fog for another.

The fog was still there but it wasn't making her numb, making her reckless, or stupid, anymore.

The decision to get help had been like lighting a lantern, finally giving her a fighting chance to make it through to the other side.