A/N: because you all asked so nicely.
The Best Is Yet To Come
The Hamptons, 2 years later.
"Olivia Pope, get away from that window! You're not supposed to see the groom before the wedding!"
"But I like watching him," Olivia sighs happily as Kate comes over and tries to physically turn her around. She resists, her gaze fixed on the incredible man in the backyard who, in roughly three hours' time, will finally become her husband. "He's so cute. Look at him."
"I know what he looks like," Kate says, her English accent conveying both affection and mild exasperation. "And I know it's your wedding day, but you are seriously soppy today."
"More so than usual?" Olivia asks, teasing.
"Yes. I didn't think that was possible, but yes."
She laughs, watching as Fitz, the love of her life, the only man she would ever be called 'soppy' over, helps with preparations for their ceremony. He's dressed casually and carrying Kate and Ben's fifteen-month-old son Oscar, a gorgeous little boy with rosy cheeks and a shock of blond hair just like his mother's. Every time she sees Fitz with him, she gets this warm feeling deep in her belly which she suspects might actually be her ovaries tingling. She'd never seriously considered having a baby until Oscar was born, but they are both absolutely smitten with him. Kate is constantly asking whether they're going to try and conceive on their honeymoon, as she and Ben did; Olivia won't tell her one way or another, but she and Fitz have discussed it... and she had her contraceptive implant removed a week ago.
Just one more reason she is overwhelmingly excited to marry her man today.
It's two years and one month since they got together at their best friends' wedding, that glorious night in England; one year exactly since Fitz proposed in Tuscany, on a hillside overlooking the wine country after a beautiful picnic. He'd planned it to perfection: she had absolutely no idea it was coming. Even now, when she thinks about the moment she turned and saw him down on one knee, her diamond ring sparkling in the summer sun, that feeling of surprise is still palpable; it still catches her breath, makes her heart race.
She said yes without hesitation. Despite her shock, there was no other possible response. They're like that, she and Fitz: they move at a million miles an hour. They've been inseparable since the moment he kissed her in the rose garden beside the castle. He took her back to her room at the quaint bed and breakfast in the local village, with its floral curtains and claw-footed bathtub and little china urns of potpourri on every available surface, and he stayed there with her until their taxi to Heathrow airport arrived two days later.
That bed squeaked so much it was almost a disaster: she just couldn't stop laughing, lying beneath him, naked and ready and about to experience pleasure unlike anything she'd ever known before. But it was funny, not just because of the bed but because it was Fitz; Fitz and her, best friends, just moments away from having sex. What a strange world, where this man, whom she'd gotten drunk with so many times, moaned about other guys to, picked up from girls' apartments after he broke up with them, was now the very same man she was wrapped around, bare, exposed... about to become irreversibly intimate with. This man, whose laundry she'd done for three months once when his washing machine broke and he didn't bother getting it fixed; who she'd cuddled all night on her couch when one of his college friends had died unexpectedly and she was the very first person he called; who had seen her at her worst, and at her best, and everything in between.
It was just bizarre. She couldn't get her mind around it.
Until Fitz, who'd been lying there above her, staring at her in total bemusement, told her she was weird (literally; he'd said: "You are so weird" in a way which implied he actually found it thoroughly endearing) and then ducked his head, closing his warm, wet mouth around her left nipple. Her laughter stopped immediately; it was replaced by the kind of moan which seemed to emanate from the very depths of her.
Of course this made sense. How could something this good be anything but right? And then he carried on with his kisses, with his clever fingers and his sweet, sexy words, and she forgot all about the squeaky bed and their past and all the reasons this might be strange. She let him love her, over and over, until any concept of sex she'd ever known had been completely redefined; until she thought her body might never recover from the sheer force of the orgasms he'd so effortlessly coaxed from her. Sometime later, in the small hours of the morning, they lay facing one another on the sheets with the window open to let in the cool breeze and Olivia knew without a doubt that he was The One. It was more than their unbelievable chemistry and the look in his eyes, like she was the most precious thing in the whole world and he couldn't believe his luck (which is still how he looks at her, to this day). It was the sense that a huge hole in her life had been filled; a hole she didn't even know was there. It was a feeling of completeness unlike anything she'd ever expected. It was gazing at his beautiful face and, at the same time, seeing her future laid out in front of her so clearly, she knew they had already set it in stone.
She would marry this man. She would grow old with him, die by his side. There was no other way.
When they returned to New York, they went straight to his apartment and she had never left. She told her roommate she was leaving within a week; cleared out her stuff with Fitz's help in the space of two days. From the very beginning, they were the couple everyone hated to love: sickeningly cute, always touching, kissing, making secret jokes and laughing to themselves in the corner of the room, completely oblivious to the conversation going on around them. At twenty-nine, Olivia had never thought she would be in this kind of infatuated, teenage relationship again: utterly consumed by a guy, daydreaming about him all day at work, sneaking away from dinners and parties to make out against a restaurant wall or have sex in his car. At thirty-two, she knows Fitz didn't anticipate it either - but they just couldn't help themselves.
They didn't want to.
He told her he loved her about three months in, when they were washing the dishes one night after dinner and laughing hysterically about something or other, so much so she was bent forwards, forearms resting on the edge of the sink, trying to catch her breath.
"God, I love you," he'd sighed, and she barely heard him the first time; she certainly didn't recognize the significance of the moment. When she'd recovered from her giggles enough to stand up straight again, she still remembers how serious he looked, and how taken aback she was by that. Then his words finally began to register in her brain; at the same time, he slid his arms around her waist and drew her against him.
"I love you. I love you so much, Livvie."
She was so surprised she didn't say anything; clearly charmed by this, and very pleased with himself for rendering her speechless, he kissed her with smiling lips, over and over, until suddenly it all hit her at once and she threw her soapy hands around his neck and poured every ounce of love and passion she possessed into their embrace.
"I love you too," she'd whispered between ferocious kisses as he lifted her onto the countertop, already pulling impatiently at her clothes. This was what always happened between them: they just ignited. Spontaneous sexual combustion.
He'd laid her on the kitchen table; eaten her for dessert. Afterwards, still trembling, she rode him on the sofa in the adjoining living room and she came again because he was kissing her and playing with her breasts and because she really, really fucking loved him. That was the first time she'd ever cried after sex - and it wasn't the last. Sometimes, her feelings for him just overwhelm her. And, true to form, Fitz always looks amused and calls her weird, but he kisses her extra tenderly and holds her for even longer than usual, wrapping her up in his love.
They've said those three little words every single day since then - multiple times. Fitz wakes her each morning with a cuddle and a variation of the same greeting: "Good morning, baby. I love you." They text it when they've been apart five minutes; she writes it on notes which she leaves in his suit pockets, in his car, on his laptop screen, alongside little drawings and hearts and smiley faces. He buys her flowers approximately once a week, always with a handwritten card telling her that he's in love with her, that he always will be; she keeps them all in her beside drawer, which is almost full to bursting.
And now here they are, about to become husband and wife, to tie themselves together forever and ever. She's so excited she can't sit still, even when the stylist arrives to do her and Kate's hair and makeup. They're holding the ceremony and reception in Fitz's father's vacation home in Water Mill: just the two of them, Ben and Kate by their sides, her dad walking her down the aisle, Fitz's dad reading one of their favorite poems, and thirty other friends and family. It's not the huge church wedding she'd fantasized about as a child - it's even better. Small, intimate; a celebration of their love with the people they really care about, who really care about them.
She doesn't peek out of the window again; she doesn't want to see Fitz all dressed up in his finery until the same moment he sees her. And in her stunning white dress, simply cut, hugging her figure in all the right places, she knows she won't be disappointed by his reaction. To be honest, she could wear jeans and a t-shirt and he'd still think she looked sensational. He just loves her so much.
Even thinking that is threatening to make her cry. How is she going to get through the day without breaking down?
…She doesn't.
The moment their eyes meet, from opposite ends of the short aisle, she's in tears. He is, too. He looks so handsome in his navy suit and crisp white shirt, open at the collar, perfectly befitting their relaxed summer wedding; she wants to run straight into his arms and never let go. They really have made it here: they are actually getting married. She's so happy she thinks her heart might burst.
When she reaches him, when her dad kisses her forehead and gives her hand to Fitz, he wipes her cheeks with his thumbs and gazes so deeply into her eyes she knows he can see all the way inside her.
"Hi," he smiles. I'm yours, at last.
"Hi," she whispers in return. Always.
The day flies by after their vows, their first kiss (and their second, and third; Fitz wouldn't let her go). The sun shines all afternoon; the hundreds of white flowers adorning the chairs, tables, archways and the side of the house fill the warm air with such a wonderful, sweet smell. Olivia feels like she's floating, drinking Champagne and laughing with her friends, all the while with her husband's hand in hers, or his arm around her waist, or his eyes on her from across the yard in the rare minutes they're separated. Seeing the platinum band on his finger does strange things to her: fills her with such raw, uncontainable emotion she has to glance away, to hide her tears; at the same time, he looks so sexy wearing it that she wants to drag him upstairs to bed and devour him, wedding guests be damned.
The speeches come as the sun is setting, throwing rays of orange, pink and gold into the sky. Her dad's first: sweet, funny, eloquent. A toast, a tight hug, and then it's Fitz's turn… And to say he blows everyone away is an understatement of the most enormous proportions, equivalent to remarking that she 'quite likes' him or that their day so far has been 'not bad, thank you very much'.
"Now, this may come as a surprise to some of you," he says after first thanking everyone for coming, and for their help with preparations, "But working in corporate management isn't actually where my passion lies. Sorry Dad." Cue laughter, including from Fitz's father himself who employs his son in his company. "I studied photography at university; I worked professionally for two years, with some success, but it isn't an easy way to make a living. And I just can't survive without Italian coffee, English tailored suits, money to spend on my gorgeous wife... you know. The list goes on." More laughter.
"I've always kept up with photography as a hobby though, and I have a slideshow I'd like to share with you. With you," he says specifically to Olivia, smiling down at her. He briefly traces her jaw with his fingertip; lifts her chin, leans down to kiss her. It's one of those moments he just can't help himself, she knows.
Ben has been moving in the periphery of the yard, setting up a projector and portable screen. Now everyone turns in their seats as the soft piano of Ludovico Einaudi, Olivia's favorite composer, begins to play. The first picture displayed is a portrait of her, with the biggest smile on her face as she holds her brand-new engagement ring up to the camera. It's Fitz's favorite shot and she can see why: she is just radiant. Joyful. Beautiful.
"Olivia and I have known each other for five years," he continues to his audience, "But we've only been together two of those. I think these photographs, taken over that whole period of time, tell their own story. If I'd looked back through them sooner, I'd have realized what was right in front of me all along."
Olivia knows only a little about photography but, as the show commences and Fitz takes his seat beside her once again, it's obvious that these pictures are exceptional. The focus, the lighting, the ease of his subjects; mainly in color, but some gorgeous black and white images too. And he's right: it's a love story, as clear as day. In every shot, she is the star. Fitz has captured her at her best in every single frame. That's more than his skill alone: even before they were together, he was falling for her. And he's told her that before, of course, but here's the proof. She can see their entire relationship through his lens, through his eyes.
And it's… indescribable. She's crying from the very start, as soon as she realizes what's happening; by the end, she's trying so hard not to openly sob that she's hiccoughing and Kate is hurriedly passing her tissues from her purse, wiping her own eyes. In fact, the whole wedding party is in tears.
It starts out straight forwardly enough. The day they met: a boat trip with Ben and Kate who were newly dating, on a windy morning in September; Olivia and Kate laughing as they struggled to pull locks of hair from their mouths and eyes, their jackets plastered to their bodies. Looking at it, she can still taste the salt, feel the cold sea spray on her skin; see Fitz, this handsome stranger who seemed to never stop asking her questions, snapping photographs of them, of the other passengers, of the boat and the ocean and the sky and everything in between. One of the things she loves most about him is how passionate he is: he wants to capture every moment, to relive each one over again because experiencing a good thing once just isn't enough for him. He has such a zest for life, it's made her live hers so much more fully - and she won't ever be able to thank him enough for that.
The next photos cover the three years before they started dating: there are lots of group shots, mainly candid and relaxed (Fitz's preferred style); some of Olivia alone, engaged in conversation with a friend at dinner, skating past him at the Rockefeller Center on Christmas Eve, lying upside down on his couch with her long hair touching the floor. She always knew he was taking these photos - his cameras are a part of him, something she and his friends no longer question - but most of them she's never seen before. She knows he's talented, has looked at some of his commissioned work and the awards he has in his study, but he's always very modest and she's beginning to realize that he shouldn't be. His work is truly stunning.
The show continues, through summer beach trips and long weekends on the West Coast, drinking hot chocolate on snowy evenings and dancing at Coachella, as wild and free as a bird. And then their relationship begins and the images are mainly of her alone now, or of the two of them: reading the newspaper in bed on a Sunday morning, light streaming in through the open windows; their joined hands on a background of some concrete sidewalk, somewhere in the city; sharing a moped in Italy, Fitz reluctantly taking a selfie and being pleasantly surprised with the result - him looking directly into the lens with a grin on his face while Olivia is laughing behind him, slightly blurry, gazing away to the right. There's her with baby Oscar, just hours old, and she can recall that moment so perfectly: that fall, heart first, into love. Skiing in Canada, adorable in her knit hat and sunglasses; yoga on the living room floor; hiking, shopping, writing; doing nothing in particular except smiling at him.
The last photograph is of the two of them on Ben and Kate's wedding day. The official photographer spotted them in the rose garden just as she was leaving: dancing by moonlight, gazing into each other's eyes - the moment of truth, of confession, of declaration. Even from far away it's easy to see: they are two people in love; two people who are meant to be.
"I love you," she breathes, stunned, turning to him as the guests start to applaud; kissing his mouth and his jaw and his neck, hugging him with all the strength in her body. "I love you so much. More than anything."
Fitz holds her as the cheers continue and she feels so safe in his arms, protected from the whole world. "I love you too," he murmurs in return, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "More than anything."
He releases her after a minute, smiling at her and wiping her cheeks (again) with his fingers before standing up. She finds his hand and interlaces their fingers, unwilling to be parted from him even for a moment.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please raise your glasses in a toast. To this astounding woman, who has been my muse from the very first day we met; who is at the center of every photograph I take, everything I do, and always will be. To this beautiful girl who I have loved for so long, I once failed to get my washing machine repaired for two months just so I had an excuse to visit her with my laundry every week."
"Three months," she corrects, to much laughter - but she barely notices because he's never told her before that it was deliberate and it's making her eyes sting, her throat constrict. Could she love him any more than this? Whenever she thinks she's reached her maximum capacity, he says something like that and her heart expands even further.
"Three months," he acknowledges with a grin. "To my smart, funny, fearless wife, who is always right."
The audience laughs again before he continues, serious once more: "You inspire me every single day, Livvie, and if I can make you even half as happy as you make me, I think I'll be doing a pretty good job. Thank you for giving me everything I've ever wanted. I love you today and always.
"To Mrs Grant."
"Mrs Grant!"
His kiss seems to last forever, and not long enough. Afterwards, time speeds up: Ben's speech, the three-course meal, cutting the cake; tables and chairs being cleared away to reveal the dance floor beneath hanging vines and a deepening blue, star-speckled sky. The stage at the far end of the yard is lit with thousands of fairy string lights, the band setting up there while Olivia and Fitz cuddle Oscar, gazing at each other over his head and hoping they are lucky enough to have their own baby one day soon.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Ben says into the microphone a short while later, "Please welcome the bride and groom onto the floor for their first dance as husband and wife."
Kate takes her son from Olivia, giving her friend a quick hug. "All ready," she says quietly into Olivia's ear.
Her surprise for Fitz.
She thanks her maid of honor, feeling her pulse start to race. She's been planning this for almost a year; can't believe she's about to pull it off.
Fitz takes her into his arms, encircled by their loved ones, as the unmistakable first bars of Van Morrison's Moondance start up: double bass, drums, piano. The intro runs for longer than usual and Olivia makes sure he's facing the house, his back to the stage, as the crowd suddenly starts to cheer; fortunately, he's looking at her so intently he doesn't seem to realize.
"This song," he sighs, lovingly touching the tip of his nose to hers. "It takes me so vividly back to England. We could be there right now, couldn't we?"
"We could," she confirms softly. "The best night."
"Until this one."
"Until this one."
They share a smile, a kiss. Then the verse begins, and she sees Fitz's eyebrows rise almost immediately.
"Well it's a marvelous night for a moondance…"
"Wow, this guy," he exclaims, turning to look at the band. "He sounds exactly like-"
And then comes the moment she's been waiting for, all this time: the moment he realizes who is singing their song, on their wedding day.
"Is that-?"
He's gazing between her and Van Morrison himself, who smiles at them as he continues to croon: "A fantabulous night to make romance, 'neath the cover of…"
"How did you-?"
Olivia laughs, pressing her mouth to his. "I'll tell you later. Dance with me, husband."
She doesn't think she's ever seen him so happy before. When the song finishes, the way he kisses her, tilting her backwards over his arm like at the end of an old-fashioned movie, leaves her breathless. Then he's pulling her over to the stage, shaking hands with the Irishman, completely star-struck.
"We'll chat later," Van Morrison says over the opening bars of Brown Eyed Girl. "Take your beautiful wife back onto that dance floor. That's an order."
He plays for almost an hour, all of their favorite songs. Into The Mystic makes her emotional, thinking about their future together; Someone Like You has them both fighting back tears. To describe it as magical just doesn't come close.
"Thank you," Fitz keeps saying. "You're amazing. I don't know how you did it."
"Twitter, initially," she eventually explains when they've said goodbye to their extraordinary wedding singer and they're taking a breather as the DJ continues to play old classics. She's sitting across his lap on the swing seat by the house, overlooking the party. "I told him our story, how you're such a huge fan of his, then we started to email. He was already going to be in New York at this time of year anyway, which definitely helped."
"It was the best wedding present ever."
"Apart from me, you mean?"
"You were already mine," he counters, smirking. He is unbelievably handsome - it's hard to believe she gets to spend every day with him for the rest of her life.
"But now it's official. Legal. You're stuck with me forever."
He takes her left hand in his, admiring their rings together in the twinkling lights which surround them. Then he kisses her fingertips, her wrist; the sensitive underside of her arm, all the way to her throat where he nuzzles his face, making her tremble. Olivia isn't sure if she's ever really swooned before but she definitely is, right now. A wife, falling in love with her husband all over again...
"There's nowhere else I'd rather be, Mrs Grant."
... And a husband, falling right beside her.