Olivia sat on the couch, mindlessly changing channels. She looked down at her left hand, at the sparkling little promise glinting on her left ring finger. It had been six months since he'd asked her to wait, to promise she wouldn't fall in love with anyone else. She wore the ring on her right ring finger every day, and every night she would come home and put it on her left ring finger where it belonged. She looked at the clock on her cable box. 8:57. He always called at 9 on Wednesday nights. Rather, he used to. It had been a month, four Wednesday nights on which 9 o'clock had come and gone and her phone lay uncalled on her coffee table.

Even then, it lay on the table in front of her, and she frowned as the 7 became an 8, already knowing that her heart would shatter a little more in 2 minutes. She sipped her wine as she settled on Hell's Kitchen. 8:59. She felt her throat go dry as butterflies buzzed to life in her stomach. It had been a month and she still hoped, still said a little prayer each time her phone rang. 9:00. She hated herself for glancing at the phone, hated her heart for leaping. She took a long drink as the screen remained dark. She looked at the TV screen, tried to get into the show, ignoring the heavy feeling that settled in her chest and threatened to stop her lungs from inflating. She hated him for breaking her heart, and she hated herself for loving him with all the little pieces.

9:01. She ran a hand through her hair, starting flipping channels again. 9:02. She wasn't even seeing anything anymore, just staring at the glowing screen. 9:03. She gasped when the phone lit up, buzzing against the glass table. She picked it up and stared at it. Her finger hovered over the screen. She took a deep breath then clicked the ANSWER icon.

There was a moment of silence as they both held the phone. He sat in his office, his chair turned to face the window. Olivia put her wine glass down, and pulled her feet up onto the couch. Fitz began rocking the chair.

"Hi," he finally said. He tried to sound happy, to let her know how much it meant to him to do something as mundane as call her, but he didn't. He just sounded exhausted. Olivia inhaled, breathing in the sound of his voice. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed him, or how much a word as tiny as "hi" could mean to her.

"Hi." It was a breath she felt like she'd been holding in forever. He breathed it in, his chest heavy with the weight of the world. Her voice was small and broken.

"Livvie, I'm sorry about not calling. There's been so much to do. Every day is an uphill battle with… It doesn't matter. I missed one night then another, then I figured you had to be pissed so I… Then the fourth one came around, and I hadn't called, and you hadn't called either, and I thought…" He stopped talking, leaving the end of his sentence dangling. She knew what he was thinking.

"There's no one else," she whispered. She could see him slumped in his chair, looking so dejected. She wished she was there, that she could hold him for a little while. They got quiet for a while. He listened to her breathe, missing her so much it hurt.

"I miss you," he murmured. His eyes closed when her breath hitched. Her small muffled sobs made his heart sink. He longed to hold her, to wipe the tears he knew were falling down her cheeks, to kiss her lips until her sobs stopped. He wanted to pull her head against his chest and ran his fingers through her hair. She took a deep breath.

After a moment, he said, "I played basketball with the Dali Llama today."

He was talking her off the ledge, talking to her the way you coaxed a toddler off the ice. You couldn't rush to them, couldn't frighten them, couldn't let them know you were terrified. The only way you could save their life was to act completely contrary to how you felt. She sniffed a few times, wiped away tears that sprung from nowhere.

"Yeah?" She twisted the diamond ring off her finger, looked at the inscription. Something special for my something special. She remembered the look in his eyes when he'd her that she was his something special, Eisenhower's flag pin gleaming on his lapel. He wore it every day just like she wore the ring.

"He came to tour the White House and when he saw the basketball court, he challenged me to a game. I didn't think he'd been any good since he's so small and like 100 but he's surprisingly athletic," he replied.

She laughed then yawned. She hadn't realized how much her fitful Fitz-less sleeping had affected her until she was filled with his voice. She pointed out, "You know, when you stay late to call me, you keep 22 hard-working Americans away from their families."

He laughed. It was such an Olivia observation. "Actually it's 23."

"Twenty-three people missing dinner and the nightly news so you can call someone you're not supposed to be talking to." He hoped her laugh never stopped making him fall in love with her.

"Well you're a hot-shot fixer and you spear-headed my election campaign so in theory I could be calling you for professional reasons," he replied.

"Business hours are 9 to 5, Mr. President," she pointed out.

"It's 9," he shot back. They laughed.

"So if this is a business call, you must need something," she replied.

"Well I needed to talk to the woman I love but I've accomplished that."

She smiled. "Anything else, sir?"

"What are you wearing?"

She laughed, leaning back on the couch. "You really wanna know?"

"Only if it's something sexy."

"It's pretty sexy." He had been joking, but now he was leaning forward in his seat, his saliva thick, wondering what lucky silk garment got to accompany her beautiful body to bed.

"Yeah?"

She laughed. "You know for someone who practically gives speeches for a living, you're awfully tongue-tied over there."

"Maybe a little." He chuckled. "Seriously, what are you wearing?"

"Pajamas, you perv," she replied with a silly grin. They laughed until they were both wiping away tears. They settled into a comfortable silence. She finally said, "I miss you too."

"Goodnight, Olivia," he said, wanting to say so much more. No, he wanted to go to her, to come home to her the way the 23 people waiting for him to retire to the residence got to go home to their loved ones every night no matter how late they might be. But he got to talk to her, and for that Wednesday night, that was enough.

"Goodnight Mr. President." He smiled. He loved when she called him that. They hung up and Olivia went to bed, pulling off her pajamas and slipping on the Navy sweatshirt he had left behind. Miles away, Fitz was sitting in the Oval, staring at the one picture he had of them from a state dinner, promising her smiling face that someday he would come home to her and never leave.