This was meant to be a simple one shot, but when I read the comment by BeckyPo, I decided to write another chapter, this time from Fitz's pov. This will be the final chapter. Thank you for reading.
Someday – Fitz's Point of View
He doesn't want to come out of his dream. Doesn't want to face the day. Another day without her. Another day of longing and yearning and not being able to talk to, to touch, to hold. Just visions of what could have been; visions of what should be.
But, he cannot hide forever because there are people who need him, things to do, ceremonies to attend, galas to pretend to enjoy. This is the day of his second inauguration; the second term of his prison sentence. Another four years he'll have to continue with this painful charade of the happy family man who happens to be the leader of the free world.
He dreams of her more often than not. The way her hair lands just below her shoulders. The way her eyes take in everything around her, missing nothing. The way her lip quivers when she's fighting tears. Her touch on his skin. Her laughter at his jokes. The quiet moments they shared.
It's been 19 months. So much time has passed but his feelings for her haven't diminished. If anything, they've grown stronger. He turns onto his back and stares at the ceiling, thankful Mellie no longer shares his bed. It allows him a few extra moments to savor his dream of her. A few moments to gather himself before facing the day that, if he's honest, he never wanted to come.
He looks out at the crowd of thousands of faces, dozens of races, religious backgrounds, ages across the spectrum and there's only one face he wants to see. Hers. His heart sinks a little; his eyes cannot find her, his soul does not feel her presence.
He feels Mellie tugging at his sleeve and he turns to her. There she is with that fake smile plastered on her face, telling him with her eyes to pull it together; to get over her. He smiles tightly, resisting the urge to strangle her. She gives him a barely perceptible nod, holding the bible upon which he lays his left hand while raising his right.
He goes through the motions. Repeats the oath office. He turns to his left and discreetly looks over his shoulder, staring at the space Olivia occupied four years ago. She smiled at him four years ago, so proudly, warmth washed over his entire body. He was truly loved and to be loved by her was unlike anything else. She looked at him like he was her everything; she certainly was his.
This time, she's not there. There is no love or warmth washing over him. Just the bitterness that seems to become more pronounced with age. And there's Mellie, sucking the warm blood from his body, replacing it with something close to, but not quite, hatred.
He mentally kicks himself as he looks at Mellie one more time. Must put on a good show for the American public because that's what they all want. Cyrus, Mellie, the American people and to a lesser extent, Olivia. No, Olivia isn't like that. She wants him to be as great a President as he is a man ,and if that means remaining trapped in a loveless marriage, she would make that sacrifice. She has made that sacrifice time and time again.
Everything else is a blur. He shouldn't be here without her. He shouldn't feel this emptiness that haunts him day and night. Nothing about this day feels right. Knowing that he ran a clean campaign means nothing; it doesn't say he's good enough. It says, no, it reinforces his belief that his is a coward. A brave man would've left his wife and married the woman of his dreams, political career be damned. At least he would've been honest. And happy.
When he and Olivia are together, they are a force. He never knew what that word meant until she came into his life and he realized that she could and literally did make everything better. She could kiss his pain away, tough love him into making the right decision. Together, they are unstoppable and he loves it. When she left him, 19 months ago, the best part of him left right along with her.
He knew something was wrong from the way she entered his office. She usually walked in without an escort, but this time, she let his assistant lead her inside. She was wearing dark colors, always a bad sign. And she had that look in her eyes, and the inability to look at him in his, which always means she's going to run.
Her Gladiators needed her, that's what she said. He wanted to say he did too. Wanted to say he was desperate for her, couldn't breathe without her, was dead without her. Instead, he stood there, open-mouthed and mute. The funny thing is, his greatest fear was that he'd lose her after she found out he murdered a Supreme Court justice, but she accepted it. He did see, however, the shame in her eyes when he told her he knew she had slept with Jake. Was that why she ran?
Jake. It still hurts to think about them together. Some nights, he dreams of the things he saw on the sex tape. He isn't angry with her. He was never angry with her. No, his anger is directed at Jake who overstepped his bounds, knowing she and Fitz were together. Yet, he did it anyway and continued to play both sides of the aisle. He never should have trusted Jake. But, in the end, it was he who had the last laugh.
After he learned of Jake's betrayal, he had Cyrus do a little digging. He learned that Jake was being "detained" in a hole. For months he received updates and took pleasure in hearing of his former friend's suffering. When Jake was released, Fitz knew he went to see Olivia. Though he wasn't having her followed anymore, he kept tabs on Jake. It wasn't long before Jake, who was relieved of his duty at the Pentagon, found himself persona non grata in DC and was forced to leave, his life and spirit destroyed.
Fitz snaps back to reality and follows behind Mellie as she exits the stage. He turns around a final time, searching for a camera, and he looks directly at it. He freezes, so she'll have an opportunity to look into his eyes and hear all the things he cannot say. And he smiles, so sadly, before turning around, straightening his posture and disappearing from the camera's lens.
The past 19 months without her have been his personal hell. He's misses her so much. He's thrown himself into work and campaigning to avoid thinking about her, an impossible task. In fact, he finds himself constantly asking what she would do. If he focuses really hard, he can sometimes hear her voice, urging him to do what is right, to be great. And he truly wants to be the man she believes he can be; the man she thinks he is.
When her name was leaked the the media as his mistress, it didn't faze her as much as it did him. It shook him to his core. He tried to reach out to her, but she wouldn't take his calls, wouldn't respond to his messages. She handled it as always, with grace. A non-denial denial, until the media was bored and moved on to the next story.
The story of his infidelity, however, never completely went away, just Olivia's name as being "the other woman". He didn't mind it though. It came up repeatedly on the campaign trail, but he was able to dodge answering it, thanks to careful guidance from Olivia.
Olivia. He can attribute this win to her too, although it came in a very different way. A legitimate was legitimate, supported by the polls which, in the months leading up to the election, began to swing his way. It was her deft handling of the campaign in an uncredited role, but he knows the truth. The plan, it was classic Olivia. She has always believed in him more than he has ever believed in himself. She made him campaign tirelessly because, she said, when people got a look at him, up close, and listened to him; when he tried to make a personal connection with people, rather than make broad comments people could apply to their own life, he earned votes. She believed that he could earn his way back to the top one voter at a time.
She was right. On election night, as the electoral votes came in, one by one, he took the states she projected he'd take. And when he was proclaimed the winner by all the major networks, it was she whom he wanted to run to. Her lips he wanted to feel. Her body he wanted to worship. As happy as that night should have been for him, indeed it was on some level, his smile never fully reached his eyes; his joy never reached his soul. Her absence cut him to his heart and ever day since she left he has felt a gigantic hole in his life.
It's been 19 months, more than enough time to grieve according to Cyrus. Cyrus said he needs to pull himself together for the good of the nation. But he doesn't realize what's good for the nation is having Olivia in his life and working with her as part of a team. Cyrus has never given their love enough credit and for awhile, Fitz thought it was because of jealousy. He's recently come to the conclusion that the type of love he shares with her, few people can comprehend. They think it's a phase, or something from Romeo and Juliet, something that's intense and lovely for a time, but juvenile. In fact, it is that kind of intense love that's worth fighting for, that's worth sacrificing everything because it is everything. It is air. It is breath. It is his heartbeat. The blood coursing through his veins. It is his life and he knows she feels the same. What Cyrus doesn't understand is that what they have, or had, is written in the stars and will be no matter what.
He looks in the mirror as he tries to tie his bow tie. She did this for him last time. When she worked at the White House, he purposely went to her office with his tie askew, knowing she would tie it the right way. Make sure it was perfectly straight. He just wanted to feel her hands on him, the way she would straighten his tie, or help him with his cufflinks, then run her hands down his chest. It never ceased to take his breath away. This time, he has to do it himself. He hears Mellie's voice in the distance. Something about hurrying up. Something about getting the damned tie right. She offers to help and even comes over to him and tries to touch him, but he jerks away. It feels oh so wrong.
He has to put himself together again, if only for tonight. He has to get her out of his mind, for a few hours at least, but he can't. All he can see is her face. She is everywhere on this night, on every night. When Mellie leaves, he looks over at his phone and wonders if he should call her. Just to hear her voice. He doesn't. Instead, he roughly finishes his tie not caring if it's straight, snatches his jacked off his bed and leaves the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
He takes a different route to the waiting car, different route from Mellie. He tells her he left something in his office and he'll meet her in the car. He walks down the long hall in the West Wing, toward Olivia's old office. There are no traces of her left, but he can imagine; he can remember.
Today, tonight, he can't even make himself focus on anything other than her. He walks down the hall where she's taken a million steps toward him, away from him. He takes deep breaths, trying to inhale her scent which is long gone but not from his memory. He takes deep breaths to keep from crying because if he starts, he will never stop.
Cyrus interrupts his thoughts with that same frantic demeanor he always has. Fitz swears Cyrus shakes him and demands he "get it together". He nods, Fitz does, and he continues his journey toward the waiting limousine.
Inside, he buckles himself in, not bothering to look at his wife. He leans his head against the window, hoping the coolness will take away his forming migraine. The miles pass, as do the minutes, and before he can fully gather himself, they are in front of the first inaugural ball.
People are screaming, cameras are clicking and the switch is flipped on him. He's in "public" mode, the smile appears just as he steps out of the car and starts waving at the crowd. He turns and smiles at Mellie, extending his hand to help her. Her switch has flipped too and her smile matches his, but their distance is seen by none but felt by each other. They have a limp-fish grip on each other's hand, the space between their bodies is wide as they pull in opposite directions. She leans into him, and through clenched teeth urges him to at least act like he can stand her. He ignores her.
The night seems to go on forever. The obligatory dances. The fake looks of love they share, with hatred bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening to overflow.
At each party, Fitz's eyes scan the room for any sign of Olivia. It's futile, he knows, because if she were there, he'd feel her long before he saw her. Yet, he continues, longing for a glimpse of her. After all, she deserves to be here for her work on the campaign. Not to mention, in his heart, she is his first lady.
The truth is, 19 months ago before she came into his office to break things off and he understood why, he really did, he imagined sharing this moment with her. He dared to dream of holding her in his arms, and her telling him to keep his "eyes up". When it comes to her, he can't help taking in her beauty. He'd stare at her forever if she'd let him. He'd listen to her all day and night, just to hear the brilliance coming from her lips. He would do anything for her, but now, as he dances with his wife, there is nothing he can do but go with it.
He closes his eyes, imagining Olivia in his arms. Imagining Olivia dancing in step with him and adding a little extra sway in her hips for him. No matter how hard he tries, it's Mellie he feels in his arms and that is wrong. And that's when he knows, he has to get to her.
He tells Mellie he has an early day at the office, so they should go and she doesn't protest. She hates being around him almost as much as he hates being around her. So, early in the night, and earlier than most expect, the first couple calls it a night. And when they arrive back at the White House, she goes to her bedroom and he goes back to the waiting limousine, instructing Tom to take him to Olivia's.
She gave him a key long ago and told him to use it any time. He never did, not until tonight. He should knock, but there's a part of him that fears she will look through the peephole, see it's him and not answer. So, he takes his key and quietly opens the door, expecting to see her sitting on the sofa, watching the news.
Olivia has always been a night owl, so the fact that she's not on the sofa and he can see no light coming from her bedroom, alarms him. He walks slowly down the hall, fearful of what he may see, fearful of how she might cut him with words to force him to walk away again. No matter what she says, he's not leaving this time. It's been too long since he's been near her and he can't go another day, he can't go another minute without her. And damn it, he won re-election, the American people have rendered their verdict and his infidelity doesn't matter to them. So why should it matter to him? She is his destiny.
He stops in her bedroom doorway and watches her. The bedroom smells like her, that sweet, subtle fragrance she wears. He takes her in, noticing how she sleeps on "his" side of the bed. He wonders if there's any significance in that. He takes his time walking over to her, but she's not asleep. She moves ever so slowly to her side of the bed.
He slowly undresses and slides underneath the comforter. He understands why she can't look at him yet. The pain is still so fresh and he knows she needs time to pull herself together. And he'll give that to her. He lies behind her and wraps his arms around her, pulling his body closer to hers.
She leans back into him and he hears a very quiet sniffle. He wipes her tears away, kisses her neck, her cheek, the corner of her eye as the tears he's been fighting back all day make their way down his face. He is home; she is his home. This is love and he's not letting her go this time.
He whispers to her, "I can't promise you tonight or tomorrow, or even next week. But, someday. I promise you. We're going to get it right. Because what we've got, it's worth it." He wants to say so much more to her, but he knows to step back and give her space. She knows he loves her; of that, he has no doubt. He closes his eyes and pulls her closer, mouthing the words "I love you" into her neck, where his lips rest.
"I love you," she says. For the first time in 19 months, he drifts into a peaceful sleep. A sleep without nightmares or regret; it's filled with one word, "someday".