She couldn't think and it frustrated her. Her work was the thing to ground her, it held her together when she fractured and yet today it wasn't working. The words her teacher spoke washed over her from like waves, never leaving any real impact. The bell was the only thing that stopped her dreaming as she would walk dazed from one class to another with thoughts of him in her head. She would shake herself from time to time but still, nothing brought her back to earth and she felt as if she floated above the school, watching herself from afar.

She didn't understand this version of herself, the one that felt dizzy and dreamy at the idea of their fingers brushing, or the one that fantasised about his breath on her neck and her hands in his hair. She'd never kissed anyone before, the whole school treated her like a statue, put on pedestals to be admired and praised but never loved and treasured, even by her parent who pushed her grades higher and higher until her back ached some days from books and expectations piled upon her. The library was her escape too.

When she was a child she had discovered the thrill of words, how they unlocked doors to worlds she never knew existed and she buried herself in pages, seeking knowledge and wisdom just as much as adventure. The stories became her friends that she would find solace in when she heard her father's yelling and her mother's threats. Many times she would wrap herself in sheets and quilts with a torch as her telescope to view the adventure ahead as the storm of their arguments raged outside and as she grew older and their cracks became splits, she worked harder to burry herself, only in vain. Life had caught up, it seemed and they divorced only a few months ago. Now she was a ship, balancing on the waves of their mention as she swayed and ebbed with the tides, washing and pushing her between their ports. Her parents were islands and she was adrift in their seas, Sundays through Wednesdays with her Father and Thursdays until Saturdays with her mother. It had been difficult to say the least and things got harder as he brought home women and she brought home Cosmos night after night but their love never wavered as her father still kissed her forehead when she studied and her mother would always check in on her after midnight. Their love remained but things had changed and the further she seemed to drift from her childhood, the closer she got to her memories.

She could still remember the first time she held the green binding in her hands as her fingers brushed over the gold indentations of the letters on the cover. She would trace them for hours if she could but not before pulling herself away to places at the small printings of J.M. Barrie's words on the age stained pages. She could always find comfort in his story of children never growing up, or perhaps it was less about that and more about the wonders things they did without the bindings of school and traffic and teachers and parents. These children were free and they soared above he skies in celebration. These feelings she held for him gave her glimpses of that, but an unkind glance as instead of soaring with him by her side, she felt lonely and longing.

The week passed by without anything of note as assignments piled high and her focus remained on him. When she arrived at the large grey building made of columns and arches, she stopped for e moment, as if she could feel him in the walls waiting for her. She bit her lip as she smiled girlishly, a sensation she still wasn't used to, and the heels of her shoes clicked as she drew further and further into the shelves. She found a pile of abandoned novels at an old rickety table and began returning them to their homes when she heard him clear his throat and looked up to find him sitting, watching her from his chair at a dark wooden desk that seemed far too formal for his boyish features and unsettled sense of charm. She met his gaze with curiosity and wonder while his eyes spoke of secrets he longed to tell her and joke yet to crack.

"I thought I'd find you here." He smiled smugly and leaned forwards placing his elbows on the desk and combing his hand through his messy hair as she watched in awe and envy for a moment.

"Couldn't stay away, huh?" She felt slightly emboldened by him, even her fear of him seemed to propel her onwards.

Instead of his expected laugh he focused for a moment and his tone became even and steady, "Yes. I missed you."

They both seem to realise the gravity of what he'd said and she blushed and returned to piling the books into their shelves before her coughed and shrank slightly into his chair.

"It's just, I don't have many friends." He felt as if he'd saved some grace but he wasn't to know she was far gone and starry eyed at the thought of him.

"That makes two of us." She mumbled.

"Really?" He couldn't believe it, she was beautiful, if not friends then at least a boyfriend or a dozen admirers who saw her far more often than he did and already had the upper hand.

"Doesn't this kind of give me away?" She said, partly joking as she held up the books in explanation, "I know you don't know a whole lot about normality but I assume you weren't born in the White House. You probably know most teenagers don't spend their free afternoons interning at the library only the to spend the following hours studying and the repeating this method the entire week. I think they call that being a geek, or a nerd."

He laughed and shook his head, "There it is, that famous Olivia Pope honesty."

She frowned, "You don't know me well enough to coin my so called 'famous' traits."

"There you go again!" He bested and she knew and gave in with a small smile, "But I concede, I don't know you very well. So, enlighten me, who is Olivia Pope?" He pulled out the chair opposite him and threw looks between her and the chair before she rolled her eyes, abandoned the remaining books and sat down.

She crossed her arms and eyed him suspiciously, "And if I do, will you reveal who Fitz Grant is?"

He looked confused, "But last time we spoke you confessed your total obsession-"

"Excuse me?!"

"-With me and how you're always watching me on tv-"

"Occasionally!"

"And you seemed like a total fangirl-"

"I am NOT!" She barked as they both laughed for a moment before he sobered.

"But seriously, everyone know who I am and that's not really anything important. Most days I'm a prop in my father's photos and I find it hard some days to find another purpose, I'm cooped up so long I don't know who I am beyond a name and a title." They hesitated and let the thought hang in the air before he shook his head and continued, "Anyway, like I said, that's not important and it's not what I asked you, Olivia Pope. I can already see you're overtly blunt which is very endearing, if a little bruising, and I know you like to avoid the hard questions as you've been doing an excellent job but you forget I come from a long line of politicians who have learnt to moonwalk out of tough questions so I know the drill and the tactics. It's time to talk about friendless you." He prodded her and she titled her head to the side as she thought and licked her wounds (and he claimed she was a fighter!).

"There really isn't all that much to know. I moved here a few years ago when my Dad got a job in DC as head curator at the Smithsonian. My Mom is an accountant. They split a few months ago and now I live between them. I have a cat named Crumble and I read with her curled up in my lap. There, basic Olivia facts for beginners" She joked but he seemed unsatisfied, "What?"

"I'm sorry about your parents." He knew what that was like, his mother planned to leave his father before her death, not that anyone knew or ever would, his father had made sure they presented as a loving and dedicated couple and that's how her memory would remain.

"Yeah."

Neither really knew what to say after that and her eyes drifted to the book between them.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a murder mystery type of guy?" Because she'd built him up to read Hemingway and Fitzgerald, and he knew her tone held traces of disappointment but he simply shrugged.

"It's pretty new to me too, but you can't beat a good Agatha Christie. Have you read much?"

She considered and counted for herself for a moment, "Several short stories, but I read 'And Then There Were None' last year and it terrified me into sticking to my classics."

"And Christie is not classic?" He challenged and she considered him before giving in.

"No, but I like my Austen and my Bronte sisters better." She felt contented in knowing she had the upper hand, he wouldn't have read them because no doubt he would have considered them 'girly' and unworthy his time. She could then obliterate her fantasies and breath a sigh of relief as her life went on. She grabbed the books, "I'd better be going, maybe I'll see you round." It wasn't really a question, more of a nonchalant statement as he clearly wasn't worth her time.

"I don't think it's very fair to judge me based solely on just the two books you've seen me with. As Austen wrote, 'The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.', so surely my reading regularity counts for something?" He knew he'd bested her again and again it would frustrate her.

She huffed and turned to face him, "Just because you read Austen doesn't make you an intellectual."

"But it does mean I pass, right?" He smirked and she looked slightly shocked as if she had been caught red handed.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"It's okay to like me now, right? Because I'm educated and all that." He wanted to crow but perhaps that would be too much and she'd been pushed far enough for one day. He stood, "Well, I think that's my cue to leave."

He gathered himself and grasped her hand as she stood, brushing his lips over it for only a moment, so quickly that later she would have to remind herself that it had happened. He looked up to see the effect they had on each other was mutual and he smiled handsomely, leaving their games and taunts behind. He leaned towards her and his breath tickled her ear as he whispered, "You pierce my soul." Before gazing into her eyes a final time and then departing.

A/N: Hello! Back again, I have a new story which is pretty cool (if I do say so myself) and I'd love for you to check out. I actually wasn't going to write anymore for this one but I got a few PMs encouraging me and it totally turned me around and that's why you're reading this. You guys give me so much support and it means the world to me, honestly. Thank you so much for reading, in case you were wondering Fitz is quoting Wentworth in Jane Austen's novel Persuasion in the final line here. Please review and let me know your thoughts on where to go and how you'd like to see these two. Who should I write next? More Liv perspective of Fitz? Much love xx