OK, so part 2 - Liv's PoV. Sorry it took forever, and then some to update. And Sheree - thanks for the pep-talk :)

As the elevator climbs her heart beats faster with each flashing number. She's angry. So incredibly angry. She's had 10 hours to calm down and she's still seething. She's angry that he brought her back. She's angry that he slept with her. She's angry that he let her spend the night. But mostly, she's angry that she cares; she's angry that she was on the verge of crying this morning; she's angry that she let him get under her skin.

She fingers her key nervously, pressing her thumb into the ridged metal. She paces in front of the door, trying to ready herself to open it. She stares at her feet as they move along the carpeted floor; in loops – large and small, but always leading to the same place. Always leading to her reaching for the door knob, then moving her hand back, until it's hanging by her side. And she's pacing again. She needs to pull herself together. She needs to get her eyes to stop tearing up, and her lip to stop quivering and her voice to stop cracking. She needs to find a way to hide that she cares; to cover up how deep he's cut. She leans her back against the cool hallway wall and closes her eyes. Inhaling. She has no right to be angry – she rejected him, and he hooked up with someone else; she never said he couldn't bring girls over – she – she has no right to be angry; she made sure of it. But that, that knowledge, the recognition, it doesn't make her feel better; it just makes her feel more empty.

The elevator door dings and two familiar voices flood the small space. She looks up, just in time to see him rooted in spot; looking at her – his expression a mix of concern, panic, and something resembling – guilt?

"What are you-" He starts off in a soft tone.

"I just… forgot my key." She lies, pressing the, now warm, metal further into her skin. He looks at her hands, and sees her grip tighten. His jaw clenches, and he lowers his eyes to the floor as he walks to the door. Lynn lets go of his hand and walks over to where she's standing, giving her a big hug, before taking her hand and leading her inside.

"We went to buy stuff for tonight." She says cheerfully as Fitz drops the bags on the kitchen counter.

Liv just looks at him confused, then as her eyes dart over the stack of nauseating food a realization dawns on her, "Amber," she whispers; more to herself.

"Lynn said you OK-ed it?" He asks, panicking; it's like he feels the eggshells under his feet cracking.

"I have. Last night." She replies coolly, "I've just… had a lot on my mind." And with that she's walking to the counter and helping him unpack; avoiding eye contact. But she can feel the skin at the back of her neck burning, she can feel him staring; she feels the heat radiating off his body.

"How do I fix this?" His hot breath tickles her ear. And she's trapped between his body and the kitchen counter. She shivers. She can feel his chest, almost touching her back. And she wants to lean into him; feel his heartbeat. She wants him to move his arms from the counter and put them on her hips, she wants him to stop hovering just above her shoulder and kiss it. She wants him to make her forget, to make her forgive. She turns her head around slowly, trying to look up at him. And he's close, so impossibly close; their noses are almost touching; their lips parting slowly, as they inhale each other's breaths; their eyes locked in a duel – of questions and accusations; apologies and explanations. She lifts her hand off the counter, shakily bringing it up to his face, but before she can feel the familiar skin under her fingertips the doorbell rings.

And the spell is broken. She's looking at the floor; her hand delving back into the depths of grocery bags. He steps back, and she feels the coolness of the air engulf her body. She hates it.

"They're here." Lynn chimes and they just smile, weakly.

"Yeah, let's go get the door." She walks past him, and she sees him close his eyes as he inhales her scent, trying to savor the moment. And it breaks her heart and mends it – all at the same time. "You should come." She tells him, looking over her shoulder, with a small smile. He just nods and follows behind.

She opens the door, and on the other side a six year-old in a pink faux-fur coat is grinning wildly, next to a twenty-something blonde in a tight dress and a leather jacket, holding a backpack half her size. The girl smiles, and opens her mouth, but her eyes settle on the figure behind her and she freezes, blushing; her pale cheeks suddenly red. She can feel Fitz' body stiffen behind her and she understands, immediately. She offers the girl a half-hearted smile as she extends her hand, "I'm Olivia."

She takes it, her grip flimsy, and utters quietly, "I'm Daisy."

The six year-old next to her extends her hand, pushing her chest out as she straightens her back, "And I'm Amber. It's lovely to meet you Mrs. Grant." She says in an all-important, well-rehearsed tone. Fitz starts coughing loudly, the twenty-something looks like she's about to vomit and Lynn and Amber just stare at the adults, clearly amused and intrigued.

"Well, the pleasure is all mine Amber." Olivia manages to utter in a warm tone, as she bends down to the girl's eye-level, "But, you can just call me Olivia. I'm not Mrs. Grant." She says with an encouraging smile, and the girl nods in agreement. "Lynn, why don't you show Amber in?" And with that she's stepping to the side, letting the girl through. "Daisy, would you like to come in?"

"Oh, no. Thank you Mrs. G-Olivia… I… I should get going." And she turns around, almost running in her 5-inch heels.

"Daisy?" And the girl pauses, turning, panic in her eyes. "Do you think Amber might need her backpack?" And the girl just looks down at her hand, as a sigh of relief escapes her lips. She walks back to the door and extends the backpack to Fitz, who stands there, effectively frozen. Liv takes it, and steps inside, pulling him in.

"Is today a national – Bring your fuckbuddy home day?" She hisses as soon as the lock clicks.

"Liv…" She just walks past him, heading to the living room. "Liv, we need-"

"No actually, we don't need to anything." She says as she turns around, staring him down. "I need to go set up the movie and help Amber unpack. You need to sort out the food, and bring it by." He just looks at her for a moment, trying to decide whether to fight her on it, whether to push; but he knows better. He knows her enough to know that now's not the time, to know that at this point anything he says will only do more harm; so instead he just nods his head. "And Fitz, try not to bring anyone else around, while I set up."

"I didn't kn-" But she walks away before he can offer an explanation.

The awkward, charged silence is replaced by cheerful chatter. "So have you girls decided what you'd like to watch?"

"The Parent Trap!" Lyn exclaims excitedly, as they both look up at Liv.

"Ok, then. The Parent Trap it is." And she walks over to the TV, rummaging through the stack of DVDs – mostly Lynn's, and a collection of Charlie Chaplin movies that belongs to Fitz. She's barely used her TV before they moved in; or her living room really; but now – it's full of books and DVDs, photos, clothes and toys. It feels like home. She presses play, and watches them settle on the couch, under a large blanket, as the white castle and the shooting star appear on the screen. "What shall I tell Fitz you guys want to eat?"

"Cookies?" Lynn looks at her hopefully, and she just nods her head, before heading to the kitchen.

"They want cookies." She says, as she props herself on her toes, trying to reach the shelf, feeling the cool glass escape her fingertips. He walks over to her and grabs her waist, lifting her up. She freezes momentarily, her feet dangling above the ground, her arm frozen in the air; all blood seemingly drained from her brain. The warmth of his hands as they grip her waist; the feel of his thumbs at the small of her back. She needed something. She needed something and that's why she came in. She needed something. Cookies. And it's a light bulb going on in her mind, she remembers – she was trying to reach the jar. And her hand feels around the shelf blindly, until her fingers are wrapped around the glass, pulling it out. And he's putting her down, sliding her down his body. The feel of his abs, and she feels the belt buckle, and her breath hitches, and then she's sliding down his crotch; and his grip tightens as her feet touch the floor. "Damn it! No cookies!" She says, exasperated as she notices that the jar she's holding is completely empty.

"Oh, god yeah, we finished it this morning." He says, somewhat absentmindedly. And she just shoots him a look as she turns around and tries to get away from him, desperate for air that isn't infused with his scent.

"Couldn't you have told me that, before I, you-" She just trails off, still waving her hands in front of her face, as if they can say something she can't. "What do we do now?" And she notices him look up at the – we – but decides to ignore it; it was a slip-up on her part, nothing more.

"Make some?" He says with that annoying smile of his, the one that's both handsome and charming.

"I can't bake." She says in a voice she barely recognizes; it's high-pitched and whiney. She's trying to make him feel guilty, and they both know that this – what she's doing, it has nothing to do with cookies and baking.

"I can." He retorts, his wide smile softening.

"Of course you can." She utters under her breath as she tosses the apron to him. She watches him out of the corner of her eye, as he unpacks the crumpled ball of fabric, ruffles starting to come to life as he unfolds it. They both know there's another one in one of the drawers, but he doesn't say anything, he doesn't protest; he just grins mischievously as he ties it behind his back, looking at her tenderly. She grabs a plate of pop tarts and heads out of the kitchen, rushes out, really, before she can smile; before he can see her smile.

She drops the plate in front of the girls, then heads to her room. She takes a long shower, the warm water finally relaxing the knots in her shoulders; the steam opening her pores. For the first time that day she feels like she can breathe; like her mind isn't about to implode from anger, from hurt, from attraction; from wanting him and hating him at the same time. It's all too much. With him, everything is heightened; each feeling too strong to be controlled; instincts too powerful to battle, the want, the pull – overwhelming. And it scares her, how lost she gets in him; but it's also exhilarating – learning about herself though him; seeing herself though his eyes; discovering this whole other version of Olivia. She wraps herself in a towel and heads to her room. She puts on a pair of black leggings and a cream, off-shoulder, cashmere sweater. She pauses for a moment, staring at herself in the mirror. She notices the faint bruise just above her collarbone. She traces it with her finger, a faint smile playing on her lips. She should hate it. The mark. It's so juvenile. She should hate him for leaving it, marking her skin. She should. But the thing is – she doesn't. Instead; she's smiling at the reflection in the mirror, something she hasn't done in years, or maybe ever; she's smiling and the thought of seeing him again, in that apron, or playing with two six year-old girls, the thought of him – it makes her happy; despite everything.

She steps outside and Fitz is huddled together with the two of them, on the couch, whispering something. "What you doing?" She asks, smiling, eyes darting between two girls who grin mischievously, and him – his poker face, unreadable.

"Nothing." Lynn retorts, tilting her head, and sneaking her arm behind her back, to cross her fingers.

"They want me to set up a 'fort' in Lynn's room. For after the movie." He explains, as he gets up from the couch.

"Oh," she says with a small smile, standing awkwardly at the door, unsure of whether she should go sit with them on the couch, or join him in making the fort, or go sit in the kitchen and eat her feelings. This is all new – do six year-old girls like to be bothered during a sleep-over? Is she meant to leave them alone? Or should she be watching them? She doesn't know what the right thing to do is, and the constant wondering, the insecurity – it's exhausting.

"You should go help Fitz." Lynn says with a wide grin, and Liv just stares at her for a moment, taken aback. "I mean it's a fort. He'll need all the help he can get. And you know, he's pretty sad, he didn't have fun at his sleepover last night." And she turns around, to catch a glimpse of him, before he disappears into the girl's room, and she can't help but chuckle at his horrified expression; his face a shade of deep red.

"So how are you doing this?" She asks, as she closes the door behind her. He's already on the floor, surrounded by colorful sheets, in various shades of pink.

He looks up, and smiles, "I was thinking of tying some string, and then hanging these over it."

"Are you sure it won't collapse?" She asks, her voice gentler than she intended.

"No." He replies, shadows passing through his eyes, "But even if it does, it's not heavy. I mean it won't hurt them or anything."

"Maybe if we secure it here, and here," she says pointing, "it would be more stable, and a little bit bigger." He just nods in reply, and gets up. He puts the string in her hand, and his fingers linger, then he moves away with hank, rolling it in his hands, his eyes on her, the whole time. They work in silence, passing the scissors, exchanging shy glances; their hands touching, their minds racing. She gets the fairy lights from the window and attaches them to the string, lighting up the inside of the fort. He puts their sleeping bags on the floor, and a fluffy pink cover on top of them. They sit, kneeling, at the entrance for a moment, admiring their creation. "We did good." She says, tilting her head towards his shoulder.

He whispers, "yeah," into her hair, then brushes his fingertips against her knuckles lightly. She doesn't move her hand away, and he doesn't dare reach for it; so they just stay like that, the backs of their hands barely touching; moving up and down as they breathe; hot skin against hot skin making them both shiver.

They hear the tap of small feet on the wooden floor, and look at each other, smiling, their hands moving apart, as they turn towards the door.

"Is it don-" And she stops mid sentence, taking in the scene. The fort is taller than she is, the soft pink sheets hanging from the invisible strings; the faint lights peeking through the fabric as they flash rhythmically. "it's… amazing." She says, her eyes wide as saucers; Amber covering her mouth with her small hands.

"This is so awesome." The blonde girl exclaims. They run towards the fort and walk inside, letting out loud impressed wows.

"Come join us." Lynn calls out, and they just look at each other.

"Lynn, don't you guys want to hang out, just the two of you?" Olivia asks, hoping for an out – the proximity to him is intoxicating; it's melting all of her defenses; diffusing all of her anger.

"Nope." The girl exclaims simply, and Amber peeks her head outside, inviting them in. She crawls in before him, and she can feel his eyes on her ass the whole entire time. They lie on either side of the girls, all four lying on their black, looking up at the lights, and the patterns they're making on the colorful sheets. "It's so pretty!"

"I'm glad you like it." He says, and there's something so adorable about his tone; about how genuine he sounds, how happy.

"Did you have fairy lights last night?" Lynn asks, and both girls turn to look at him, while Liv just stares at the pink ceiling.

"No, we didn't." He says, somewhat tersely.

"That's probably why you didn't enjoy it." Amber says knowingly, and Lynn just nods her head in agreement.

"Yeah, that must be it, " Liv chimes in, turning on her elbow to look at him, her voice shaky, her eyes laced with hurt.

"Liv-"

"Is her real name Mellie?"

"I don't… I think it's a nickname, actually."

"You don't even know her name?" She asks, not even bothering to hide the judgment from her tone.

"My dad's girlfriend says that if a boy doesn't know your name, he's not worth your time. Unless he's got dime."

"Well, your dad's girlfriend sounds great Amber." He says, and the six year-old smiles, oblivious to sarcasm.

"She is. She told me I could get a nose job before high school, if I still want to."

"Can I get one too?" Lynn chimes, looking at Liv expectantly.

"No, honey. You don't need one." Then she catches Amber's eye, and quickly adds, "Neither do you, sweetie."

"But, my dad's girlfriend says that if you can improve something, you should-"

"So, is she going to get a brain transplant then?" Fitz cuts her off.

She looks at him wide-eyed, and Liv's stomach drops. She expects her to start crying, insisting that she wants to go home, but instead, "Can you do that?" She sounds impressed.

"No, you can't." Liv says softly, as she gets up, crawling out. She looks at him, but he's avoiding her eyes. "Fitz. Out. Now." Then she turns around and flashes another smile at the girls, "We'll just go get you something to drink."

"Can we have coffee?" Lynn asks excitedly.

"No, you can't have coffee! You're six."

And the girl's face falls, before she gathers herself and retorts, "But Fitz makes me coffee every morning."

And with that she's jumping up, giving him a death stare, and motioning him to follow her. As soon as they're out of the room, doors closed behind them, "Are you insane? Saying that? She'll say it to the girlfriend, and then what? There'll be a problem! And not for you, but for Lynn, in her new school, and her new class, with her best friend. And you're giving her coffee, what the hell is wrong with you!-"

"You done?" And she opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. "She should not be hanging out with that girl anyway. I mean that girlfriend is a fucking psycho. And I told her not to hang out with her, and then you go behind my back, just to screw me over-"

"JUST TO SCREW YOU OVER? This isn't about you! This has nothing to do with you. She is her best friend. She is someone who makes her happy, and frankly following the shittty couple of months that Lynn's had, she gets whoever the hell makes her happy." She's in his face, her eyes ablaze; her hands moving franticly. "Stop trying to drag us, into this."

"Me, I'm trying to drag us into this? You made sure there was no us. And you just mentioned Mellie, in that tent! And what the hell is your problem? I mean what, you can screw Stephen, but I can't screw her? Is that it? You get to fuck around, but I have to be celibate? Waiting around, making dinners and babysitting, being here when you need me?"

She just stares at him, her mouth opening and closing, her eyes filling with tears. Before she can say anything, there's a creak of the door, and they both turn around, just in time to see two small figures trying to disappear from view. Lynn freezes as she realizes they've seen them. "We just wanted to ask if we could get hot chocolate, if it's a no to coffee." She says softly, then closes the door, leaving them in stunned silence.

She just walks to the kitchen, and starts rummaging though the cabinets, looking for the hot chocolate mix. "What are you doing?" She doesn't answer him, she just slams two cups on the counter, and continues to inspect the drawers. "So what you're not talking to me now?" He asks again, the frustration in his voice matched by the ferocity of her movements. "Olivia, for the love od god, stop acting like a child!"

And that makes her stop, and turn around. She inhales deeply, and when she speaks, it makes his heart sink – her voice is cool, quiet and completely detached. "This, this right here is the reason I didn't want us. The screaming match, the shouting, the passive-aggressive; the messing with Lynn. This is it. I am not screwing Stephen, not that it's any of your damn business. And you, you can fuck whoever you like. But not here. Not when Lynn's right next door. And that, that's not me punishing you, or me caring, because I'm not and I don't; it's common sense, so wrap your mind around it. We're stuck in this. We're stuck together, and I wish we weren't," it's a low-blow and she knows it, but she just keeps going, "but we have to make it work. Being friendly clearly isn't working, we're not mature enough for it; so we're simplifying this. We co-exist, we only talk about Lynn, and that's it." She looks at his stunned face, she can't stand it, so she looks at the counter, "and Fitz. Don't give her coffee."

She makes the hot chocolate, and he just stands in the doorway, looking at her. She wants him to go away, she needs him to go away, give her space. But he just stands there, looking hurt. As she passes him on her way out, two cups in her hands, he stops her, gently reaching for her elbow. She pulls it out of her reach, but doesn't move, looking up at him, defiantly. "How do I fix this?"

"You can't Fitz. There's nothing to fix. There was nothing to break in the first place." And she knows, she knows that's the last blow. She says it to hurt him, to see him flinch; she knows it's cruel, but in that moment she thinks he deserves it. And he just shakes his head slowly, a broken smile playing on his lips, as he steps aside for her to pass. And that, the simple gesture, breaks her heart. More than Mellie, more than the nanny; more than the yelling – because through it all she knew he still cared; she knew that whatever was between them – he felt it too. But now, he's letting her go, and it feels like her loss.

As she walks away, trying to compose herself, she hears a faint whisper, "It wasn't coffee Liv. I'd never give her coffee. It was dark hot chocolate. I just called it coffee, because it made her happy."

A lone tear rolls down her cheek, and she wipes it away with her sleeve, hoping that he won't notice; knowing that he did.

Now, I'm pretty sure opinions will be split on this - as to who's right and who screwed up more, and I'm really interested to read what you think. One more chapter of downward spiral and then it's time to build them back up.

Also, to all of you who asked for the update - thank you! It means the world to me that you're invested in this story and the prompts to write genuinely work (I know it might not seem like it, but they do). And to everyone else - those who read, thanks for taking the time to dip your toes in this little sea of feels, and to those who review - thank you so much for letting me take a peek into your minds.