Salted Wound

"Did you miss me?"

"I did miss you."

"Like this?"

"Just like that."

Nine days after Episode 3

/Sunday/

"Damn it!" Fitz hastily put his hand over his mouth, dropping his briefcase in the process. He winced at all the clatter and mess he had caused. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Olivia at this hour.

He had tiptoed gingerly toward the kitchen when he got in, eager for a glass of water. His black, slim- fit trench was draped over the same arm carrying his Bordeaux-colored, buckskin briefcase. His four-wheeled suitcase was being tugged by the other. Before his departure to Japan, Washington had been suffering through an unusually hot September. Two weeks later, nothing had changed.

It was nearly pitch black down stairs, save for the blue backlight on the control wall for the electrics. It was his house and he knew it well, but he hadn't expected Olivia to leave an empty wine glass so close to the edge of the kitchen's island. His arm had brushed too close to it, knocking it off its marble perch. He'd clean it up in the morning. Now all he could think about was their bed and her in it.

His connecting flight in Toronto had been delayed by nearly five hours. Deliriously fatigued at this point, he set his things down and began to discard his clothes, resting them on the erect handle bar of his suitcase. He tiptoed upstairs, wearing only his boxers.

When he entered their bedroom, he found Olivia sound asleep, despite her insistence on waiting up for him. She was wearing one of his pyjama tops: the monogram Egyptian cotton one in navy blue, with the lavender pinstripes. "They bring out your eyes," she had said, after handing him an elegant black box on their cotton wedding anniversary. Next April would make four years of marriage. He had hoped that they would meet that anniversary with their first child—present, or on the way. After 13 months, the quiet confidence within him had not waned. He would carry that faith for them both, if necessary.

Neatly folded on his pillow were the bottoms to the pyjamas. One of her trademark notes lay on top. Fitz pressed the home button on his iPhone, illuminating her words:

It's hot outside, but you know how I feel when you're not next to me.

While abroad, the iPhone was a lifeline for both of them. But he had missed these tiny missives of hers. They were nothing and everything all at once. As a grown man, he shouldn't feel delighted to see them, but he always did.

Fitz gingerly removed his boxer briefs, and pulled on the bottoms Liv left for him. He slipped into bed next to her, bringing her back to his chest. She stirred.

"You're home. Safe." she sighed in relief, still mostly unconscious.

"I'm home." Fitz kissed the nape of her neck, exposed because Olivia's hair was piled loose atop her head. "Safe."

He placed his arm around her, thinking aren't we a pair. Instinctively, she placed her hand on top of his, entwining their fingers before drifting off once more.

It was Sunday, and neither of them needed to get up. The daggers of the sun's rays accosted his face, insisting he obey their call to rise. Accustomed to moving around in the night, Fitz's defense was to turn away from the window and toward Olivia. He reached to bring her body to his.

Olivia felt a familiar pressure at her lower back. Sometimes it annoyed her and she'd roll to the edge of her side of the bed. Deprived of his touch for two weeks, her husband's morning erection felt new again. She felt owed. Wanting what was hers, Olivia edged herself up in the bed so that her bottom was more strategically placed. She began gently rocking against him, testing to see just how tired he was. If he didn't respond, she would leave him alone and go downstairs to make herself some green tea.

A fragrant lock of Olivia's hair tumbled from atop its messy tower. It tickled the edge of Fitz's nostrils, causing him to bristle. He became cognizant then of Olivia's movements. He brought his hand from around her waist to her thigh, confirming what he had been almost certain of. Sliding over her bare hipbone, he splayed his huge hand against her abdomen. With her body melded into his, Fitz grazed his teeth along the shell of her ear. The soft air from his nose swished into her ear, making Olivia shudder and gasp. She turned her head toward his face, which hovered slightly above hers.

"Hi."He kissed her softly on the lips. Their doll-like poutiness was even more pronounced in the mornings. A fact he loved.

"Hi." She reached her hand to twine in his messy curls.

Still in a spooning position, Fitz looked down into her eyes as he pressed his hardness into her. "Is this what you want?"

"Please."

Fitz undid his pajama pants and started gliding the swollen head of his cock against Olivia's wetness. He did it slowly, making whisper soft contact with her folds. So soft, he was practically tickling her. "Tell me again."

"Fiiiiitz," she whined. "Don't make me beg. It's been too long."

He licked at her neck before sliding home inside of her.

"Oh, God" Olivia moaned at the feel of him filling her to the brim, as she clutched tightly to tufts of his hair.

Fitz chuckled darkly in her ear. "Don't say I'm not generous."

She smiled briefly before her lips connected urgently with his. They set a steady rhythm against each other from behind. He rested Olivia's thigh atop his, opening her up to him. With his other hand he reached to undo the buttons on her pajama top. His pajama top.

"Did you miss me?" he said earnestly, wresting his tongue from her mouth.

"I did miss you...yessssss."

"Like this" he questioned and exclaimed with an unyielding thrust.

"Oh, God. Just like that" She didn't know if it was possible, but the potency of his voice resonated through her like an organ in an empty church. She wasn't empty. She felt deliciously full of him. As his persuasive strokes turned insistent, Olivia moved her hand to feel the muscles of his ass flex as he delivered her to Zion on this Sunday morning.

Fitz grabbed the fullness of Olivia's breast. He flicked his thumb back and forth over her distended nipple.

"Fitz, I need..."

He reached over her thigh to massage her to completion.

Olivia came in a breathy song, trapping his hand between her thighs. Fitz stilled himself in reverence as that beautiful tension gripped her entire body. The spasms within her walls against his cock brought Fitz closer to the edge. He needed more. He rolled Olivia over onto her stomach to get the leverage he desired.

"Keep your legs together," he instructed. She angled her hips to receive him.

Pushing her pajama top up as far as it would go, he ran his tongue up the center of her back before plunging into her with gusto. Olivia bit down on her pillow. She clenched repeatedly, cocooning Fitz in her slick portal. She wanted him to feel every ridge, every plane inside her. She wanted to give as good as she got.

Soon, she felt him stiffen and explode inside her before aimlessly pumping his hips to satisfaction.

Back from the bathroom, Olivia pounced onto the bed with a burst of energy. She straddled her husband's nude hips, her still pantiless bottom teasingly close to ground zero.

"Good morning. Welcome home," she beamed before kissing him in earnest. Fitz unbuttoned the rest of her pajama top until all of her was revealed before him. He broke their kiss and grabbed one of her raisin colored nipples into his mouth.

He let it go with an audible pop. "It's good to be home. Warm now?"

Olivia looked momentarily confused before recognition dawned on her. Her note. She smiled down at him. "I may have been on fire at one point, but, yes I'm more than warm now." She wiggled atop his hips. "So you can have this back."

She removed Fitz's pajama top that she'd been wearing since last night, placing it beside him. She was fully naked now as she nonchalantly straddled her husband.

Fitz picked up the top and brought it to his nose. It smelled like her. He glanced at the cheekiness of the initials boasting on its breast pocket: 'OPG', the 'P' dominating the other letters. "Usually when person A gives person B a gift, person A doesn't monogram their own initials onto person B's gift."

"Well, those people aren't very bright. " She giggled.

"I love you. You know that?"

"I do know that. Yes." Olivia smiled, bending down to kiss him as he rubbed up and down her arms.

"It's Sunday," she sang.

"Mmmhmmmm," Fitz returned.

"I'm prayed up," she said gently thrusting her sex against his belly. "Give me a second hit of that hallelujah heroin. I'm ready to testify!" She started to softly bounce on him with one hand held in the air.

It started out as a rumble in his chest that vibrated up through Olivia's hand. Then a hearty chuckle. Fitz's eyes squeezed tight as his face turned red with hilarity over his wife's antics. She couldn't help but to start laughing, too, even as she had no clue what he found funny in her statement. Fitz finally wiped the tears from his eyes before speaking again.

"You want me to take you to church? You irreverent little minx." He reached up to take her chin between his thumb and index finger. "Livvie, I love your enthusiasm. But can I take a rain check?"

Olivia pouted in that way that Fitz found endearingly cute. But he was having none of it after an eternity of travel across so many time zones. He paused for effect before turning more serious.

"Besides, If you think that my threat, my insistence that you pray... amounted to 20 minutes of morning sex—fantastic as it was—you're not ready. It's not happening in this room."

A mischievous grin crossed her face. She knew what that meant: playtime. She leaned down close to his face. "Is that so, Sir Smug-a-lot. So when will you give it to me?"

He grabbed a hold of her firm-yet-pliant ass. "One day this week. Is there an evening you want me to avoid?"

"Let's see... Monday, Tuesday. Possibly Wednesday. Oh, Thursday and Friday are looking pretty bad, too."

Fitz started tickling her for her insolence, flipping them both so that he was now on top of her. She relented.

"Ok! Ok! Only Tuesday. Tuesday is bad. I'm doing round one interviews for potential hires. I'm still wrapping up with that DC Madame case, so I have to do it after my day is done. I'll be home late. 9-ish, maybe."

"That's fine. I've got to prep for Wednesday's Dean interviews."

Olivia swept her thigh over Fitz's.

"This is a very suggestive position, Mrs. Grant. No means no."

A moniker used almost exclusively by Fitz and the utility companies, 'Mrs. Grant' suddenly made her think of the woman who previously held that title. A connection she almost never made. She shook her head to banish the association.

"Livvie, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I... Mellie popped into my head for some reason." And then the reason came to her. "Wait, she called you. What happened, exactly. You were very vague. And what chicanery did she pull to get that number?"

Fitz yawned. "Picture it. Sicily, 1942—"

Olivia swatted his chest, then playfully sunk her teeth into his pectoral muscle. He vibrated with laughter. She both hated and loved his corniness. "Is that what you did during your delay? Watch Golden Girls reruns on your iPad? Seriously, tell me. I need to know what we're dealing with."

/Osaka, Eight Days Ago/

"Hello"

"We need to talk."

"Not until you tell me how you got this number, Mellie."

"Fitz, relax. Your secretary gave it to me."

"She would never."

"You'll just have to ask her about that, won't you. Listen—"

"Do you know the awkward position you are putting me in by making contact with the president of the university you are applying to. The president who ultimately approves the hiring of every Dean, including the one for the Law Center. Is this your way ensuring that I recuse myself from this process? To clear the path for your presumed victory?"

"Fitz, please. I know you hate me after we've—"

"No, it's the opposite, in fact. I am emphatically ambivalent about you. Hating you would require effort. But I do hate that you have no compunction about putting me and my family in an awkward position. Why are you applying for this job anyway?"

Her mind was caught on one thing only. She was flummoxed, but refused to let him know that.

"F-f-family?" she stammered briefly before recovering. "Oh, congratulations are in order," she said in mocking enthusiasm. "You and your little brown bunny have successfully spawned? I cou—"

The crash of the hard plastic against plastic was a small consolation to Fitz's irritation in that moment. That's one thing mobile phones could not satisfy. Though his anger had waned in the years since their protracted demise, Mellie's ability to antagonize him remained unparalleled.

The phone rang moments later, and he knew it was her. Again. Fearing that she would call his mobile, creating a record of direct contact with him, he answered through clenched teeth.

"What."

"That was small of me. I... It won't happen again. I hadn't heard, and wasn't expecting that news. Fitz, you have to understand what it's like for me. The irony of you and my divorce attorney ending up together. Making babies. Especially after—"

Fitz had heard enough to know where this was going. He would not abide her martyrdom with a shred of sympathy. She hadn't offered him much when they were both grieving. It happened to her, through her. Yes. But it happened to him, too.

"Mellie, listen to me carefully. Five: her name is Olivia, and she's not just my wife, she's my family. Four: whatever babies we have, or have not made, is none of your damn business. Three: we are not divorced because we were never married. We had an annulment because of your lies. Two: Get. Over. It! I am done suggesting you move on. I now require it. And finally: state your business because when I put phone down this phone, I will not pick it up again. If you call my mobile, I will have to report your intervention to the Provost and the Center's governing board."

"That's why I'm calling. I know better than to ask for any favors at this point. But, given our history, I want to ensure that you won't..." She searched for the right words. "Be an obstacle. We can be professionals, and work together. Right, Fitz?"

"What you are doing right now is not very professional. It's highly unethical. But then again, ethics has never been your strong suit. Has it." It was an unfair dagger, but one he couldn't bring himself to regret.

It was one Mellie couldn't ignore. "I have done nothing but love and support you. Still you treat me this way..."

Fitz's laughter was without mirth. The emotionally barren landscape of his three year stint with Mellie flashed through his mind. It wasn't all bad, but 'love' and 'support'. He didn't think Mellie understood those terms. Not until his relationship with Olivia did he come to fully comprehend those terms. And they were both still learning.

"Mellie..." She had already exhausted him. "I don't have time."

"Fine, Fitz," she huffed. "I don't want to do this with you. You have hurt me enough as it is. Please. Just promise you won't thwart this for me."

Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose in consternation. She had not changed. But he had. And he was going to end this now.

"Mellie, you have my word that I will not obstruct your path in this interview process. If you fail, or succeed, it will be on your own steam. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a flight to catch."

"Wow. She's exactly the same since last I saw her." Olivia scrunched her face as she looked in her chest of drawers for something simple to wear around the house. She'd be showering after breakfast. "As uncomfortable as the thought of a Dean Mellie Grant makes me, you did the right thing. Besides, she still has to impress a whole committee of people." She closed the drawer. "Twice." Olivia began to get dressed as they continued their conversation. "Are you on breakfast, or am I?"

Fitz shot her a sympathetic look.

Feigning to be a downtrodden housewife, she dramatically cast the back of her hand against her forehead. "If I must. But you're not getting it in bed. You have to get up and stay active to fight the jetlag."

"I'm getting up. I promise." Fitz watched Olivia put on pair of leggings and a sumptuous wrap-around cashmere top. He continued with their earlier conversation.

"Everyone on the shortlist is more than qualified—one, or two, that would be an excellent fit for the University. I don't think the Committee will be too swayed by Mel's saccharine affectations. What concerns me most is that she doesn't need this position. She is co-founder and partner of a law firm, for Christ's sake. What on earth does she want with a deanship? "

Olivia sat on the edge of the bed and turned to Fitz. She cocked her head thoughtfully to the side.

Fitz watched the flicker of the light bulb above his wife's head. "Liv, I promised her."

"Precisely," she pointed. "You promised." She threw a knowing smirk over her shoulder as she exited their bedroom.

Fitz grabbed his pyjama bottoms off the floor, willing himself to leave the comfort of his bed, still perfumed with the smell of her hair and their morning devotion.

"FITZGERALD THOMAS GRANT THE THIRD!"

Shit, the glass, Fitz thought. He couldn't get his pants on fast enough.

/Monday/

"Lauren!" The urgent boom of Fitz's baritone flooded its way into Lauren's adjacent office, causing her to move with haste to investigate the aggravation in his tone.

"Sir?"

Fitz folded his hands onto his desk, leaning forward. "Lauren, there's a bit of a mystery I need you to solve for me. We've been in constant communication during my trip to Japan. And I was explicit about contacting me. Only you and my wife knew where I was staying. How did Melody Swift get hold of my hotel in Osaka? You've had no absences while I've been gone, have you?"

"President Grant, I don't know who that is. I've been here every day. I did not pass on your contact details to anyone. It wasn't necessary."

Fitz's hand curled to support his jaw as his index finger propped up his temple. He searched Lauren's face as she stood there fidgeting, willing herself to think like Nancy Drew. She cast her eyes in every direction but Fitz's un-impressed face.

It was nearly time for her hour-long lunch, something Fitz had insisted his staff take. He argued that it impeded burn-out, and forced people away from their desks. Something 30-minute breaks did not encourage. Lauren's stomach lurched ferociously. "Sorry, sir." Just then, Lauren's impatient stomach helped her make the connection. "I think I have an idea of what happened. Let me confirm and I'll get back to you."

"Abby, close the door," Olivia said as she sat back down at her desk. "I need you to find out what Melody Swift has been up to in the last few years."

"Fitz's ex-wife?"

"Technically they were never married. At least not in the public record."

Abby's eyes careened to the heavens. "Liv, don't Clinton me with words. You know what I mean. The woman he was fucking before you. What's the difference? You were still banging Edison when you met Fitz, anyway. It all worked out in the end."

Olivia looked up from the Marquette file on her desk to glare at Abby. Her inappropriateness knew no bounds. Abby, not bothering to look contrite, shrugged instead.

"I mean, what's she hiding. The firm she founded nine years ago has been booming for the last six years," Olivia emphasized. "She loves her practice. Why would she want to give that up to be full-time Dean of Georgetown's Law Center? Why academia? Why now?"

"Maybe it's not the job. Maybe it's what the job will give her."

"My gut tells me there's distress somewhere. I've worked with this woman before." Recalling the revelation she couldn't suppress during the annulment proceedings, Olivia pointed at Abby. "Get Huck to check into her financials."

"And if there is something, what are you going to do about it?"

"I'm not sure. Just start digging." Just what is your game, Mellie Swift, Olivia thought.

/Tuesday Evening/

It was after 9 PM, and Olivia was nearly home, her path unhampered by the usual fog of the city's rush hour traffic. She pressed the button controlling her window. Yesterday's thunderstorm had lowered the temperature significantly. Olivia let the cool breeze caress her face as she breathed in deeply. She was on edge, unable to relax. Her first round of interviews for a new Gladiator were uneventful. A cornucopia of very accomplished men and women who said all the right things, yet were intensely boring.

She knew all of her Gladiators through personal connection. Marcus Walker wasn't her typical hire. He was everything Harrison had made him out to be: smart, passionate, talented, impeccable organizational skills and a strong commitment to justice. But he was also young. His racial politics, rigid; his maleness, unyielding. This had been her reading of the dossier on him, presented by Harrison. Used to being the one in control in his world, could Marcus Walker relinquish that to respect her authority and vision? After her interviews tonight, she would ask Harrison to finally set up a meeting. He was drawn to him and, respecting Harrison's judgement, she would consider the pros and cons of what Marcus could offer OPA.

"Oh no...Fiiitz!" I've had an incredibly long day. I told you," Olivia said in exasperation as she spotted her husband. Having walked into their home, Fitz—gallant in a dove grey suit and crooked smirk—strode toward her. What looked to be a corsage box rested in his hand. The other adjusted his emerald tie.

Fitz was expecting this exact reaction. He said nothing as he strode across the ebony, herringbone- patterned, wood floor.

"You're home. Finally." Distracting her with a searing kiss, he skilfully wrested her bag from her hand. He replaced it with the rectangular-shaped white box he was holding.

She ignored the intoxication of his closeness. The whiff of his fresh, soapy, amber fragrance that courted her nose. That he had shaved. That the tips of his hair were still slightly damp with whatever 'bro'-branded product he was experimenting with this week. She remained planted in the same place he left her, eyelids fluttering in disbelief

"Fitz." She said before calmly continuing. "Did you make surprise plans for us to go out? After I told you on Sunday that I would be home late today. Tuesday. It's the one day I asked you to avoid."

After placing Olivia's bag inside the mudroom's closet, Fitz walked toward the kitchen. The microwave pinged impatiently.

"I know. That's why I chose tonight. I told you it would be a surprise."

She followed him, box in hand, shaking her head as her annoyance mounted.

"Fitz, I've used up so much energy to—" Olivia stopped in her tracks. The dining area just off their spacious kitchen was awash in the soft light of candles. The table, fully dressed, contained a bevy of colourful and inviting fare. A slim vase filled with white orchids, their petals sprayed in magenta, brightened the atmosphere. A bottle of vintage Châteauneuf-du-Pape—a gift from Cyrus and James—awaited her. Lagavulin for him.

"Have a seat, Livvie. I've got this."

"I'm sure you do, but—"

"No, I've got this in my hand, and it's very hot. Have a seat. Please."

Olivia placed the box on the table and sat down. Her legs and arms folded. Fitz placed a container of hot, steamy, rice on the table before sitting down, catty corner to Olivia.

"This looks lovely," she said, recognizing the Japanese-themed spread. Her voice had not lost its edge. "Fitz, I really just wanted to come home after a long day of plotting and planning, topped off by listening to the most boring people... and just be here. With you. I don't have the energy for whatever playtime you've planned. Anyway, weren't you supposed to be preparing for tomorrow's interviews?"

"You don't know what I've been doing."

She cleared her throat as she looked pointedly at the spread in front of her.

He continued. "...because you haven't actually let me speak."

"Speak."

"Thank you. I can prepare for more than one thing. I have a whole team of people to ensure that. Now, as for you..." Fitz reached for Olivia's hand. After a moment she uncrossed her arms and gave him her left hand. Fitz kissed the rings he'd placed on her finger years ago. "I asked for the day you wanted me to avoid because I knew that would be the day you'd most likely be tense. I thought you'd be badly in need of release. From the way your shoulders have stayed up 'round your ears, am I right?"

Her shoulders began to climb down. "You're not wrong. But—" She stopped herself to consider if the conversation she wanted to have would dissolve the evening he had planned.

"There's more. It's not just the day you've had," Fitz intervened. "Is it about trying to get pregnant? I know I was away while—" He also knew how hard she worked to diffuse this concern.

"Yes. No. I mean yes, there's more. No, it's not about getting pregnant. Sort of." Since Sunday a disquiet had settled within her. From blithe dismissal to pornographic obsession, the problem she had made her burden had festered. But it wasn't her problem. It was theirs. She tried to figure out how to frame it to him without seeming petty and jealous.

Seeking to massage the moment with ease, Fitz joked "Is it because I declined a round two?" He shook his head. "First you brand me as your property, then you treat me like a thoroughbred. Putting me out to pasture next?"

She feigned offence. "Oh, excuse me. I didn't know I was in the presence of God's gift! I let you decline me. I can have you whenever I want. You're so easy."

"You wound me, Liv." He clutched his heart. "'Have' me," he repeated. "I'd really like to see you try."

"Are you challenging me?"

Knowing better than to challenge one of the most competitive overachievers he had ever met, he switched course. "So... you were saying?"

Olivia stared in smug satisfaction. This is what he does, she thought appreciatively. She was starting to feel better already, but still needed to confess her concerns. Otherwise, whatever he had planned would be for naught.

"It's about Mellie."

"Here we go."

"Fitz. It's not what you think."

He shouldn't have been surprised. Olivia's response to the conversation he relayed on Sunday had been almost clinical, countenancing no emotion. Instead her mind shifted into fixer mode.

"I meant what I said. I think you were right not to impede her path in this selection process. But, if she's successful, I can't say I'm delighted with the idea of her being involved in our lives again. You remember how it was when we finally started dating." Her brows knitted at the memory. "I'm not afraid of her."

"Don't I know it." Fitz squeezed her hand.

"But. I don't want to have to deal with her in any way. Especially if we get pregnant."

Fitz shot her a wounded look. This time, it wasn't pretend. It was real.

"When, Mr. Optimistic." She placed her hand on top of his. "When." She smiled softly at him, her eyes twinkling with warmth.

"Livvie, Mellie—if she succeeds—will be my problem. She will have nothing to do with us. And certainly not with our future child."

"Don't you mean 'spawn'. Isn't that what she said?"

"Liv..."

"Don't be naive, Fitz. Only Provost Cunningham stands between you and the Center's Dean. She will be in your professional and social circle. And you will bring all of that home with you. You know how she lashes out when she is jealous, or spurned."

"Jealous?" Fitz huffed.

"She's clearly not over the death of your son." Fitz flinched, preferring to look on in fascination at the Greco-Roman pattern of his napkin's edge. "And neither are you."

"Liv." He wasn't prepared for the detour this evening took.

Olivia stood up from her chair and removed her suit jacket, the color of strawberry milkshake. She moved to sit sideways on Fitz's lap, placing her arm protectively around his shoulder. She brought his face in line with hers, waiting for his eyes to meet hers.

"This evening is supposed to be about you. You haven't even opened the box. It's a gift—of sorts—from Tokyo."

"It can wait. This evening is about you and me." Olivia let his silence linger a moment before she offered, "Look at me." He wasn't quite there, but she would show him all the patience he afforded her.

"There you are," she said when he finally met her sympathetic stare. "Fitz, I know you because you let me know you. I don't need you to be what you think I need you to be: a pillar of strength for my sake. Not all the time. When you were recalling your conversation with Mellie, I felt how rigid your body was at specific points. Just as I notice now. You told Mellie to move on, but have you? From losing Gerry, I mean?"

His exhale was slow, jagged and onerous. Of course he had moved on. It had been seven years. He had let go of the anger, the sense of injustice over the loss. But the memory—that he could not shake, no matter how much he tried for the sake of moving forward. The memory of Fitzgerald Thomas Grant, IV was not something he could ever give up. He would always be his first child. The first one he cradled in his arms. The first one he named. The one whose 23-minute long life left an indelible impression. The pitchfork of tears were stabbing at the gates of his eyes. He would grant them no exit. He gulped visibly. Audibly.

Fitz's pained expression confirmed what Olivia had suspected. "I know you've already said I'm enough for you. Too much, sometimes—remember?" She nudged his shoulder with her body.

He laughed then, clearing his sinuses. He dabbed at his eyes. "Yeah, I remember."

"Fitz, I want to one day have our child. After 13 months of disappointment, I still need your optimism. It makes me believe that either way, we will figure it out. But..." She didn't like to think this way, but being accustomed to thinking of multiple outcomes, and with a stark example from the past, she had to face the elephant in the room. "What if we meet the same fate? I need to know what happened with you and Mellie, after Gerry, won't happen to us."

Fitz's left hand squeezed Olivia's waist. His right hand smoothed up and down her bare arm as he looked at her with glassy eyes.

" I am already a father. Nothing will ever erase Gerry's memory for me. You have to know that. Mellie's dishonesty aside, we were never right for each other and that's my fault. Gerry's death forced me to stop ignoring that fact. My son is dead, but I'm alive. And that's because of you. "

"Olivia, do you know why I married you?"

She felt bashful then, her sculpted cheekbones awash in crimson.

"Besides the fact that I'm lucky to have you, I cannot live without you. That's not Jerry Maguire schmaltz. That's not co-dependence. It's an acknowledgment of the truth. You are...a marker in time. I wasn't living before I met you. What's worse, I didn't know it." He tipped her chin to look directly into the sunlight of her honeyed eyes. "I want to have a baby with you. Two babies, I think." He smiled and the joy reached Olivia's face, too.

"I didn't understand love's true capacity until I met you. Death is a part of life, and you've made me view life in a bigger, fuller way. You are the giver of life and the light of my own." He stilled his movements and held her gaze. "So, Olivia Carolyn Pope, I promise you this: there is nothing that could happen to make me walk away from you. From us. Not a thing. We've learned that the hard way."

Olivia shook her head at the memory of their early dating life.

"And no matter how many times you need to hear that, I will tell you, " Fitz finished with a squeeze.

Olivia raised her left hand to entwine with the one gripping her waist, feeling their rings clink against each other like in a toast. How did she get so lucky?, she thought. Like magnets, their mouths moved to connect. She couldn't get enough of him. She never would.

Fitz broke their kiss, letting it peter out with little pecks. "Now, come on, you need to eat. Do you want to stay where you are, or go back to your seat?"

To be continued in Part B...

A/N: Look at me, giving you a second update in the same month! Just as I promised. lol. Actually, three updates (part B will be up in a bit). This dinner has phases, and it that leads into some interesting action. I absolutely had to split it up to make it more digestible. Please let me know what you think about Mellie this first part of the episode. Goodness, I didn't even realize Fitz was hiding all that pain until I got to the dinner scene. That suprised me. What do you guys think?