Episode 5, Part II

Forward

"Did I ruin that word for you?"

"Do you want to un-ruin it for me?"

/Thursday Night/

The soft sound of rain falling, and the smell of wet earth and soggy, decomposing leaves floated in through the opened window. Fitz ambled toward his office, flipping through the files of three candidates the hiring committee had decided were most suitable to head up Georgetown's law school. He had lost count of how many times he had read the fourth line of Sylvia Balderrama's file. Checking his wrist, he blinked twice to see seven was quickly becoming eight. He had been there since before the sun rose, and it had already set during his interminably long briefing with the Committee.

He knew he needed to go home and face Olivia. To try and process, with her, the insecurity and contrition with which he had wrestled for most of the day.

"I've placed the meeting notes on your desk and sent them via email. Is there anything else you need, sir, before I leave?" Lauren asked, just as Fitz's hand hovered over handle of his door.

"I've kept you far too long. Thanks for sticking around. Take the car service so you can get home before this," he gestured toward the window, "gets worse."

Lauren nodded, taking her leave.

Fitz opened his door. He did not know how long she had been there, pacing in circles, but it was long enough to change the aromatic composition of his spacious office. Warm, spicy, slightly floral.

She paused her ritual to acknowledge his presence.

"Hi."

"Hi."

She was an October surprise, sheathed in … What is that color? At once vibrant and deciduous, like a maple leaf caught in that equidistant tumult from its verdant lushness on the bough to the decaying brown of its inevitable demise. No, the color was more dynamic than that. Marigold, he decided. Bright, strong marigold. What was an October without marigolds? The corners of his mouth threatened upward. As he indulged in taking in the soft curves of her form, a small lacuna, waiting to be filled with explanations, apologies, and maybe something else, formed between. He moved to fill it.

"Livvie. I'm sorry for—"

Quickly, Olivia raised her palm, not unlike an orchestral conductor, cutting off the instrumentals of his apology before it could crescendo with meaning.

"I need to say something first." She kept pacing the room. Up and down this time, not in circles. Slowly. "You're always the one offering the olive branch. I came here, not to claim an apology, but because I'm not…" She fiddled with the fingers on her left hand, as if wishing to extract her next words from them. "I'm… not always right."

Fitz, still standing with his back against his door, let out the uncertain breath he had been holding in.

Anchoring herself against his antique mahogany desk-careful not to disturb the neatly organized piles of work—she paused to pinpoint what it was she wanted to say. "I did not want to marry you. I did not even want to fall in love with you."

Whenever Olivia started in this manner, a reluctant admission was sure to follow. The damage she would cause along the way, therein lies the uncertainty. Fitz, still stood across the room, hands behind him, pressed against the door, waited because he sensed there was more.

"At Princeton, I read so many books about women—most of them Black—who had had their whole lives turned upside down by some man that loved them. And when those men eventually grew stingy with their affections, or the broken promises piled up, the abuse started, those women became limp. Whatever life force they had before that man just…went away. They turned bitter; they became the walking dead. Or they tried to find a whole other self to make life bearable. Most of them did not. They would stay in that uneasy unhappiness until one of them died or left. Those stories made me think about my mom. Did she leave before she lost herself? Between the books and my father's constant reminders, I vowed I would not let anybody do that to me: have the power to transform me. So, no, I never wanted to marry you. Never wanted to love you. Because I was afraid of what you would bring out in me. Afraid of changing myself to accommodate you. Afraid of needing you."

She paused to get to the heart of what was bothering her. "You left me all alone."

"I know." His head bowed in disappointment.

"You can't do that to me, Fitz," she pleaded.

He closed the gap to reassure her. "I'm sorry for that. You know I am. I didn't mean to scare you," he said. A kiss to her forehead followed.

Fear was not the thing she had felt last night. Maybe fear was buried deep in one of the pockets of what she felt, but it was not the most present. "I wasn't scared last night. I was scared when you told me about Mellie's interview. But, Fitz, you must know that I did not try to fix it. Not initially. I just… I needed to make sense of it. Why this job? Why now."

"I know that now," Fitz confirmed, letting her out from his embrace, but remaining close.

"Jacob. He came to you." It was not a question. She sounded disappointed. "You didn't believe me. You don't trust me."

He momentarily sidestepped her question. "Why are you so afraid of her anyway? We've survived her once." He reconsidered. "Twice, technically."

"I'm not afraid of Mellie. You know that. Let Mellie be. Sooner or later, she will get in her own way. But she is an energy vortex. When she's around, we focus on her instead of our own goals and dreams. Everything becomes about her. Maybe experience led me to action. But understand that I am not apologising for helping Jacob. He was looking out for the best interest of the University, which includes you. So, yes, I was protecting my husband and our family."

Fitz looked at her with a soft expectancy.

Olivia looked away from the hope in his eyes, opting instead to fix the dimple in his mulberry tie. "Not that. Not yet. You know what I mean."

She continued with her previous train of thought. "I was right to use Huck to uncover those financial details. I was wrong to not give you a heads up. I could have told you Tuesday night, but things went in another direction. We were connected and focused on each other. I didn't want to disturb that. And… Maybe I was afraid you would try to stop me. You promised her you wouldn't interfere."

Fitz takes her hands in his, leaning in to press his forehead against hers. "Stopping you would have been interfering. I will never go against our team."

This is the first time that their working lives have so closely been enmeshed to the point of conflict. "Fitz, work is a priority for me."

"I know that."

"I can't worry about whether you would like my decisions. That's my wheelhouse. I need you to respect it, even when you don't like it."

"Livvie, I do. It just felt very personal this time. You acted as fixer and wife. Am I wrong for reacting as President and husband?" She could not disagree.

Being this close to her, he could not help but to comment on the vibrancy of her attire. "I'm almost certain you didn't leave the house, this morning, wearing this." His palms smooth down the gabardine wool covering her thighs.

Olivia bristled momentarily. Maybe she was still carrying residual feelings about being made to sleep alone. "How would you know? You were gone when I got dressed." She breaks their forehead bond, looking away. "You broke a promise to me." Her bottom lip quivered vulnerably.

"I'm so sorry, but—" Every promise doesn't work out that way, he thought. Searching for the right, but honest consolation.

"You told me that bed was big enough to hold us and our anger. You were that angry with me that even the other side of a California King wasn't far enough away? I woke myself up, in the middle of the night, thinking about that. And then it was all I could think about to the point of being anxious. I can't tell you how many times I peed."

"Hopefully not in our bed," Fitz chuckled.

She pounded his chest feebly. "Fitz, I'm serious! Were you that angry with me? Was I that unforgiveable?" Olivia's eyes looked up at him, large and needy for the answer to be 'no.'

He stood back from her slightly, launching into the solo he had wanted to deliver earlier before she stopped him.

"No. At first, yes, I was angry. But when I came upstairs, I watched you, from the doorway, sleeping. Just for a bit. I knew then that it wasn't anger. Whatever t was felt like it was controlling me. It felt loud and present in my head. It felt irresponsible to bring that energy to bed with you."

"Now who's trying to protect whom?"

"Protecting you from me? From my fragility, my insecurities? Absolutely."

Olivia's brow knitted together, tilting her head questioningly. "I made you feel that?"

"I came to work early this morning because I couldn't sleep. When I got here, I started thinking about our first anniversary."

Olivia looked over Fitz's shoulder at the drawing she had given him that day.

"Soon I was thinking about our fourth anniversary, next April. And I realized Mellie and I's marriage—entanglement…whatever—began disintegrating around year 3, maybe even before she had gotten pregnant. I thought about the ways I had failed her and myself. I was a constant disappointment to her. My ambition wasn't good enough. I as too emotional. I wasn't leveraging my name enough. She would do things behind my back, as you know, or never tell me in the first place. I think your intervention in this hiring process took me back to feeling small and belittled. As if I was inconsequential to the whole thing.

"Fitz, that's not fair. You know I did not mean it that way. How can you be inconsequential when I did it for you?"

Her words rung in a familiar way. Fitz thought about the types of women to which he was attracted. Women who swept him up as they stormed through life. Forces of nature. But he could not imagine being with any other type of woman.

"Let me finish. Between Jacob's and Mellie's visits yesterday, I was wound tight and defensive by the time I got home. I felt very… handled. I had two women who made decisions about me, without me. Then tell me that I was both unappreciative and discourteous for my reaction. Somehow, I was the way and the barrier. I didn't know where to plant myself." He breathed out a sigh, looking down to dig deeper. "I think I went back to a place I lived in a lot as a kid: silent sulking. I'm too sensitive, I know."

Olivia grabs his head in both her hands, staring straight into him so that he absorbs her words. "Your sensitivity and compassion are why I failed at not falling in love with you. You're loveable, Fitz. Why do you think Mellie was so eager to land this deanship, at this university of all places? Because it's top ranked? No. It's you. She wants to be associated with your leadership, charm and goodness. It makes up for what she lacks. She sees in you what she wants, not who you are. I see you because you let me see you. I like that man a helluva lot. Why would I want to manipulate him into something else?"

She leans in to capture his lips slowly, tenderly. Before long she invites her tongue into his mouth, which is warm and pliant. In her kiss, he feels relief and love and 'til-death-do-us-part.

"I was a fool. I should have stayed with you. I'm sorry for making you feel dejected. I'm not going anywhere. You can't get rid of me that easily." He laughs wistfully.

Fitz lifts Olivia, from the desk, moving her, in a bridal carry, to the sofa.

She recognized the supplication in his voice as her head lay on his shoulder, sitting in his lap. He needed to luxuriate in her forgiveness, breathe it in. She needed to feel wanted and safe.

Outside the storm raged over the city as they sat holding each other, realigning their axis. equilibrium.

"I have to ask..." he paused, kissing Olivia on the temple.

She brought his hand to her face, brushing her cheek over his digits. "Mmmhmm?"

"Did I ruin that word for you? I… I lost my temper and it came out before I realized. I wasn't trying to… I would never… "

She shushed his feeble apology with her index finger and smiled impishly at him. "Do you want to un-ruin it for me?"

Olivia's eyes roamed the room. "I love what you've done with this office. It's very strong and masculine, but still warm and inviting." Her gaze studied the antique mahogany desk, wondering just how much was antique and how much was mahogany. "I've never been in trouble before. At school. I've never been to the principal's or headmaster's office for misbehaving. No one called me over the PA system. I really drank the good girl Kool-Aid."

Fitz's gaze followed that of Olivia's. "I want to be bad, Fitz."

He raised a sparse brow at the site of her bitten lip. She had already begun to imagine this badness. "Well, that can be arranged, Ms. Pope."

She reached up, whispering her fantasy to him, and watched as the scarlet rose form his neck, enveloped his ear, and flushed his face.

He had asked to indulge in his fantasy before giving her what she wanted. He could not help himself. He wanted to consume her, gorge himself on her offering. She was wearing the brown copper garters he loved and nothing else. He had fantasized about devouring her on this very desk. Everyone serviced his needs in this office. Now, on his knees, he was going to service her and make her needy for him.

Softly, Fitz bit her inner thigh before indulging his shaven cheeks against the slight friction of Olivia's low-cut, manicured lawn. He moved down to inhale her, as was his ritual. She was intoxicating, and her aroma ignited in him a primal lust to satisfy her and himself.

His nose ran up and down the partition of her velvet, until he felt the familiar liquid pooling at his chin. He dipped his tongue in her entrance, curling her lava on his tongue, repeatedly, until velvet turned slippery.

At first, his tongue academically examined her pussy, thoughtfully analyzing every fold, crease, flavor. The way her body writhed and bucked. The way 'fuck' and 'Fitz' escaped her clenched teeth. The way his scalp tensed under the tuft of curls in her grasp. The memory of her whispered fantasy ghosting through his brain. I want you to fuck me like our marriage depends on it. Right here on your desk. Those things ignited a fire in him, turning him gluttonous. He feasted on her like a bowl of perfectly ripe peaches left unattended in the height of summer: succulent, sweet, sticky. Delicious.

He spread her legs impossibly wide, grabbing her garter-belt covered ass off the desk, melding his face in her until he felt like a part of her. He sucked her entirely into his mouth. Just then Olivia looked down at him, heady and lascivious, bucking her hips into his face. Do it now. Lick it good. Suck it just like you should. Her neck, her back be damned, she thought, as his tongue rolled from back to front.

He was now humming against her center, the vibrations sending her body toward its orgasmic peak. Fitz watched Olivia lean back on her elbows, face twisted in exquisite tension. His mouth played her earnestly, wanting to watch, to feel her tighten, to hear her keening crescendo upward.

Fitz could see that familiar quaking of her lower belly. That is when he plunged two fingers insider her, curling them, repeatedly against her ridges until she was unintelligibly spewing a litany of groans as she rode the wave of her orgasm. She crested all over his face and he could not get enough.

"Say it, Livvie. Say it again for me. Tell me what you want me to do," he beseeched as he held her hips firmly in his grasp, buried to the hilt inside her. Olivia's marigold sheath bunched against his hands.

Olivia bit down on her lip, nearly drawing blood. Her body was fanned out across his desk, as she held on to its front edge. The force of his thrusts: strong and insistent.

Panting, mewling was all she offered. Purposely so.

"I said…" Fitz wrapped the curtain of hair around his hand, drawing her upward against his chest. "Say. It. Again." This time was a command that burrowed itself deep inside her ear, sending shock waves of eager compliance right to her turgid nipples.

"Punish me. Please."

Satisfied with her obedience, he let her go with a thirsty growl. He began setting an Olympic pace inside her, giving her exactly what she wanted. What he wanted. Olivia all but collapsed on his desk, so overwhelmed by pleasure. She craved this energy from him.

A slap to her ass. Then another. Still another. Soon he was raising her left thigh, anchoring it on the desk. Rapaciously, he opened her up so he could watch himself work back and forth inside her. Fuck if it did not make in more determined. Skin slapping. Hard breathing. The suction of two bodies indulging each other. Pleading cries of 'don't stop.' The rolling thunder was no match for the wild staccato of their fucking. Even the desk drawers opened and closed involuntarily from the force of Fitz giving it to Olivia hard and deep. Deep and hard. He she had. He had her tongue tied.

Olivia could not move. Her torso remained dramatically splayed across Fitz's desk, not giving a damn what had fallen to the floor and what remained after their office tryst. Her legs felt like Jello, the desk—definitely more mahogany than antique—did Olivia the favor of propping her up.

"You may have to carry me home!" she groaned, feeling the effects of the ramming she had requested. Fitz was still busy in his en-suite washroom. She gathered her wispy arms to make a fist for her chin. Her eyes were now right in line with the sketch she had given him on their first anniversary. A softness enveloped her gaze. Something funny was said. What, she could not remember. Her head was thrown back in shimmering delight, her face still visible. Fitz looked on at her with divinity and pride in his eyes, holding her left hand against his chest. Doux Bébé gleamed dramatically, a nice touch from the artist. If anyone had told her one man could make her feel everything—sweet and sinful—she would have insisted life is not a romance novel.

Just then Olivia was brought back to reality by Fitz, ever the gentleman, cleaning up the remnants of his recent deposit inside her, as it escaped down her thighs.

"This is why you should wear underwear, naughty girl."

Olivia purred in satisfaction thinking about where they were. "Why? So you could ruin another pair? You broke my bra strap, you know."

"You should have taken it off. You're the one who thought it would be sexier keeping our clothes on." Having already readjusted his clothes, he smoothed down Olivia's dress before gathering her in his embrace. He buried his face in her neck, treasuring her.

Her left hand supported his arm around her waist, the other foraged in his curls. "And?"

Between sweet kisses to her neck, he managed, "You were right." He looked down at her with that endearingly lopsided grin. "I think you like to hear me say that more than anything else."

"I could think of a few other choice phrases I love to hear from you." She moved her casually defined brows up and down until they vibrated, in synch, with her laughter. He joined her and they stayed, for a moment in the breezy, sexy, and free of their 'we'.

Olivia was the first to turn contemplative. "Fitz, the times when we fall out of synch, those are what make that" she nudged her chin toward the drawing, "so special. The highs mean nothing without the lows. That's life. If we can find our way back to the feeling of that moment, we'll always be OK. It's a reminder of what we're capable of."

An hour ago, it pained her to admit she was not always right. But here she was back in her bag. Fitz recognized in her words why he could not face the drawing that morning. It made a mockery of him. He was not living up to be the best husband he could be to her. That started with being accountable to himself.

"I love you more than this job. Please don't work for me, Liv." He yawned his way through the last few words.

"When protecting you turns in to work, I'll let you know." A nude colored nail found a familiar home in the tiny indentation in his left cheek. "Tired? Take me home, mister. You can go back to your sleep, in your favorite spot right next to me."

They joined hands as they readied themselves for home. By now the storm had abated, leaving the earth nourished and replenished.

Forward.

/Late October/

Nearly two weeks later, Olivia and Fitz's equilibrium remained intact. Fall term was hurtling into its second half, and Sylvia Balderrama was getting up to speed as the new Dean of Georgetown Law. Fitz took an extended lunch with Olivia, in Bethesda. Late October had made up its mind and was decidedly cold.

"What time is your appointment? Shall I stay with you?" He rubbed his hands up and down her arms.

"Fitz, you have a university to run Besides, it's just a routine blood donation. I'm a big girl. I'll be fine."

"Yes, but it's been a while. We've just gotten your iron levels back under control after that bought with anemia. Don't you think it's too soon?" He gathered the soft pink lapels of Olivia's coat, closing the gap around her delicate neck.

"It's not too soon for the sickle cell patients who are waiting for blood transfusions. I'm not new to this. Besides, I received a call asking me to make an appointment. They need me." Olivia's O negative blood type, and African American heritage made her an incredibly sought-after resource. She had been donating blood since she had participated in a blood donation drive at Princeton.

Olivia raised her head to capture Fitz's lips in a brief kiss. "Meet me after work, at OPA. 6 Sharp, mister." Walking backwards toward the NIH Clinical Center, she raised her index finger from around her paper cup of tea to point at Fitz. You'd better be on time, Mr. President."

Fitz stood looking on admiringly, tucking away his slight reservations. "You are so bossy."

"You love it!" she laughed as she spun around walking into the Clinic's large revolving doors.

Olivia speedily ran through the familiar check list of questions she had to complete every time she donated blood. Has she had sex with anyone who is paid to have sex? Has she had hepatitis? Sex with anyone with hepatitis? Been ill recently? Taken antibiotics recently? The answer to all of them was always the same, even the one asking if she were pregnant or suspected she could be pregnant. She'd wish the answer were different every time. She could confirm three weeks ago she had seen the spotted evidence that the answer was still the same.

Olivia's phone buzzed with a new text message.

Liv, it was good to see you. I'd like it to be more often. Matter of fact, come by soon because I need your professional help with something.

It was Kenny. Her face scrunched as she wondered what he hadn't mentioned to her two weeks ago. Or maybe this development was new.

"Olivia!" Nurse Thompkins beamed, on rounding the corner to find her in the waiting room. "Thanks for coming in at such short notice. We haven't seen you in, what? Nearly a year?" The short, portly woman with the deep sienna tone reached her arm out, signalling for Oliva to follow her.

"Jeanette, it's good to see you. How are you?" Olivia returned, getting up to walk to a private room with the nurse. "This has been a crazy year for me. I've had a lot going on at work and I let my stress throw off my diet, triggering my anemia," she rattled on. "But it's under control, no medication. I assure you."

"Good. Good, "Nurse Thompkins responded, as she thought about what Olivia said. She was one of their most consistent donors, almost always ready if they needed her.

They had reached the room, settling into their familiar roles, Jeanette prepping Olivia's arm. "I'm just going to take your blood pressure to make sure everything's fine." Olivia hated being tested for healthiness. It activated her performance anxiety and made her feel judged. So as not to spike the results, she practiced deep breathing techniques.

"It's a little elevated, but nothing out of the ordinary for you, "Jeanette said. "And you know I always have to ask. Have you eaten recently?"

Olivia thought of the half eaten matcha muffin she discarded two hours ago, and the cooling mint tea sitting by her Prada bag. That would have to do this time. "Yes, less than two hours ago. We're good."

Jeanette searched her face before saying "OK."

The procedure was the same. Jeanette tied the band around Olivia's arm, and located the ideal vein that would give them a steady stream. Olivia had narrow, faint veins so there was not a plethora from which to choose. Jeanette settle on one from her left arm. "You'll feel a little bit of a pinch."

Olivia was not squeamish. She liked to watch as the blood flowed out of her, through the tube and into the awaiting PVC bag. She liked to watch it swell with her donation. It was life-affirming.

The blood seemed to be flowing fast and free this time. "Olivia, we struck gold today with this vein." They had filled nearly half the bag before Olivia began to look ashen. Beads of moisture pooled on her forehead; her skin turned clammy. Nurse Thompkins quickly and carefully removed the needle from Olivia's arm. Her pulse was both weak and thumping wildly under Jeanette's fingers. She quickly lay Olivia down before opening the door and yelling to the Clinic's receptionist.

"We need the ambulance! Now! My patient is going into shock."

A/N: Please continue to let me know what you think of Part II. I wonder what Kenny needs help with. And what's happened with Liv? In Episode 6 we will return to the present established in Episode 1, and surpass it a little. I plan to introduce you to more familiar and new characters. Thanks for all the reviews, everyone! I will post the ones that asked questions or requested explanations on my Tumblr (incorrectpetunia)/Twitter( ADotPetunia), and answer them there. As for the Episode 6 update, I'll see you at the end of the month/early September. That's the best I can offer. Thanks for the support.