Episode 14: That's The Way Love Goes

Part I

(Flashback 5/5)

"What did you want to happen that night? If sickness hadn't taken you away, would you have stayed? Yes, or no?"

"It's not a 'yes' or 'no' question."

Saturday Afternoon, New York City

He did not know the time of day, or if day had since turned to night. The blackout curtains had been drawn immediately when he got home last night, canceling the light before it even thought to intrude. His head was already throbbing then, his body weak, feverishly heated. For hours his bed and bathroom were the only two rooms he had visited. The kitchen he had graced—once—for a bottle of water, that now lay spent on the floor.

He did not make it outside of the Whitby Hotel before the contents of his stomach went out the way they came in. Thankfully, he had not emptied himself all over the beechwood floors of the lobby but managed to make it (barely) to the nearest restroom, where he worshiped at the porcelain altar thrice before his legs would carry him outside. The staff had been helpful and sympathetic. The doorman, too, had placed him in a cab to be delivered to his apartment, where his own doorman extended the kindness.

A fleeting thought about correcting his impropriety later that day (or was it now night?) passed through his mind before the altar called again. He groaned at the now familiar, wretched sensation propelling him toward the marble sanctum. He could predict the color this time, as he had the last few times, because there was nothing left inside him to offer anymore. The donuts and everything else he consumed Friday night had long since made their way into the New York City sewage system.

Finished with this round, Fitz lay on the cool white and blue-grey marble floor, too fatigued to make it back to bed. He needed a moment. As he lay prone, drained from his expulsion efforts, with his nipples firming against the frigid floor in nothing but a pair of black Calvin Klein boxer briefs, Fitz felt a wry sense of gratitude. He was thankful not to have done any of this in front of Olivia, in her room. How quickly a sensual moment had turned sour. A complete and total disemboweling was not how Fitz had wanted to spend the night. He was trying to be principled, but if he was truthful with himself, he did not know if his willpower would have forced his hand the way his stomach did.

A tremor in his belly drew away his attention from those considerations; This was a different kind of noise, one not accompanied by cramping. He was hungry. That need for sustenance produced an intolerable headache that made his movements burdensome, his thoughts simplified. But he was too afraid to eat, sensing his body's impending rejection. It had been many years since poisoned food had pummeled him like this, but he remembered that he'd have to wait until later in the day to try a cracker, or piece of plain bread to test the waters. It was then that he realized he had neither of those things in his kitchen. Or much at all since he had barely spent an hour in it before dashing off to last night's exhibition with Cara.

Cara. He should call Cara to help him. First, he would have to find the phone. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees and began to crawl back to his bed. Thinking, thinking all the way there about the possible whereabouts of his phone. Was it lost in the bedroom, or had he tossed it in the living room as he impatiently removed his clothes? Relinquishing the hunt, Fitz used his landline to call his mobile phone and heard the faint ringing in another room. The thought of retrieving it was too daunting. Once he had dragged himself up and onto bed, a languid hand reached, again, for the landline on his nightstand. He decided to call one of the few numbers he knew by heart.

Saturday Evening, New York City

As planned, Olivia and Chandani met on Saturday. It was much later than they had intended. Though their Friday nights evolved differently, it ended the same: drunk and alone. Only one of them had wanted it that way.

Two hours ago, Olivia's phone had rung, and because of the assigned tone, she knew exactly who it was. As importantly, she knew who it was not. She had managed to sleep for several hours, during which she did not have to think about what she said in her voicemail or wonder if she should call Huck to erase it before Fitz could get a hold of it. Nor did she, during those hours of being dead to the world have to wonder if he heard the message and simply deleted it. And if he did, would he be doing them both a favor? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

But Chandani's call had bumped those thoughts from her throbbing head. Olivia chugged copious amounts of water in between nodding her head to Chandani's words, as if she were there to see it. Chandani lured her with the promise of a home-cooked meal. If only Olivia would stop by the Whole Foods near her hotel to pick up some smoked haddock on her way down to Gramercy Park. Olivia showered and dressed for a relaxed evening with her friend, before making her way to the grocery store.

XXX

"What?!" Chandani exclaimed as she carefully placed chunky bits of haddock to steam atop the masala rice. She was preparing one of her favorite post-hangover meals: kedgeree, a Scottish twist on an Indian, spiced rice dish called kitchari. The effects of British colonialism made a point or two, but she would never admit that out loud. She checked the time on the eggs which were boiling in a separate pan. She wanted them to be set soft before quartering and plating them. Cooking and keeping up with Olivia's retelling of her night with Fitz, Chandani incredulously asked, "After I set that up for you, that's how it ended? He left you there?"

"Wait," Olivia paused. "Set what up for me?"

"You don't think I saw the way you two were looking at each other? At the gallery, at the diner… as if you were so sly. All the while you were obvious as hell. I hate Wall Street bros and their cocaine-fueled parties. I know how you are and didn't want to be an excuse; I left you with Fitz on purpose."

"Ok, matchmaker," Olivia scoffed. "Are you sure you weren't eyeing him for yourself? You were wildly flirtatious last night." She was leaning against the inside entrance of the kitchen, her forearms cradled behind her.

"That's just part of my charm. You know that." Chandani turned off the heat under the boiling eggs and removed one immediately to be placed in an ice bath to preserve a gelatinous yoke for Olivia.

Olivia gave her a small smile, taking this as her cue to gather utensils, napkins, and Chandani's favorite condiment—green mango pickle. She sat down at the bistro table on the balcony, waiting for Chandani to emerge with the food. A symphonic serenade of the city's sounds buzzed around her.

"It doesn't sit right that he would leave you in such a vulnerable state. He doesn't give that impression," Chandani noted as she scooted her chair up to the table, ready to dig into the kedgeree.

"It doesn't sit right with me either…mmmm, Dani, this is so good," Olivia said, closing her eyes as she savored her first forkful of rice, fish, egg yolk and a sprinkle of cilantro. A perfect bite.

"You know, he seems rather sensitive," Dani tilted her head to the side as she recalled their brief diner huddle about the exhibition. "His soul, you know? Not his feelings."

"Well, he is a Cancerian," Olivia added. "So, probably his feelings as well."

A lightbulb illuminated Chandani's eyes. Her mouth was agape with mischief. "Do you know his exact time and place of birth? What about his sun and moon?"

She knew the answer to only one of those questions. "Please stop. You're not doing a marriage chart; this man hasn't even called me back. A compatibility chart is several bridges too far," Olivia cautioned.

"What's the harm? Virgos and Cancers are so good together, you know? They have balanced emotional energy," Chandani squeed as she clapped her palms together.

"Do you want me to leave?" Olivia threatened petulantly. She swung her pulled-back single loose braid over her shoulder, away from her dinner.

Accustomed to Olivia sidestepping the truth the closer it encroached, Chandani blinked before crossing her arms, fixing her stare at the pint-sized pouter in front of her. "Do you want to leave?" she challenged, emphasizing the clear lack of bite behind her friend's bark. The staring contest soon collapsed into laughter.

After a while, Chandani began with sincerity. "Liv, the other night…" she trod carefully, wishing to revisit what she knew must still be bothering Olivia.

"How did he seem to you when you were alone? Was he upset? Does he play games?" She intoned with an undercurrent of hope that the answer was 'no'. "I just don't understand how you go from his tongue in your mouth to 'I can't do this', and Fitz hightailing it out of there. What do you think that was all about?"

Olivia had considered all those things and more every time she looked at her phone and saw no sign of his communication. But she kept coming back to the same pang of concern, even as she lacked confirmation. "I don't know, something seemed off with him. My gut keeps telling me something's wrong." She stared out into the distance of 23rd Street.

"With him?"

"Yes…not as a person, just…something's not right."

"Why don't you just call him?"

"I've already done that," Olivia said bashfully. "It's up to him now." A twinge of anxiety gnawed at her, causing her appetite to wane.

Observing the change in Olivia as she moved her fork around her plate with no attempt at gathering food on it, Chandani reached across the table to still Olivia's hand.

"Chutki? Tell me."

Stalling, Olivia quipped, "You are 3 inches taller than me. You're not exactly a giant, and I'm not that short."

"Mmmhmm. Nice try. Spill it, shrimp," Chandani insisted. "Wait, so you did talk to him? What did he say?"

"Not exactly. I left him a voicemail around four this morning."

Chandani made a hissing sound as she drew in the summer air between her perfect teeth. "Uh oh. No lucid voicemail has ever been left at that hour. What did you say?"

"I don't remember everything, but— "

"Oh, no."

"No, not like that. I…I'm pretty sure I told him I wanted him to stay with me and that I had missed him."

"And he hasn't responded to that?" Chandani made a 'yikes' expression as her thick, glossy, manicured brows arched upward and her large, deep brown eyes widened. "You know what? We can just call Cara to solve this whole mystery. She'll know." Chandani said as she motioned to go retrieve her phone from the living room.

"Don't you dare," Olivia put her arm out to stop her. "I don't want to look crazy, like I'm stalking him. Didn't he make plans to meet up with her today?" She said of Fitz and Cara. "After the diner last night, you and I made plans and I overheard them doing the same."

The waves of Olivia's self-consciousness stymied Chandani's practical solution. This was not about Fitz being OK. This was about the two of them being OK—Fitz and Olivia. Without that answer, her vulnerability walked a tightrope. Cara's response might cause her to lose balance. There was only one person who could make Olivia dismount the tightrope.

"So, you think there's a chance he'll call tonight?"

Chasing neither desperation nor hope, Olivia carefully avoided projecting onto Chandani the niggling worry at the back of her mind. How silly she would look having her friend call Fitz's cousin—whom she had met only once—because he had not returned her call. She would not become that girl. That kind of overeager behavior might justify, for him, why he had yet to return her call. Or, maybe, something she said in her message, had already sealed her fate. Olivia shook her head, no man had ever made her want to be wanted in this way: emptied of control, strapped into the seat of a dippy rollercoaster ride of pubescent angst.

Olivia glanced at the dark screen beside her plate. "I…" her fingertips came together and apart, repeatedly. "I…don't know."

"And if he doesn't call?"

"Then…" I've lost him, she thought. "I'll know where things stand," she declared with false resolve.

"Ayye, buddu."

"Excuse me?"

"I said it. You're an idiot. You would never accept that as a final answer from a client, or anyone from who you demanded answers."

"That's just it. I don't want to demand anything from him. I'm not…" She thought about her pushing and pulling with him over the last year and a half, and how the mere sight of him with three other women roused a jealousy in her that was previously unfamiliar. Olivia had always been of the mindset that jealousy revealed insecurity, and she did not think of herself as insecure. In every relationship she felt that she was the prize, that they were lucky to have her. And Fitz would be, too, of course. But therapy had exposed her hairline cracks and her gaping chasms. With Fitz, she was an egg, dropped from a great height, onto the pavement, cracked wide open, her insides seeping out uncontrollably into pebbly crevices. She did not want to be his prize.

Olivia gathered both their plates. "I want to talk to him, then I'll know what to do."

Chandani cleared the rest of the table and followed her inside, "Ok, but the fundamental problem here is that neither of you are picking up that little rectangle and placing it to your ear. So, let's plan for that part."

"I already told you I'm not calling him again today. I'm not desperate," she lied.

"I hear that," Chandani said with soft sympathy. "But let's put a time limit on this and make a plan of action."

Olivia placed the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and closed it. "Fine. Tomorrow."

"Specifically, noon," Chandani added. "If you don't hear from him by then, give him a call. Come on, that's more than twenty-four hours."

"Fine. Now let's dissect your love life for a change?"

"I'm a virgin. What's there to tell?"

Olivia threw a dishrag at Chandani who ducked in laughter.

Sunday Morning, New York City

Morning crept its way in through the gap of the curtained windows in the living room. Through the sliver of space beamed a yellow ray across Olivia's sleeping form. Its late morning warmth singed the side of her face, alerting her to the feeling of a quilted material covering her. Still groggy and not yet fully awake, Olivia was momentarily disoriented. Before a lucid thought could form, Olivia shifted and was greeted with the brushed linen cushion of Chandani's tufted sofa. Then, suddenly, 90's pop music blared, accompanied by the voice of Britney Spears, or, rather a roaring, off-pitch approximation of Britney.

"My loneliness is killing me…and Iiiiiiii…I must confess I still believe…still belieeeeeeeeeeve…" sang Chandani at the top of her lungs, in the adjacent kitchen.

"Hey, sleepyhead!" She said as soon as she heard signs of life over by the couch.

"Must you be so damn chipper in the morning?" Olivia muttered, her throat scratchy and her eyes still holding onto sleep.

Chandani's only answer was more singing, louder this time as she crept closer to the couch. Her head was wrapped in a t-shirt, and she wore a teal blue bath robe and held a Denman brush to her mouth. "When I'm not with you, I lose my mind, give me a SIGHHHHHIIIHHIIGN! Hit me baby, one more TIIIIME!"

A distant throb at the back of Olivia's head intensified from the booming proximity of what Chandani called singing. It illuminated last night's activities. "This is why I don't drink champagne casually," she moaned. But it, or rather, Prosecco—which Chandani preferred—was always stocked in her friend's fridge.

Chandani tutted. "You were not complaining last night. I lost count of how many times you filled your glass. At one point you…," she began to snicker, producing a snort. "You were singing into the bottle in between taking it to the head. Liv, I let you jump on my couch!"

She watched this woman sing her heart out last night to 'Baby One More Time' as if her life depended on it. Chandani was bowled over in laughter then, but not enough to disregard the emotion fueling Olivia's performance. A person filled with liquid courage is not to be reasoned with, Chandani thought then, but she knew Britney's words articulated that which Olivia pushed down. Imbibing the bubbly booze brought out good memories, too. It had inspired the friends to revisit a fond, near decade-old time in their life, one filled with the silliness of youth whilst on separate journeys of discovery in India. Specifically, a night of Karaoke in the old French enclave of Pondicherry, Tamil Nadu. Last night they sang their way through Britney Spears' entire first album.

Olivia sat up. It was then that she noticed the two tablets of Excedrin and glass of water awaiting her on the coffee table.

Chandani made a clicking sound with her mouth and winked at Olivia as she took down the towel from her now damp hair. "Who takes care of you, Chutki?"

"The one who got me into this predicament, that's who." Olivia swallowed the medicine and the water. "How do you not have a headache?"

"I drink Prosecco the way you drink wine. I'm a pro. I take the pills before I go to sleep." Chandani tapped the side of her head with her index finger, acknowledging her own cleverness.

Olivia began to yawn and stretch her hands above her head. "What's the time? It seems late."

"It's after noon," said Chandani, as she flung the curtains back to allow in the full capacity of midday's light.

Olivia began folding the blanket and looking for her phone. She found it on the floor and tapped its home button. A small pout soured her face when her notifications were void of the one thing she had hoped for. "I'm gonna head back to my hotel."

"And?" prodded Chandani.

Recalling last evening's dinner declaration, she answered, "I need a shower and change of clothes. I'll call Fitz after that."

"Promise?" Chandani yelled from her galley kitchen.

"I'll try," Olivia said tepidly. She gathered her belongings and stuffed them in her large purse.

Chandani returned to the living room rubbing a small amount of virgin coconut oil into her palms. "You don't want to eat something before you go?"

Olivia momentarily assessed her hunger and declined. "No, I'm fine, thanks."

Chandani leaned her head to the side and began distributing the slippery oil through the length of her loosely waved hair. "Why don't we go out tonight? At least three of my friends are hosting West Indian Day parties. You're going to miss the parade since you insist on leaving tomorrow," she pouted. "And I'm not sure when you'll be back."

"You could always come to DC, you know." Olivia replied, now by the door, retrieving her shoes from the entrance.

"Whatever is there to do down there?" Chandani facetiously retorted.

Olivia rolled her eyes. "You people surely think this place is the center of the universe," Olivia said of New Yorkers. "Everywhere else is practically the backwoods of Indiana to you."

Chandani feigned shock over the teasing accusation.

The two women hugged and said their goodbyes, arranging to see each other one last time later that evening, before Olivia left Monday afternoon for the small-time village known as the nation's capital.

XXX

Olivia made her way down East 23rd before turning right on Park Avenue. After only a few blocks her stomach rumbled, and she decided to stop by Gregory's Coffee to grab a mug of hot peppermint tea. Tea, in the height of summer seemed antithetical, but cooled the body. Though she was an adult, she would forever hear her grandmother's words, which encouraged hot liquids in the morning to open up the system, as she called it.

Olivia sipped and walked without care, momentarily letting go of that which she had clung to over the last twenty-four hours. She began to enjoy her lack of plans for the day as she walked on the sunny side of the Avenue. Its intensity mitigated by the sparse foliage of the trees lining the avenue, the sun's rays warmed Olivia's bare arms. The loose waves she had worn swept to the side Friday night were pulled low into a braided ponytail at the nape of her neck. A wide-brimmed, floppy, wheat-colored straw hat—its inside lined with mulberry silk to protect her hair—shielded her face from harmful UV rays. Perhaps she would visit a spa today, Olivia thought. Or get a pedicure. She was content to be distanced from her earlier fixation about him. His not calling. And just like that, it was back. That nettling thought at the back of her mind elbowed her pride, urging her to call one more time. What if something was wrong? She swallowed the warm minty liquid and twisted her mouth in doubt, resolving to make a decision once she reached her hotel. She would be clear after a long shower and a bite to eat.

She soon found herself absentmindedly humming the very chorus which had so rudely awakened her less than an hour ago. She smiled to herself. She had not hummed a Britney tune in ages, and trust Chandani to bequeath her this ear worm. It was then that Olivia heard a loud buzzing in her purse, which startled her from her thoughts. Without a glance at the screen, Olivia fished out the phone and held it to her ear.

"What?"

"Well, that's certainly a kind of greeting."

Olivia stopped in her tracks.

"Fitz?" She pulled the phone away from her face as if the possibility of this voice belonging to some other man was real.

"Hi," he said, his voice revealing a perkiness she did not expect.

Her mouth opened tentatively, her voice temporarily betraying her in a coquettish shyness she had not wished to convey, causing her to clear her throat so that she might conjure audible words.

"Hi," she returned. "You're calling me." The breathy relief floating out in her response was honest. She, temporarily, let the defense rest.

"I'm calling you. Is this a good time?"

Moving forward with him intrigued her, but she also did not want to be presumptuous. There was still the matter of her voicemail, a thing she could only partially recall. Or maybe memory was protecting her from embarrassment. Surely, he had listened to it. A frisson of anxiety crawled up the visible vertebrae on her slim neck. One that took her back to court awaiting the verdict of a jury. It was common knowledge that the longer a decision took, the greater the discord. But she wanted, no, needed to be relieved from the purgatory of his silence.

"Umm…shu…yes. Yes." Olivia finally said.

"Would you like to spend the day together?" Is what came tumbling out instead of the apology Fitz had intended. That question was his eventual destination, not his opening salvo. But, in a way, everything else he had to say would be easier if she said yes. Her silence was amplified by the chorus of the city echoing in the background.

"I'm…sorry. You must have plans. It sounds like you're already out. I shouldn't— "

"Fitz?" She interrupted his ramble, as a whisper of happiness tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Ask me again."

"Olivia Pope," he cleared his throat. "Would you spend the day with me?"

"I'd like that," she said.

He could hear her smile through the phone, and it felt like a calming hand on his chest. "Good. Because I've missed seeing your face."

"It's only been a day."

"A very eventful one," he sighed woefully.

"Fitz…" she started and stopped. She did not know how to pose to him the question of her voicemail. Or how to insist that he account for his silence since leaving her hotel. She could excoriate any man with the precision of her words, wrenching from him answers he foolishly withheld. This man, however, had her on tenterhooks. She felt as she did many months ago when her bleeding heart painted the pages of that four-page letter; the one she subsequently tore up and never gave to him. Her voicemail was the truncated version and she felt justified now for never having sent him that epistle.

Enough with this personal purgatory, she screamed internally. Her rawest thought exposed itself. "You must have listened to my message. Put me out of my misery."

Surprised by Olivia's blunt word choice, Fitz paused. It is not that he had forgotten the voicemail. Or that he was avoiding it. How could he when listening to it, repeatedly since Saturday afternoon, had been a key part of his recovery from food poisoning. The IV drip flooding his veins. Well… along with Gwinnie's attentive care and advice. The voicemail served as the foundation for everything he had presumptively arranged for that day.

XXX

"Do you need the bathroom again, Fitzgerald?" Gwinnie said as she approached the threshold of her nephew's bedroom.

When Fitz had called Gwinnie, she had been able, thankfully, to cancel her plans for the day in order to care for him. Cara had left him in the lurch, messaging Fitz that she'd be unavailable for their afternoon plans because Laughlin—her boyfriend— was whisking her off to the Vineyard for the weekend.

"You've gone very pale, dear." Gwinnie carried toward his bed the strained vegetable broth her chef had prepared, along with plain table water crackers. "I thought you might be improving enough to keep a bit of this down."

"No, no, I'm fine," he replied. "I'm ready to take the chance." He was slightly dazed as he pressed the number two on his phone's keyboard. He needed to hear that message again. What Gwinnie said next was a mystery because Fitz had tuned out his aunt to concentrate on Olivia's words and slurs. The British accent slip up made him chortle. That blip of joy hurt his whole body—now sat with his back against his leather headboard. His abdominal muscles had spent hours contracted in suffering. The laughter passed and his face was now plaintive, his body experiencing a different kind of internal pain as he consumed the last of Olivia's message once more.

She did miss him.

She did want him.

Wanted not to lose him.

It felt good to hear her admit those things, even if she needed liquid courage to do so. But her message was not without scarlet flags. Back to their nights at Maroon? That he did not want. Or, rather, he needed more than that after all this time. He was moving forward with life, and so was she. Was it too much to consider that they try doing so together? The automated voicemail instructions continued in a loop as Fitz loosely held the phone up to his ear, caught up on a wave of analysis as he parsed Olivia's words.

Gwinnie placed the tray over Fitz's lap. "Who is she?"

Fitz snapped out of his thoughts and untucked the spoon from the napkin before swirling it around in the vegetable broth. "What?" He replied evasively as he cooled the liquid with the gentle breeze from his mouth.

Gwendolyn sat down at the edge of the bed. "Have I not known you since you were a boy? You wear everything on that handsome face. That succession of expressions could only be inspired by a woman. Someone with whom you are quite smitten." Her icy blue eyes, lined softy with smudged plum shadow, were unyielding but patient, as she awaited a reply.

"Does the broth feel OK? Is your stomach being violent with it?"

"I think the two of them are getting along," Fitz humored.

When he said nothing further to her earlier query, Gwendolyn prodded, "It's not that Angela, is it?"

Fitz stilled the spoon. "No, Gwinnie. She uhhh…this woman existed long before Angela. Long before a lot of women."

"How long ago, exactly, Fitzgerald? Don't tell me this has to do with your divorcing Melody?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. Although…" he said, dismissing any insinuation of adultery in his former marriage. But his aunt's question did give Fitz pause. How honest would he be about the circumstance under which he and Olivia had met, and the fact that she had made the process of his divorce a treasured memory. "She…Olivia was Mellie's divorce lawyer. Nothing happened between us at the time. That would be sleazy and low. But I did feel something charging between us. And after the dust settled and papers were signed, fate brought me into her orbit again. You remember Alvin?"

"Yes, yes. Your Harvard friend." Gwendolyn adjusted her short silver tresses, tucking loose ends behind her ears.

Fitz regaled his aunt with Maroon-colored tales of effervescent nights spent in Olivia's company and the insipid times, in between, that he spent without her. Her running and avoidance. His wallowing and working. Until fate's pity once again brought them nigh. To New York, to the same gallery of all places. Just when their misaligned stars seemed to be getting in formation, an asteroid of illness struck him down.

"You poor, unfortunate souls. Olivia doesn't know you've been unwell?"

"Likely not. You had to find my phone when you got here. I only just listened to the message she left early this morning."

"Touché." Gwendolyn studied her nephew. A long, slim finger tapped the dimple in her chin; the one his mother did not inherit from her father. "Darling boy, you aren't simply smitten, you're downright besotted with Olivia. This comedy of errors between you two simply must end before it becomes tragedy. Now, tell me, what you would like to do when you see her again?"

XXX

His silence was interminable, and it caused her to scramble for an excuse if only to pierce the absence of his words. "Or did you not listen to my message," Olivia inferred after Fitz's interminable silence.

Fitz had not been aware that the things running through his head had not been said. "Oh no, I listened to it. Too many times to recount."

Olivia breathed a sigh of relief. Being unable to remember all of what she had said, her mind had become a landfill of the worst possible outcomes.

"I have something I want to show you, but I can't make it happen before dark. We'd be back late. Is that OK with you?"

"Back? Where are we going?"

"Somewhere you've never been before… is my hope."

"In the City? That'll be slim pickings. You should just tell me in case we need to make other plans."

"We? This is a surprise for you. I'm taking you somewhere and you just need to bring yourself."

"You don't know this about me yet, but I hate surprises."

He registered the 'yet' and hope rang its bell. "We're not leaving the state, but we are leaving the city. Do you trust me enough for that?"

Trust. Her brow furrowed at the sound of that word because she had not thought to question it with him. Trust had felt axiomatic since the night he walked her home from Maroon.

"I do."

"Good. I'll pick you up at two. Wear something you'll be comfortable in all day. It'll be very relaxed and unhurried."

Among a host of things Olivia appreciated about the Whitby was that all its front-facing rooms had floor-to-ceiling casement windows, the central panel of which opened to allow fresh air to circulate inside. She did not have to be hostage to air conditioning. Now, at 1:37 PM, she sat on a towel atop her bed, allowing her skin to dry from the air floating in through her window. She moisturized her skin, considering what to do with her now damp coily hair. She had not intended to wear it natural, but the edges had begun curling up as humidity collected in the bathroom. She leaned into what was happening and did a quick wash and condition. Set into tiny coils by her botanical flaxseed gel, Olivia's curls were waiting to be diffused and styled.

When Fitz said to expect him for 2 PM, a cocktail of butterflies and panic sloshed around her stomach as she stared at her watch, which read 12:46 PM. Nevertheless, she confirmed she would be ready. The minute their conversation ended, she abandoned her earlier easy, breezy façade and hightailed it in a cab to her hotel. On the way she caught up with Chandani, who was relieved, rather than perturbed to have Olivia cancel their plans for the evening. Chandani had been so elated for her friend, she pledged to soon visit the little farming village four hours south of The City.

The set of underwear Olivia picked out put a gleam in her eyes—one she could still see as she swept her lashes with inky liquid. A pat of concealer under the eyes, brushed brows and a touch of pinky-brown balm were the only manipulations Olivia made to her face. His phrase—'very relaxed'—repeated in her head as she motioned from the vanity to the wardrobe containing the limited options she brought that weekend.

"But what does 'relaxed' mean to him?" Olivia said out loud as she narrowed her options. A pair of tailored navy linen shorts and blue and white striped, nautical boat neck top, or a white and buttercup hued dress, both of which awaited a first-time occasion to be sported. She was forced to make an instinctual choice when her phone sounded a five-minute alert. Olivia hated to be rushed, but she found herself in that predicament. Her hair was not dry, and she did not want to greet him with flat roots and wet ends soaking her shoulders. Quick thinking prompted her to fashion an updo that had the ringlets spilling from atop her crown, cascading toward her hairline. It showed off her delicate shoulders and regal neck.

With her diamond studs in hand, Olivia rushed toward the ringing hotel phone.

"Hello. This is Raoul at Concierge. Am I speaking with Ms. Pope, room 1132?"

"Yes, you are."

"You have a visitor, a Mr. Grant?"

"Yes, please tell him there's no reason to come up. I'll be right down."

"Ma'am he's asked that you please go to your window and look down."

"Uh—Okaaaaay." Olivia did not expect that.

She thanked Raoul and did as Fitz relayed.

A girlish delight filled a still bare feet Olivia as she angled herself out the window. She looked down at the car, parked prominently in front of the hotel. A classic candy red convertible that she was pretty sure was a vintage European car of some sort. Alfa Romeo, perhaps? More amusing was Fitz who was standing up inside the 2-seater roadster, his hands held up and widely spread apart. In one hand he held a bouquet of fuchsia pink and white orchids, and the other waved excitedly up at her. His perfect teeth showed out for all of New York in a glorious smile. Much like a yawn, Fitz's smile was contagious. Olivia was infected and smiled widely down at him whilst shaking her head. He was wearing a pair of dark wash jeans and white, button-down shirt, both of which were exquisitely fitted to his body. It's so much easier for men, she mused. But Olivia was confident that she had chosen the right attire. When Fitz began to open the car door to exit, she found herself yelling down at him, something she normally thought uncouth, but here she was doing unexpected things.

"Fitz! Don't move. I'm coming to you."

Disappearing from the window, she gave herself a few spritzes of Agent Provocateur's signature parfum and strapped herself into her version of a relaxed pair of shoes. She grabbed her oversized shades and a scarf. Her hat would not work in that car.

XXX

Fitz was leaned up against the passenger side door when Olivia finally emerged. She looked like Venus made in amber and draped in sunshine that floated millimeters off the ground. The neckline of the tiered broderie anglaise dress was wide and open, but shallow in its plunge. Feminine and elegant, she seemed to glide toward him, and he could feel the electrical charge percolating energy through his body.

"Hi," he said. And it cemented in his brain that they now owned these two letters of the alphabet.

"Hi," she returned, her eyes curious and inviting as he pulled Olivia in toward his body for an embrace.

The height of her shoes had made them closer in height. He held her pelvis in place with his. Their upper bodies were slightly leaned back as they both took in one another's features. How long had it been since either of them had seen each other in exposed daylight, free and unfettered? The answer was never; their meetings were always shadowed by evening. They looked at each other, confirming their parallel thoughts. Sickness and health, all the yesterdays of their life stopped mattering in that moment. There was only today and the anticipation of what the afternoon would bring.

Fitz leaned in and Olivia's body arched back in a dip to receive the soft intensity of his lips. What a pair they made.

When Fitz finally pulled back from the kiss, still anchoring her hips to his, he continued to commit her features to memory. He knew for the next two hours he would only get to steal momentary glances her way. He had to let her know now, with his words and a sweep of his fingertips across her graceful collarbone, "You look exquisite. I think the orchids are jealous."

The flowers were in the hands of Raoul who would see to them until Olivia returned.

"They'll live." She blushed under his admiring gaze. He made her feel weightless and playful. "You also look very pretty."

Fitz roared with laughter, his head thrown back, eyes closed. The sound echoed up toward the sky, and it was music to Olivia's ears. He caught his breath and grabbed her by the right hand as he opened the passenger door.

"Your chariot."

"Take me somewhere," Olivia smiled, and she lowered herself into the car.

Up the Hudson

They bantered easily for nearly an hour whilst Fitz navigated them northward, out of New York City. Fitz regaled Olivia with tales of his suffering the previous day, confirming for Olivia that her gut had been right the whole time. In turn, she plied him with sympathy. Once they left the city, Fitz stopped to raise the car's cover to protect Olivia from arriving disheveled from their speedy ride up the parkway. She then removed her Jackie Onassis-like scarf, leaving her curls free.

Once they were comfortably on Route 9, Olivia became more and more curious about what he had planned for their late afternoon and evening together. How late it would go, she did not know, because she was uncertain what to expect from him as a…what was he to her now? It was so easy to fall into his gravity whenever she was around him, assuming things like the other night, only to be uprooted. She had tried to put herself out there but was left lonely and alone. Here was a fresh start.

Olivia removed her sunglasses and shifted in her seat towards Fitz. "I don't want to sound cruel, but I was relieved to know you were sick. That I hadn't been the reason you ran off."

"I'm sorry about that. I know it must have seemed abrupt."

"Very. I wasn't sure what I did or said to change your mind. It plagued me for hours trying to figure it out, honestly."

It wasn't what you did, Fitz thought to himself; it's what you did not say. "You didn't do anything wrong…"

She heard the 'but' and preempted it. "But?"

"My hand was forced, so to speak. You were right about those donuts."

"I knew it," she shook her head back and forth. "I felt it."

"You knew that I was violently ill?"

"Not exactly, but my gut was telling me that something was wrong. I…I let my pride convince me that was untrue and that you hadn't returned my call because you…" She could not say the words out loud to him. Could not allow herself to admit that she feared he had erected a purpose-built protective barrier to keep her from re-establishing an intimacy upon which they could expand. She had previously been emotionally and physically unavailable. He had been with other women in a way she was incapable of offering. But when she tried to present herself in that way, to signal she was ready and willing, he ran in the other direction. Away from her. "You could have told me, Fitz. You didn't have to leave. You could have…"

Fitz reached over to uncurl the fist she formed, slipping his palm over hers. "Infringed on your space, time? Made a mess of your bathroom and forced you to care for me? No. I don't think you would have wanted that. I know I didn't want that."

"What did you want to happen that night? If sickness hadn't taken you away, would you have stayed? Yes, or no?"

It was the million-dollar question. The one that was harder to answer because pulling on that thread would unravel nearly a year of silence and avoidance. Did he want to start down that road before reaching their first destination?

His mouth remained closed, thin, as he considered his reply. "It's not a 'yes' or 'no' question."

"Our tongues are wrestling. It's good. You're swelling against me in all the right places," Olivia began, with prosecutorial precision. "And I am not complaining. In fact, I open my door and I wait for you to join me. You freeze—there but not there. Then you hand me my purse and say you're sorry. That you can't do this. Was that the donuts or you?" Olivia demanded.

"Some of it was me," he finally admitted.

The truth, finally. "Tell me, Fitz."

"I had no expectation that I would see you this weekend. And when I did, I tried to stay present and not assume anything. You know the old saying… expectations are the thief of joy. When I realized I would have the chance to be alone with you, I wanted to prolong that as much as I could. I didn't want it to end."

"The bridge walk," she recalled fondly.

"Yes. And during that walk, everything I missed about you came flooding back. Everything I wanted and could only hope for before. But then I waited for the other shoe to drop with you."

His words hit Olivia swiftly, like a punch in the chest. "Ouch."

It was true that his wings had been burned by her fire when he got too close. Moth that he was, he could not help being lured by her fire. He would volunteer every time, and that was not her fault. His words were jagged, but not meant to strike.

"No, I don't mean it that way. Or to hurt you. I felt like I had tried to impose myself on you, in some ways. Tried to convince you to take a chance on us when you were clearly in completely different circumstances. That was unfair, and I'm sorry…"

"You don't need to apologize. I didn't think of it as an imposition, exactly. Just-"

"Liv, I want to finish so that you fully understand where I'm coming from."

Her hand signaled towards him to continue.

"But," he took a breath.

Olivia squared her shoulders, bracing herself for what would follow.

"If I'm honest, I was hurt. Extremely hurt by your dismissal. I think it hurt more to hear you acknowledge that you felt something between us, too, and still tell me no. And then when you broke up with Edison and the only time I heard from you was when I received a cease-and-desist letter…I don't even know if four lines are tantamount to a letter. A note. Let's call it a cease-and-desist note."

Olivia's rebuttal itched in her throat. She covered her mouth with a fisted hand not to interrupt his monologue. But she mentally prepared a list of points to address.

"I felt…I knew I had lost you. That maybe the illicit nature of what we had, under cover of darkness, was only attractive to you as a tease. Some kind of fantasy you could escape to when things became too much with your real relationship. And when you freed yourself from Edison, that meant letting me go, too. I was a fantasy attached to an escape from reality with him. Maybe I was collateral damage in all of that. I don't know. I tried to rationalize it so that it made sense. So that I could go on. So that I could respect the boundaries you set up. Vera was a congratulatory gift. But she was also my way to let you know that I'll alwa... That I would never forget our time together, even if we never spoke again. So, seeing you again, here, in New York? I was exceedingly present, but the past rushed back in once we were in your hallway. It threw me off. I was afraid we'd wake up full of regret. Or that you would, at least. But I need you to know, Liv," He stole another glance her way. "Everything that happened Friday night was real. Everything I said. Everything you felt from me. The kissing. All of it was real, and I loved every minute of it."

"Fitz…" she looked his way.

His stare was intense and direct. It lingered on her face so long, she feared they might crash. Pain and indictment colored his words, but his last few sentences delivered her. A calming balm, they stripped her of the tightness itching at her to defend herself. She yearned to fill in the gaps of his assumptions. And to confirm some of what he felt. She cleared the frog from her throat.

"Can I?"

"Hold my hand? Yes, please." Fitz took Olivia's hand and placed it on the gear shift, laying his hand on top as he controlled the car.

He was very good at diffusing tension whenever he felt it with her. But Olivia had things she needed to say to him.

"Fitz, I can't tell you what I would have felt if we woke up together yesterday morning because it wasn't to be. I'm glad we get another chance today. But there are things I need to tell you; things you may not know. Things that upbraided my world and became bigger than you. Things I blamed you for because it was easier, but in retrospect, your actions were used for someone else's manipulative agenda. Thoughtless actions?" She mused, tilting her head from side to side "Maybe, but not evil."

"Liv, I really have no idea what you're talking about," Fitz said in response to the cryptic word soup Olivia spouted.

"Your wife— "

"I don't have one of those," he deadpanned, glancing over.

"Your…Mellie. Mellie saw the note you left when you dropped off my dry-cleaning at W&B? She saw that and accused me of being your whore during the entire proceedings of your divorce. She threatened the firm's reputation and vowed to have me disbarred for unethical behavior."

"What?!" Fitz boomed.

His mouth tightened to a pucker. He felt Olivia remove her hand from the gearstick as he began to squeeze down harder, changing between third and fifth gear with greater aggression as he weaved in and out of the mounting traffic. His exit was coming up soon. It was nearing four o'clock. He wanted to have some breathing space for them both, especially after this claustrophobic journey.

"I'm still pissed I couldn't get an annulment instead," he muttered under his breath. In a more audible tone Fitz said, "She had no right. Wait until I speak to her. Liv, is that why you left? Because of her threats?"

"No, Fitz. Cyrus put me on a 6-week leave of absence to placate Mellie's threats. During that time, I realized Mellie would always be Mellie. But Cyrus revealed a side he had never shown to me, though I had seen it on display for others. It was Cyrus who didn't go to bat for me. After everything I had given to him and W & B, he sidelined me to protect his firm. I never wanted anyone to be able to take away something I'd worked so hard for. That's when I knew I had to leave. I needed something that was wholly mine."

"Liv, I'm so sorry.

"Don't be. I'm not. I'm happy to be where I am now."

"If I had known— "

"There's no way you could have known when you left that note— "

"But if I had left it with Kenny…"

Olivia laughed now. She thought about how Kenny followed directions to a fault—so much so that he did not tell Fitz any of this, though they had become deep friends. Then there was Fitz, whose inability to follow her directions last year led, inadvertently, to a series of falling dominoes in her life. Still, she came out a champion. "Are you in the habit of not listening to what I say? Because that may be a problem."

"It depends on what you say." He smiled cheekily.

"Ok, I don't like surprises, so tell me where we're going."

"That's an easy one," he slowed the car down as he turned the wheel into a gravel-filled parking area. "Because we're here."

End of Part I

A/N: They're going on a date! I wanted to keep all of that part together so that's coming up as well as the transition back to the present timeline, This little carnival ride back in time is almost over. Thanks for sticking with it. The last part of 5/5 will be edited and posted later this week (inshallah). I'll share my full thoughts when it's all over. Please leave me reviews because I LOVE reading what you have to say. Here are some prompts:

1. Where do you think Fitz is taking Olivia? Where does he think she's never been? Maybe it's more than one spot?

2. Is there anything you want to see happen/be said on this date? I cannot confirm or deny since I don't like spoiling you but since I haven't edited the 2nd draft yet, there's time for reader requests

3. Would you like to see all the flashback episodes as one big story? idk

Lastly, if you are only subscribed to this story, you'll have missed that I posted a dirty little short story of this version of Olitz, last week. It's called 'Command Performance'. Go have a read.

As Always,

Petunia