A/N: So, I've been struggling with writer's block on Lifelong Love Letter, and instead this came to me. (Very) loosely inspired by The Affair - as it's turned out, they're nothing alike! There is more to come, and I'd love to hear what you think. Please excuse any Brit-isms!

Be My Downfall

And twenty miles away
She waits alone for me
But when I try to picture her
You're the one I see

And when faced with temptation
You know a man should stand and fight
But you will be my downfall tonight

(~ Del Amitri)

2014 Global Initiative for Women's Health and Education International Symposium
London, UK

Confident. That's the word that comes to mind the first time he sees her. He's heard all about her, of course. Everyone who's anyone in politics has. Olivia Pope: Harvard and Yale alumnus, political powerhouse; ambassador for several high-profile national and international women's organizations including her own, set up while she was still in school. She is the youngest ever member to sit on UN Women's governing board and last year she leapt straight into the top ten on Forbes' 100 Most Powerful Women list.

All this and she's only in her mid-twenties.

She takes to the stage with her head held high and a smile on her face, and Fitz thinks that she looks so tiny up there in her pale gray suit. But as soon as she begins to speak it is clear there is nothing 'tiny' about Olivia Pope. There are almost a thousand people at the symposium - political leaders and women's rights activists from around the globe - and each one of them is hooked on her every word. Fitz himself is enraptured by her, as she talks of the work she is involved in, the lives she has seen changed and how far there is still to go. She is so passionate, so eloquent, so engaging. If he wasn't already sold on the cause he would be reaching for his wallet; pledging his time, his mind, his two bare hands. He's been in politics and human rights for fifteen years now and he is struggling to think of many others who are such great orators.

He knows instantly that he has to meet her, in person. There is something about her, an aura surrounding her which has him totally mesmerized. He's never come across anyone who has had such a profound effect on him before, but she's ticking every box on an internal list he didn't even know he possessed: confident, intelligent, feisty, strong. He knows she's a beautiful woman from the photographs and videos of her which appear in the media almost every single day, but in real life she is absolutely stunning. He wonders if he's the only man she is having this effect on, or whether that's part of her magic, her success. He can't wait to find out.

The day seems to drag, after her. Fitz can't seem to pay attention to any of the other presentations - whenever he thinks of a question he'd like to ask, he forgets it almost immediately. He chides himself that he's wasting his time and money being here if he's not making the most of the opportunity to learn, to discuss, to make acquaintances, but he doesn't feel bad because he knows he has time and money to waste now.

Now that he's told his wife he thinks they should take a break. Now that he's bought a one-way ticket to London, and given her no hint as to when - or even if - he might be home.

He doesn't manage to find Olivia in any of the coffee breaks and back in his hotel, as he gets dressed into his tuxedo for the evening dinner, he wonders whether he might never get the chance to be near her. He's always been confident, in himself and his abilities as a speaker, a leader, a political motivator, but with the decision to end his marriage has come a self-doubt he's never experienced before. Even though he used the phrase 'let's take a break', he's known for a long time that Mellie doesn't make him happy. In his own mind he's beginning to think of himself as single, eligible, free. And it's been so long - twelve years - since he was that man, he's not sure he remembers how.

At forty, he's well aware he's hitting 'midlife crisis' territory and it scares him. He was supposed to have the perfect life: handsome and well-built thanks to years of team sports; married to the pretty girl his parents approved of; successful career in a field which he truly believes in and making enough money to live well, very well. No kids though, and that's what's eating him. Mellie wanted to try, years ago, when she was not long out of law school with a good job in the City and no specific ambitions. But he felt the timing wasn't right: he travelled a lot, back then, for Unicef and the UN; seeing the world, learning where the true areas of need were, building the connections he would need to eventually start his own organization. And so his wife, clever and lonely, turned her attention to her career instead. And she was good - so good he began to lose count of her promotions, until their marriage and any notion of starting a family became her second priority.

And what kind of a man would he have been if he'd insisted she put her career on hold to have a baby? He could never do that to her, like his father did to his mother; like so many men do to their wives all over the globe, the wives he spends his days trying to help, to educate, to lift from poverty into a world where their talents matter. He and Mellie started out as friends and he hopes that's where they'll end up, eventually. But their lives just haven't synced together. They don't work, anymore. He doesn't know who she is, now, and she doesn't know him either.

And as for whether he still loves her, or whether he's free to consider the possibility of falling for someone else, well... he has no clue. Since he left her a month ago, he hasn't particularly noticed other women; hasn't thought about dating; hasn't considered what life would be like with someone new.

Until today.

He tells himself his plan for this evening is to have fun and to catch up with acquaintances he hasn't seen for years. But most of all, he wants to find Olivia Pope and work out what it is about her that has him so flustered; what it is that makes him want to kiss her, to explore her skin with his fingertips, to hear the sounds she makes when she's turned on. And then the self-doubt hits - why would she be interested in him? A forty-year-old man who's only recently left his wife; who is basically homeless and drinks too much and can't even remember the last time he had sex?

He downs the last of his scotch - cheap stuff from the mini bar that burns his throat, and not in a good way - before putting on his coat and heading out. On the short walk to the hotel where the dinner is being held, he gives himself a pep talk and by the time he arrives he's feeling more like himself again. He's smart, he's funny, he's charming; everyone likes him, especially ladies, so why wouldn't she? And even if she doesn't, it's not like it's the end of the world - she's just one woman.

Even if she's the most intriguing woman he has ever come across.

To his absolute delight, when he reads the table plan he finds they are seated next to one another at dinner. Her purse is on her chair but she's nowhere to be seen among to crowd, so he takes his seat and helps himself to a glass of red wine, watching people mill around. He sees Prime Ministers conversing with Presidents; the deputy leader of the UN laughing at something Malala Yousafzai has just said. He sees faces he recognizes and some he doesn't, and he's content to sit back and observe for a while. He introduces himself to the other people seated at their table as they each take their places, and they exchange pleasantries. Occasionally someone he knows comes over to say hello and they chat a little, catching up, commenting on the day's debates.

But Fitz can feel that he's on edge, just waiting for her to show up. His eyes scan the room constantly, searching for her. He knows he's acting rudely but he feels like a nervous teenager and he just can't help it. Then, when he finishes his conversation with a former Unicef colleague and turns back to the table, he suddenly finds that Olivia is sliding into the chair beside him. He catches the scent of her perfume and his mouth goes dry. Up close she is just beautiful, and when she smiles at him and holds out her hand... it takes several seconds for him to remember where he is, and return the gesture.

"Hi, I'm Olivia. Pope."

He has to clear his throat. "Hi, Olivia... Fitz Grant."

"I know who you are."

Her smile - those perfect teeth and full pink lips; the way it lifts her gorgeous cheekbones - takes his breath away. He realizes he's still holding her hand but can't make himself let it go.

"You do?"

"Of course. I'm a great admirer. Your work in southern Ecuador is inspiring. I actually referenced quite a few of your papers in my Poli-Sci thesis." She looks down at their joined hands, then back up at him, and now she's smirking. "Is this your usual handshake?"

He lets go as if burned, but her amusement makes him smile too. "No. Sorry. I just... got distracted." The way she continues to smirk suggests that she knows exactly what was distracting him, but he valiantly pushes past it. "I'm honored, by the way, that you know me for my work and not just as my father's son. Normally all I get is 'Ah, Fitzgerald, Senator Grant's boy.'"

"Well, you just took my next words right out of my mouth."

She's still smiling and it makes his skin feel very warm. "Can I pour you some wine?" he asks, his manners ingrained from a young age - one of the few good things his father ever taught him.

"Red, please."

Fitz can feel her eyes on him as he fills her glass, and if he's not mistaken she seems to be checking him out. His skin heats further, and he thinks that these last sixty seconds since meeting her have been some of the most intense of his entire life. He wonders if this is the instant attraction described in books; the fated connection between two halves of the same soul. If someone was watching, would they be able to see the sparks of electricity fizzing between them? He is certain he can feel them, dancing from her body to his.

"So, Dr Grant," Olivia says, leaning towards him as he sits back in his chair, "Do you think they seated us together because we're both Yanks, or because we're the two hottest people in the room?"

Wow. His suspicions are confirmed - she can feel it too. She can sense this magnetic field which is drawing them together, two strangers in a crowd of hundreds, somehow destined to meet here, tonight, at this exact point in time. Fitz just stares at her, completely entranced, and slowly her expression begins to change: from flirty and confident, her smile fades and her eyes widen until she looks just as stunned as he feels. Her brown eyes are so beautiful, so expressive. He feels like he can see all the way into her soul and he wonders whether she realizes that she's wide open, that she's letting him in.

Later, he might come to describe this as the moment he fell in love with Olivia Pope but, of course, he doesn't know that yet.

Not quite.

Eventually - is it seconds? Minutes? A lifetime? - Fitz tears his gaze away; clears his throat. His heart is hammering in his ears. What the hell is happening? He reaches for his wine, spilling some on the white cloth as he hastily raises it to his lips and takes a very long drink. He sees Olivia shake her head slightly, her gaze briefly settling on his left hand before she turns away, clearly trying to compose herself as she sips her own wine. When he rests his glass back on the table, she manages a smile and smoothes her skirt over her legs.

When they speak, it's at the exact same moment:

"So, you're married?"

"So, how's the wine?"

They both grimace, and then start laughing. Instantly the awkwardness is gone.

"I agree," Fitz chuckles, pushing his red aside. "Let me go and order us something much more suitable from the bar."

"Wait a minute mister," Olivia interjects as he's standing. "You can't make a face like that when I mention your marriage and then walk away! There's a story there, and I want to hear it."

Her flirtatious confidence is back in spades and she's so cute, looking up at him, that he has a sudden and very strong urge to lean down and kiss the mischievous smile off of her lovely face.

"It's very boring," Fitz shrugs, hyper-aware of the fact her mouth is exactly level with his crotch. "I'm not going to waste your time complaining to you about my marriage."

"Ah. Trouble in paradise?"

"There is no paradise. There hasn't been paradise for half a decade. I can't remember what paradise looks like anymore."

It looks like Olivia Pope, says a voice in his head and he needs to leave, to get away from her right now because he doesn't understand what's going on and he can't think when she's so close. He starts to walk away when she calls after him:

"I have to warn you, I'm a wine snob, born and bred. My father's cellar is something that has to be seen to be believed."

She's challenging him, and he smiles despite his inner turmoil. He can't help but smile at her - she's just so exquisite. "Don't worry, I know my way around a wine list. You won't be disappointed."

"I'm sure I won't."

He heads straight outside to the cool evening air, taking several calming breaths. He's never met anyone like Olivia Pope, and he understands now that his first impression of her was entirely right: she is extremely confident, in everything she does. It's the confidence of youth, of knowing she is beautiful, and smart - smarter than most of the people around her. She carries it easily, arrogantly even, and he is both surprised and thrilled to realize that that turns him on.

He knows he has two options tonight: to fight against this overwhelming chemistry or to go with it. And even as he thinks this, he knows that fight just isn't in him. He flirts a lot, every day - he's interested in women; he compliments them, makes them laugh - and it's natural and easy and harmless. He flirts because it's a part of who he is, and trying to override that instinct in the face of such an undeniable mutual attraction is just going to be impossible.

Besides, what's the worst that could happen? He's already left his wife, and he has no idea if Olivia is single but that's her business. What harm can it do to flirt with her, to have fun? She's an adult - albeit almost fifteen years younger than him - and he really has nothing to lose.

And so he orders the best bottle of red from the bar - a vintage Château Lafite, one of his favorites - and returns to his seat with a cool head and his most charming smile. Olivia is conversing with the person sat on her other side, but she quickly excuses herself and turns back to him with a similar smile.

"You were gone a long time."

He can see in her eyes that she knows exactly what he was doing, and that this amuses her. That in itself is flirtatious.

"It was a long wine list," he counters, leaning back in his chair and allowing himself to relax. He watches as her gaze slips from his face to trace the outlines of his body through his white shirt, before she recovers herself. She doesn't even have the decency to blush - she just grins when she realizes he's caught her looking.

"And what did you go for?"

"It's a surprise."

"Ah. I hate surprises," she confides, leaning towards him in that way she has which makes it seem like they're the only two people in the room. They might as well be, for all he cares.

"You're a control freak," Fitz states, and although he doesn't know why he's said it, he just knows it's true. He wonders if that's why she was so flustered earlier - she feels out of control around him, and she doesn't know how to cope with that.

She just laughs now. "It's rude to call a lady a 'freak', Fitzgerald."

"But are you?"

"Yes," she sighs.

"Well in that case," Fitz smirks, "I'm not sorry."

Olivia laughs again, harder this time. It's a soft sound, and husky, like she's smoked too many cigarettes. Her head falls back so her curls reach halfway down her spine, and Fitz feels his pants tighten - she is unbelievably sexy. Desire, smoldering since the moment they met, suddenly bursts to life inside of him, flooding his veins, making his heart race and his head spin. Unbidden, images of her naked body fill his mind: all that chocolate brown skin, quivering beneath his hands; the way her hipbones create that inviting dip below her belly, where he'll spend a while teasing her with his mouth before slowly making his way lower…

"Your wine, Sir."

He is torn away from his thoughts - sinful, heavenly thoughts - by the arrival of a waiter. It's for the best, because he's well on his way to a full-blown erection and the last time he checked, that was not normal etiquette for a black tie charity event. Olivia is eyeing him curiously and he wonders if she knows what he's thinking about, if she can feel the heat radiating from him.

The waiter sets down new glasses and offers to pour Fitz a sample.

"The lady can taste," he says, gesturing to her. She smiles at him, clearly impressed.

"Such a gentleman," she remarks, and then notices the label on the bottle. "Wow, Château Lafite 1979. You do have good taste."

"I told you. You didn't trust me?"

Her eyes twinkle at him over the rim of her glass as she takes a sip. Fitz watches as the taste hits her tongue; as her eyes fall shut and a look of the purest pleasure settles on her features. He knows in that moment he wants to spend the rest of his life making her feel as good as this wine does - he wants to put the same look on her face and do everything in his power to keep it there forever.

"That is incredible," she murmurs, looking at him once again and he can see that he's climbing further up in her estimation with every passing minute.

"You're incredible," he wants to say but doesn't, because he's only known her ten minutes and - while it seems like a lifetime - he doesn't actually know anything about her. What inspires her? What is she afraid of? Who does she love, and why? Does she fall easily, or does her heart have to be earned?

The waiter fills their glasses and leaves, but Fitz barely notices. A thousand questions form in his mind and he wants to ask them all at once, in a rush. And then he realizes, as he watches her dainty hand brush her hair back from her face and wishes it was his hand instead, that he hasn't even complimented her on her earlier speech yet.

"My God, I'm such a jerk," he says suddenly. Her dark eyes widen in surprise, and then light up beautifully when he continues: "I haven't congratulated you on your presentation this morning. Liv, it was fantastic."

Liv.

It just rolls off his tongue, like he's been saying it his whole life. And she doesn't seem to mind, because her smile is radiant.

"Thank you. I don't usually get nervous but it suddenly hit me about thirty seconds before I went on. Could you tell?"

"Absolutely not - you were a rock star up there. You had the whole delegation hooked on your every word. I've never seen anything like it." Even in the dim light of the ballroom he can see the blush tinting her cheeks, just subtle enough to show she is flattered and not falsely modest. He doesn't think there is anything more gracious than a woman who can take a compliment, and he knows for sure that there isn't anything false about Olivia Pope. She is a genuine activist, wholeheartedly behind her cause, and she just radiates goodness. He doubts she's ever told a lie in her life.

They are interrupted by the arrival of several wait staff who begin to serve the first course. Fitz takes the opportunity to try his wine, and it is absolutely delicious.

"Mm. Fuck me, that's good."

She giggles, and it's the sexiest sound he's ever heard. He gazes at her, unexpectedly and totally awestruck - yet again. Then the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them:

"I love-"

Instantly heat rises in his face. Oh fuck.

Olivia looks amused and intrigued, and his brain is rapidly trying to find something else to say as the silence grows. In the end, he draws a blank and offers her an embarrassed smile. She doesn't lie, and neither will he.

"Sorry. I was going to say I love your laugh. I just… I hope that's not inappropriate." He shrugs apologetically, and she reaches out to place her left hand over his right. It's their first touch, and suddenly all the electricity he has been sensing converges at the junction of their skin. He feels it travel to his chest like a bolt of lightening and he wonders how she can look so calm and collected when he's certain it has struck her too.

"That's not inappropriate, Fitz." Her palm is warm and soft on the back of his hand. She slides her fingers into the spaces between his and curls them, so she's holding onto him. "And if it is, then I don't think I want to be appropriate with you."

"Liv-"

"Tell me about your marriage."

He looks at her for a long moment, realizing that she is indeed serious about having this conversation, and then sighs. "I left her… about a month ago. I moved into a friend's spare room, then I bought a one-way ticket here and I haven't called her since."

Olivia is frowning, clearly processing a storm of thoughts all at once. It seems impossible but somehow it makes her even more beautiful. "What about you?" he asks. "Do you have someone back home?"

She shakes her head. "No… I got hurt, last time. I'm not… There's been no one since."

Despite how relieved he is to hear that she is single, he can sense heartache behind her words. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says, but her smile falls away too quickly. "Are you?"

It's the first time since he walked out on Mellie that anyone has asked him if he's okay. And now that he thinks about it, he's not - not at all. He moves his hand from beneath hers, breaking their contact. He can't think straight when she's touching him.

"I'm fine," he tries to say, but he can't smile at all.

Olivia sees straight through him. "You're not," she says softly. "You're messed up. Your whole life has been turned upside down."

All he wants to do is keep staring at his plate, hiding from this woman who already knows all his secrets, but he forces himself to be strong, to make eye contact with her again. "I'm not fine," he admits with a shaky exhale, "But I will be. It was the right decision. I'm not in love with her any more."

It's the first time he's said out loud what he's slowly come to realize over the last few months. And with those words, his marriage is finally over. It's like a weight has been lifted, one he didn't even know he was carrying. Suddenly his doubts about whether he's done the right thing vanish: he no longer loves her, so he can no longer stay. It wouldn't be fair on either of them.

He doesn't know what it means that Olivia Pope has come into his life tonight; that she's intoxicating and confusing and the most exquisite woman he has ever met. He doesn't know how long it would have taken him to come to this conclusion without her, but he's certain that he would have in the end. Maybe it's all a coincidence, but maybe she was destined to sit beside him tonight. Maybe they were fated to meet so that she could remind him that life goes on for people whose marriages have failed; that happiness does still exist; that there are others he might love, again.

Olivia has begun to eat her starter, sensing he needs a little space to process. It's probably only a few minutes of silence between them but it feels like a lifetime when he finally clears his head and turns to her with a smile.

"I'm so sorry, Olivia. You're right, my life is a mess right now. And whatever this is between us, it's... insane. I've never known anything like it before."

"Fitz- "

"No, let me finish. Please. I just… You are indescribably beautiful, and so incredibly smart. I could listen to you talk for the rest of my life: about women's rights, about red wine, about the weather. I could listen to you talk about anything and find it completely fascinating."

She smiles and reaches for his hand again; this time he doesn't let go.

"Can we start over, Liv? As friends?"

"Yes," she says softly. "Of course we can."

He grins at her, squeezing her hand, "As the 'two hottest people in the room' we should still be able to have a good time, right?"

She laughs. "Absolutely."

Fitz finally turns his attention to his soup, but Olivia speaks again as he's taking his first spoonful. "I just want you to know," she says slowly, obviously choosing her words with care, "That I feel this too. That you're handsome and charming, and I love how you make me laugh… And that this evening, meeting you, has been the most alive I've felt in years."

He looks at her for a long moment. "He really hurt you, didn't he?"

She nods, and although tears shine in her eyes she continues to hold his gaze. She is not afraid or embarrassed to be showing her emotions to him and Fitz marvels at how brave that is. "I don't know how anyone could hurt you," he murmurs, more to himself than to her, but she hears and it makes her smile again.

"You're so sweet. Thank you."

"Not as sweet as this soup. What is this?" he quips, and from then on the conversation just flows - anecdotes, jokes; stories from their careers, their lives. They continue to flirt but it feels safe, now that they've set the ground rules. He's getting to know her, focusing on what she's saying and not the way her mouth moves. It doesn't stop him wanting to kiss her every time he looks at her, but he can control himself now.

Just.

They are interrupted between courses by other delegates: friends or colleagues; occasionally an admirer, usually of Olivia's. She introduces him to everyone and he does likewise. No one seems to take much notice of how friendly they are, how flirty, although a few of his acquaintances ask after Mellie and he answers them honestly: she's fine, working hard, winning big cases. He glances at Liv, trying to gauge her reaction, but now that they're 'friends' she just smiles and gives nothing away.

After dinner there's a short speech from the Executive Director of UN Women, thanking them all for coming along tonight and reminding them of the schedule of events for the following day. "I told her that necklace would go best with her dress," Olivia whispers to him, and he just gazes at her in awe. What a woman.

They have coffee and then people gradually start to leave their tables - they head to the bar, outside for a smoke or they lurk at the edge of the dance floor, where the live band is just beginning. Fitz tries to play it cool by excusing himself from a group conversation and wandering around the room, chatting to various acquaintances, but no matter how often he tries to separate himself from her, they always seem to end up together again.

He's leaning against the bar, absentmindedly thinking about her bare legs and the way her white dress clings to her petite, curvy body when she taps his shoulder and raises herself onto the stool next to him.

"Hi, friend."

"Hi."

They grin at one another. It's not even been an hour but he's missed her, and he doesn't care how weird that is.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"No, it's my turn," she insists. "What are you having?"

She eyes his tumbler and he holds it up towards her. "This is Lagavulin 21. Arguably the best Scotch in the world. I couldn't believe they actually have it here - it's so rare to find it back home."

Olivia scrunches up her nose. "I hate whiskey."

"Ah, you say that, but have you ever tried it? And I don't mean JD and coke. I mean real whiskey, so rich and complex you can taste the peat, the oak, the Scottish highlands."

"Is it your guilty pleasure?" she teases.

"I don't know about guilty. I don't usually feel any remorse... until my hangover hits."

She laughs, and he's beginning to wonder how he ever lived without the sound. "So what guilty pleasures do you have, Fitzy? What are your weaknesses?"

Fitzy.

How does she make his childhood nickname sound so… erotic?

He tries to think about her question but he's distracted by the way she shifts so that her bare knee comes into contact with his thigh. Her skin feels unbearably hot through his pants, like it's burning him. He wonders how it would feel to have all her skin against his, soft and warm and trembling beneath him, and the thought makes desire curl deep in his belly once again. Despite their vow of friendship, she's still the sexiest woman he's ever met and he can't suddenly switch off his attraction to her. It's not only his mind he'd have to control - his entire body just reacts to her at the most primitive level, and overriding his most basic instincts would be simply impossible.

Besides, he's not sure he wants to.

When he eventually speaks, his voice is low and husky. "Seinfeld reruns. A social cigarette. Women who are smarter than me."

She returns his heated gaze, a hint of a smile curving her lips.

"What about you, Miss Pope?" he asks gruffly. "What are your weaknesses?"

"Red wine. A social cigarette." She pauses, her gaze traveling down the length of his body before slowly and deliberately rising to meet his again. "Men who know I'm smarter than them."

The urge to kiss her has never been so strong. He swallows, hard. "Olivia…"

He doesn't know what else to say because he wants to tell her to kiss him, but something is holding him back. She's too sweet, too lovely for him, right now. She's too good, and all he can think about is all the very bad things he wants to do to her. He's afraid of breaking her; afraid of how desperately he craves her. He's afraid that if he has one taste he will never be able to give her up, even if that means dragging her down.

"Yes?"

She's closer than she was a second ago. When he takes a shaky breath, the scent of her hair, her perfume, her skin fills his lungs. He stares at her lips for a long moment and then, using every last drop of his willpower, draws ever so slightly away.

"We agreed to be friends," he says, his voice as shaky as he feels. "I'm messed up, remember? I'm no good for you right now. I'm no good for anyone."

She looks at him and he watches as comprehension - reality - slowly replaces the desire written on her gorgeous face. He instantly regrets his words.

"Liv-"

"No, you're right. I know that." She smiles, and she almost convinces him it's genuine. "I just… I missed you. I couldn't wait to talk to you again. That's weird, isn't it?"

"No."

He marvels at how they are more in sync after a few hours together than he and Mellie ever were in their twelve year relationship.

"Can I get you that drink?" she asks with a confidence that isn't quite all there yet, shifting in her seat so that they are no longer touching. He immediately misses her warmth; their connection.

"You know, I think I need a cigarette instead. Can I tempt you?"

He gives her his most charming smile, trying to reassure her that he is not totally rejecting her - that rejecting her is the last thing he wants to do, really - and this time when she smiles, it's real. "I shouldn't, but okay."

They head towards the terrace which overlooks the Thames. Fitz allows her to lead the way and then wishes he hadn't, because her dress is backless and he can't help but get turned on at the sight of her skin and the perfect contours of her bottom as she walks. It's dark outside, the sky a beautiful navy blue, and the area is lit by overhead lamps and strings of fairy lights which are wrapped around the railing.

Fitz is accosted almost immediately by a friend of his father's, but Olivia has already gone on ahead so he ends up stuck in a conversation about one of his least favorite people while forced to watch his new favorite negotiate two cigarettes from a group of young French activists. She smirks at him as she smokes the first, leaning back against the railing in his direct line of vision, and he's barely listening to what this guy is saying because she's sexy as hell right now. He's fixated on her lips: the way they pout to inhale and then open just slightly as she breathes out again; the way her pink tongue darts out to moisten them every so often. His craving for a cigarette is gone - instead he wants to suck her tongue into his mouth, to taste the smoke on her. He wants to kiss her until it's all gone and she's just hot and wet and sweet and Olivia.

"Fitzgerald? You okay, buddy? Have you had one too many tonight?"

He shakes his head slightly, trying to find the present and at the same time longing to stay in his fantasy. "I'm fine," he says absently. Then he realizes how long he must have been staring because Olivia discards the cigarette butt in an ashtray and, with a cheeky smile, turns and walks away. She is instantly lost in the crowd. Fitz feels his heart racing and finally drags his gaze back to his father's friend who is staring at him.

"How's Melody?" Bill asks pointedly, and it's only then that it clicks - a friend of his father makes him a friend of Mellie's father as well, both of them members of Big Jerry's Old Boys' club. Oh shit.

"She's fine," Fitz says, fully refocused on the task at hand. However he may feel about his wife, he does not want her to be disgraced or embarrassed by rumors about him playing away… even if they may yet prove to be true. "Sorry, Bill. I think that was Olivia Pope over there. I wanted to speak to her after her incredible speech today. Do you mind if I- ?"

Bill is frowning, clearly not convinced, but Fitz is already walking away. He disappears into the throng of people outside, all enjoying their own cigarettes or cigars in the cool September air. It's just seconds before he spots her, drawn to her by the same invisible force that's rendered them inseparable all evening. She's chatting to a group of people but he doesn't even pause to say hello as he takes her elbow and gently but firmly steers her back inside.

"We need to get out of here," he murmurs close to her ear, his free hand rising to hold her waist as he walks behind her. "I was almost busted by one of my father's friends just then."

"Busted?"

"He knows my wife."

"Oh."

She stops at the edge of the room and turns to face him. "Were you doing something wrong?" she asks, her face a picture of innocence, and he's surprised to feel a growl rise in his throat.

"You know exactly what I was doing, Olivia. What you were doing, to me."

"I was just enjoying a smoke. We're friends, Fitz. Nothing more, remember?"

He steps closer and she tries to withdraw but her back is already against the wall. He can smell the smoke on her and it makes him lightheaded with longing. "You're making it very difficult to remember," he breathes, gazing down at her in the dim light, mere millimeters between their heated bodies.

"Maybe it's difficult to remember things that make no sense."

He groans.

She lifts her fingers to run them lightly down his chest. "I don't care if you're no good for me," she murmurs, her eyes dark and honest.

"I care," he whispers, unsure why he's still fighting her. He's never wanted anything more in his entire life, and yet he can't bring himself to surrender. Not here - not where he can feel Bill's presence. Not where there are cameras, political journalists, people who know them and might want to make them into a story.

"We need to leave," he says again, lifting her hand from his chest and briefly squeezing it before placing it back by her side. "Let's get your coat."