A/N- Based upon promo pics for episode 3x13, and because tonight's episode made me want to rip my eyes out of their sockets. Hope you guys enjoy!

"You let me through," she seethes, pushing against the man's chest with all the force she can muster.

"Miss Pope," Tom tries to pacify, goes so far as reaching out to put hands on her arms, but she's having none of it. A part of her is screaming, like gears grinding together, heartbeat going a mile a minute. Copper in her mouth, like sucking on a rusted penny, and she knows he's in pain.

"Stop," she screeches, swatting at the Secret Service agent's fumbling hands. "Tom, I don't care if you haven't locked down the floor. Honestly, I don't give a flying f-

But the door suddenly opens, Cyrus with his tired eyes, with his hard mouth. "Olivia," he greets her solemnly. The older man looks at the security agent, shaking his head. "Let her through. He's not talking, anyway. There's nothing to worry about."

"The President said he didn't want to see her," Tom intervenes sternly.

And Olivia just stands there, hand going to cover her mouth. She thinks she might be sick, because there was this book she read in college, meaningless reading, something about the philosophy and theory of soul mates. She didn't believe in such things until she met Fitz, but now, now she understands.

There was this entire chapter dedicated to how one feels if the other is in danger, is in pain, and when he was shot, she understood. When they're a part, she understands, and she doesn't know why these days there's been this break in connection, like a faulty, static ridden radio station, doesn't know when they skipped pages and forgot where the end game was. It all doesn't matter, her standing there, caught in the middle.

If Fitz doesn't want to see her, she won't-

She won't force him to see her. If he's hurting because of her actions, if her actions are what drove him to take such extreme, unnecessary measures, then maybe it's best if she turned around and left, even as a crisis manager, because she's never been the wife. Just this person, just this soul, and he has half of her. He carries half of her with him, but somehow things haven't been okay, recently, and she has to tell him, has to-

"He needs her," Cyrus interrupts severely, shaking his head. He looks drained, closes his eyes. There's a tense silence in the hotel hallway, and Olivia looks down at her feet, lets her sight blur into the flowery pattern of the carpet. "We thought the valium would fix him," she hears the justification. "We thought it would make his nerves better. We had no idea he would have such a negative reaction-"

Olivia looks at Cyrus slowly, tears beading in her eyes. She's blindingly furious and numb all at once. Another piece of her heart is broken, watching Fitz break. Watching him weather it alone.

"Cyrus, stop it. There was nothing about that man that needed to be fixed."

/

They let her go it alone. The doctor stands in the small sitting room of the suite and explains calmly, carefully, exactly what will happen over the next twelve hours. He tells her and Cyrus how it happened, why it happened, but it's too late, and they both know it.

Leashes are fickle things, and when Cyrus leaves, he takes the doctor with him. He says to her, "We'll do damage control tomorrow. Right now, you do what you do, Liv."

Errant, she wonders where Mellie is. Likely with Andrew, but that doesn't matter. All that matters is that Fitz is resting in the next room, and he doesn't even know she's here. He probably doesn't want her here, and she can't blame him. Tries not to choke on the doubt that consumes her when she opens the door to the frigid bedroom. It reminds her of that first night, God, it's been so long ago.

The memory flashes and she opens her eyes.

Fitz looks like the dead. Skin sallow, his shirt fallen open, his abdominal muscles flexing with his every breath. He's in nothing but his slacks, shaking, sweaty. She looks at him and she bites her lip so hard it bleeds, tangs on her terrible tongue. Olivia Carolyn Pope says his name, and he shoots up from his lying position, swaying. "Stop," she pleads, rushing to his side. "Stop. Shh. Take it easy. Take it easy."

Fitz moans, clutching at his head, his curls sticking up in awkward places. Olivia knows she shouldn't, but she knows what he needs, reaching up at stroke her petite hands across his skull. Soothing, like a mother to a child. "Hey," she murmurs, low. "Hi."

Azure eyes are cloudy, hazed over from the drugs. "Hi," he says back, despite it all. She smiles, even as her face crumples.

"I can't do it," he admits, and he sounds like a little boy, and it kills her, kills her and buries the dead. Doesn't know if he's referring to the election, or the fog of lorazepam, but she knows he's trying to tell her he's giving up, and she knows that's tearing her apart.

"You can. You're doing so good, Fitz," she leans in to him, stroking her thumb over his jawline, but his mouth is moving, trying to form words.

When she realizes he's touching her too, brushing his wide palms over her hair, but is so gentle, so unnervingly hesitant. As if she might disappear from him if he holds her too tight. When she realizes he's trying to tell her something important, she rushes herself even more onto him, nearly on his lap. Strains to hear his words.

"Livvie," he whispers brokenly. "Livvie, you're leaving."

Everything within her stops, the air leaving her lungs in a big woosh, her eyes widening. "Fitz, I'm still right here," she tries to assure him, knows it's probably the drugs making him talk like this. "I was there, at the debate. I was waiting in the wings-

"No," he slurs, eyelids drooping like they're being weighed down by cement. "I'm gonna be alone. I'm gonna be alone again, like I was before. Livvie," he says desperately, taking a hold of her a more firmly. "Please don't go."

He's nose is scrunched, forehead in a thousand wrinkles, and he looks like he's on the verge of tears. Bulging biceps and perspiration consume her, and she's missed his scent, even as unbecoming as it might be. He's begging her, and she's trying to understand. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm here, and you're here, and it's all going to be fine, Fitz," she goes on, tries to make her voice as welcoming as possible. There's a lump in her throat, anyway. "I'm your tether, alright? Look at me, I'm right here-

"You're not, though," Fitz grits out, head turning sharply. "You're going to see how good Jake is, how good he is for you. I try to act like he's bad for you, but he's a good guy, he's a good person, and I'm just this son of a bitch who can never win, and you're going to fall out of love with me."

"Fitz," she inhales sharply, tries to cut in, but he won't stop, babbling incoherently.

"You're going to realize that Vermont isn't enough, that I'm not enough. You are. You are. And I'm going to be alone, like I left you alone, but it's going to be forever, and you won't come back. But I want you to be happy, Livvie, I want you to have that happiness."

"Fitz, please," she practically wails, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please, look at me-

"I'll let you go, if that's what you want," he whispers, a broken man. "It'd be better for you if you had nothing to do with me. I ruin things."

It's all the drugs, see. They're making him honest with himself, honest with her.

Fitz's breath hitches, almost a sob. "My father was right, and I'm sorry. I love you, Livvie-

She kisses him, hard. It's quick and there's teeth, and she knows she shouldn't be kissing him like this, with him in this state, but she knows he needs it. "I love you too, Fitz," she tells him, against his lips.

Knowing he thinks these things rips her apart, and she hates that she can still feel the burn of Jake Ballard's hands, needs to get him off, get him away. It's the worst kind of betrayal, and she had no idea Fitz was hurting like this. He's been playing chess and she still thought they were having a go at checkers, and yes, it isn't all about Fitz-

But that he thought she could forget him, just walk away, it stings her so sharply she feels something in her gut physically ache. "Fitz, you look at me. Look at me. Look at me."

He does, slowly. Terrified of what Olivia will say.

"I love you. I am in love with you," comes a blunt, hoarse whisper. "I've spent my entire life trying to fix everything, but with you, it's like-

Olivia breaks off, takes in the way he stares at her like every word is a prayer.

"With you I feel at peace, Fitz," she tells him, and she's crying, again. Silent, serene. "One day, you are going to be my husband. And the father of my children," her voice cracks over the words, tries to picture it, and finds that she can. She can imagine their little faces, can imagine their laughter. "And we're going to be happy together. Because you make me the happiest," Olivia confirms, stronger. She traces his jaw with her fingers.

She loves every part of him, even the ones darkened, scarred.

"With you, I feel whole. I feel like I can breathe. You're my other half, and you're-"

"Livvie," he murmurs, and she can hear that the aftershocks are starting to wane, that he's sounding more and more conscious.

"You're my home, Fitz."

Olivia leans in and melds her mouth against his, presses her palms into his hot chest, smattered with coarse hair. A part of her is sincerely shaken, floundering for solid ground, kicking herself that she's hurt him so bad. She'll never be able to forgive herself, for what she's done to him. She hopes he can forgive her.

"How could I leave my home?" she asks herself, aloud.

"Livvie," he groans. "Olivia." He presses his thick thumbs to her hipbones, bared to the room where he's untucked her shirt. She wants him to touch her. She wants to feel him on every part of her Jake Ballard will never have the privilege to touch, and she wants him now. Desperately. Needily.

Olivia cups Fitz's hands in her own and moves them to her breasts, makes him squeeze, their breath coming in short pants as she pushes him back, onto the bed. Olivia straddles him, grinds onto him.

She knows what he needs.

She knows what she needs.

It's not about taking and giving, and it sure as hell isn't about Jake Ballard. It's about opening his pants, hiking her skirt up her thighs.

The noise that leaves her when she slides down onto him, thighs straining, actually makes her face warm. It's indecent, raw, a cross between a sigh and a moan. Animalistic.

Olivia knows they can't make much noise, so it's not about rough, it's about meeting. They slide together slowly, him touching all the places, even through clothing. The angle is perfect, and it's deliciously stretching at the same time it is deliciously tight for him- Fitz's thrusts, even hindered by circumstance, are far from sloppy. He's precise in his movements, makes them long and deep, until Olivia has to reach up her hand to bit down on her own fist.

Hitting her cervix once, twice, is a kind of painful, white hot thing, but it's something that makes her jerk against him, rut to get a better reach. Fitz reaches up, between the fabric of her skirt, and finds her clit. It's a hell of a view, her riding him, working on him like this, but he knows, even in his state, that all it will take is a well placed pinch-

Olivia goes down hard, muffling her scream into his chest.

Her orgasm is so powerful her entire body shakes with it, partially from the upheaval of emotion, partially from the way they've been connected, so deeply, so completely. Fitz is sticky where's he's spilled, and they're dirty, they're spent. But there's beauty in this mess, in the way he looks down at her, lying against him, and thinks he's never seen anything more gorgeous.

"We're going to be okay, Fitz," she tells him, when she's able to speak again. "No matter what happens."

Fitz is still trying to kill the monster of insecurity hiding underneath the bed, peaking up at him, snarling. But he's trying to try, and that just might have to be enough.

Olivia twines her fingers with his, chest to chest.

She kisses him with an open mouth.