A/N: Y'all, I want to apologize for the insane amount of time that has passed since I've updated this story. I never intended for this to take so long, but between some family crises and work getting insanely busy, I haven't had much time or energy to write. But I did finally get this last chapter done, and I wanted to finish out the story the way I always planned to.

This is in fact the last chapter, where I try to tie together the loose ends left after Chapter 14 and bring everything full circle. I have had an incredibly fun time writing and sharing this fic, and I want to thank all of you who reviewed, favourited, or followed this story. It's been wonderful to play around with some of my favourite characters, and your support and encouragement made it even better. I appreciate you more than I can say.

I am toying with some ideas for a sequel, set during the last year of Fitz's presidency, but nothing's set in stone yet. With things so busy and hectic right now, I don't want to make any promises just yet...but I'm hoping it will come to fruition!

Once again-thank you so, so very much, and I hope you enjoy this last bit!

She stands on the tarmac, the stiff breeze whipping at her hair, pulling at her scarf with chilly fingers. Behind her, the private plane hums, a warning that they're ready, that it's time. Nevertheless, she stands still.

Huck clears his throat and turns, headed for the steps. Quinn's standing at the top, Mali in her arms. Olivia can see the flash of red from her baby's coat as Mali squirms, ready to go, ready to move. Everybody seems to be ready but her.

"Just...just a minute," she says, and Huck pauses at the edge of the steps, nods. She waits until he's in the plane before she digs her phone out of her bag.

He picks up after the third ring.

"Liv?" he says, and she can hear the worry in his voice. She takes a deep breath, fidgets with the fringed end of her scarf.

"Hi," she answers softly. She can hear him shift in his chair, imagines him turning towards the window, shutting out the bustle around him.

"Are you all right?" She nods before she remembers that she can't see him.

"Yes. We're fine. About to leave, actually."

"Good. Good. These last few weeks-"

She huffs out a mirthless little laugh. "I know."

"Let me know when you get to Dulles," he says, and it's so damn normal that she can hardly believe it.

"You can't come to the house," she replies for what feels like the hundredth time. "Not yet." He mutters something mutinous, and she steels herself. "We talked about this."

"I know, Liv. I know. I just-"

There's a pause, jagged at the edges, and her chest clenches. Her eyes are smarting; she tells herself it's the wind.

"Livvie?" he says, so softly, and she wonders again if this is a mistake, if the whole thing is insane. If she should just stop it, now, before they go back down the rabbit hole all over again. "Livvie, just tell me - "

She cuts him off.

"I listened to them."

"What?"

"I listened to them. The voicemails. All of them."

She can hear the breath leave his body.

"Liv...I…"

She clutches the phone so hard her fingers start to go numb.

"They were so...you were…"

He makes a choked sort of sound.

"You shouldn't have listened to those, Liv. Not now. What possible - "

"I owed you that much!" she snaps, angry, though she can't decide why or at whom. "Three hundred and twenty-four voicemails, Fitz. Every single day until - "

She breaks off.

" - until I couldn't leave anymore," he finishes for her. "I remember that day."

The wind is cold, too cold, and she can feel Quinn and Huck's stares on the back of her neck.

"I wanted to run. This morning, I wanted to run."

He stands up - she knows, because she can hear the sharp thud of his chair as it rolls against the desk. "Olivia. Olivia, do not tell me - you cannot be - "

"I'm not doing it." He takes a shaky breath, and she bites her lip, hard, to keep it from trembling. "I can't. Even if I wanted to. I can't anymore."

"You're not doing what? Liv, I - " He sounds so desperate, so shaken, and she wishes so badly she could touch him. They've always made more sense face to face.

"I'm not running from you," she clarifies, and he starts breathing again. "I'm not, anymore, I - I can't. All those voicemails…" She trails off, closes her eyes. "I just called to tell you that...we're coming home."

In the background, she can hear a door slam and his voice, muffled and fierce. "Out!"

"You're busy," she says, and stares out at the grey clouds overhead.

"Not when I'm talking to you."

"You're busy," she says again. "You're the leader of the free world. You need to get off the phone with your = "

"Fiancée," he interjects smoothly, and she almost laughs before she catches herself.

"We are not engaged, Fitz."

"That is definitely not my fault. By my count, I've asked you a grand total of - "

"Fitz!" she reproves, and she doesn't know how, but the misery, the tension of a few moments ago seems to have mostly dissipated. He sneaks under her skin better these days, she thinks. She should resent it more.

"All right," he says, and she can tell he's grinning. "Fine. I will do as you say and go be the leader of the free world. Just...come home, okay?"

She doesn't know what to think with him, how to push him away anymore. She had gotten so good at pushing him away, and then these last few weeks she hasn't been, she's finally let him in, and it's been...disconcerting. She feels off-kilter, the world that's been spinning so precariously for so long suddenly balanced. Unnerving.

"I'll call you when we get to Dulles," she offers, so normal, and she can all but see him smile, that sweet smile that almost gives him dimples.

"Safe flight, Livvie." She hangs up, before he can say I love you or Be careful or any one of the other things that normal couples say to each other. She's not ready for that much normal, not yet.

Slowly, she slips her phone into her pocket, rubs her cramped fingers absent-mindedly. She'll miss this place, the silences, the grey sea mists, the wide expanse of ocean and sky. Her little blue house with pansies outside the door. No more waiting, though. It's time.

The wind picks up, and she moves towards the steps.

It's time to go home.