It is morning. A glorious morning with the sunlight giving the room an angelic glow. Even the Gods, or a single God knew that what she has, what they have, is perfect. It's otherworldly. Angelic. As close to heaven as any two earthly beings could get.

She turns on her side and sees him. Her President. Her lover. Sleeping with a slight grin on his face. She wonders if he is dreaming of her? Of them? The night they had which didn't end until the early morning hours.

Just the thought of it makes her blush. It's still amazing to her how he seems to know her body better than she, to do the things which make her react in a way that's so unlike Olivia Pope, the fixer. And she loves him for that. Loves him for listening to her body's silent symphony.

She leans in and gives him a light kiss on the lips. His face wiggles a bit as his smile gets a little wider.

"Faker," Olivia says with a wide smile of her own, an expression absent from her features for far too long.

He wraps his arms around her, lifting her on top of him. She laughs. It's been so long since they've been like this, so completely at peace and in love. So secure in that love. It's beautiful. A treasured gift. "Good morning," he says, kissing her repeatedly on her lips. Light pecks.

"Good morning, Mr. President," Olivia says, looking down at him, taking him in. This, she thinks, will never get old. Her expression changes though as she senses something not quite right with him. "What's wrong?"

He doesn't respond right away. It's when she begins to worry that maybe he's lost faith in her, in their plan, that maybe he doesn't want to go through with it.

As though reading her mind he says, "I'm not getting cold feet. I just - I'm tired of keeping us a secret. I want to be able to show you off. Tell the world how much I love you."

She loves him for that. It's a simple declaration that could, coming from less of a man, seem corny. But, from him, it's gospel. "The world doesn't need to know, only me," she says, resting her head on his chest.

There were times she didn't believe they'd arrive at this place. So much had happened. So many words said, promises broken, nights of pain she cannot describe, yet here they are. Just them.

He runs his hands along her spine, marveling at how a gesture could possibly mean the world to him. Touching her. Feeling her body perfectly molded to his, relax under his touch. He knows how much stress she carries on those shoulders, so small, yet refusing to buckle beneath the weight of the world. But when he touches her, he feels it all disappear. He sees her stand a little taller, sit a little straighter, lean into him because he is her strength; he is her love.

He glances over at the clock. It's early. The city is still sleeping, but he knows he must leave. She feels him shift underneath him.

"Already?"

He kisses the top of her head. "I don't want to leave but-"

"I know, I know." She reluctantly removes her body from his. There were times she dreaded "goodbye" because she didn't know when they'd have another moment. Those times, they were tough. A day or two would pass and her mind would wander. What if he didn't come back? Does he love me? What am I doing? This time, in the security of the here and the now, she knows there will be a phone call or two during the day, just to say something silly or hear each other's voice, and at night, his voice would be the last she hears, either lying next to her in bed or another meaningful, "I love you."

The bed shifts as he moves away from her and begins gathering his clothing. "What does the great Olivia Pope have on her agenda today?" She watches as he walks to and from the bathroom, washing up, brushing his teeth, pulling himself together so he looks somewhat presentable.

"She is going for a run."

"You're a swimmer."

"I'm a swimmer when I'm working things out," she says as she gets out of bed and walks over to her dresser. "A runner when I have everything worked out."

He just stares at her in a way that used to make her shift in discomfort, but now, it's comforting. It says everything. For him, it's the look of disbelief. Even after all this time, it's hard for him to believe that she's all his. But she is, and he's secure in that. They are secure in them.

She is slipping into a very fashionable jogging outfit. He just looks at her and smiles. "What?" she asks, grinning like a lovesick teenager.

He walks over and kisses her. "Nothing."

She kisses him back. He links his fingers with hers and kisses her hand. "Time for me to go." He leads her toward the front door.

Olivia comes to an abrupt stop. Then shakes her head.

"What?" Fitz asks, suddenly concerned.

"Nothing," she shakes off the feeling that something isn't right. It's still there though, beneath the surface. So when they hug, she squeezes a little tighter and when they kiss, she makes it last a little longer. Something isn't right, her gut tells her. Something is not right.

"I'll call you later," and with that, he is gone.

Olivia leans against the door, unable to shake that feeling. After a moment or two, she moves forward, grabs her sneakers, iPod and cell phone, and she's almost at the door when her phone starts vibrating. She looks at the display. It's Harrison. She presses the "Ignore" button on her phone.

It's not her normal practice to ignore work, but her life has taken a distinctly different turn since she and Fitz reconciled. That night, the one where he "earned her", her entire perspective on life changed. Work never sustained her. It was a temporary high, the satisfaction of knowing she helped someone during their darkest moments, but those moments were fleeting. Her love with Fitz is something permanent, something that sustains her. And work, for the time being, has to take a backseat.

She ignores the vibrating phone again then turns it off, dropping it on the table next to the door as she exits. This is a peaceful morning, a perfect morning, one she doesn't want ruined by someone else's crisis.

She steps into the elevator, refreshed, renewed, reinvigorated by the security of knowing that at this moment in her life, she really does have it all.

Fitz, feeling more rested than he's felt for as long as he can remember, sits behind his desk as though he doesn't have a care in the world. This job, the one he's always wanted, is no longer a burden that keeps him from his heart's desire. With her by his side, as his partner, he has all he needs to bring the country to higher heights.

It's still a little unreal to him, how long and hard they'd fought, yet they still reached this place with a deeper love than he's ever imagined. It's unreal how he woke up with her in his arms. The whole situation is so unreal, he sometimes has to pinch himself to know he's not dreaming.

There's a pile of paperwork on his desk; he doesn't know where to begin. He starts at the top and as he opens the folder and watches the cover fall on the desk. The door opens revealing a breathless Cyrus.

"Someone leaked. Goddamit! Someone leaked!" Cyrus exclaims, as his face turns redder by the second as the veins on the side of his head become more pronounced.

"Good morning to you too, Cyrus."

"Clearly, you spent all night with your girlfriend and didn't bother turning on the news."

The reference to Olivia is enough to get his attention. Suddenly, he starts putting the words together and his eyes widen as he realizes what Cyrus is trying to tell him. "Where is she?"

"Well, sir, the last time anyone saw her she was being driven from her apartment in a black sedan."

"What do you mean 'the last time anyone saw her'?" Now, Fitz is worried. He silently curses himself for being so lax with her security.

Cyrus weighs his next words carefully. "Sir, she was swarmed by reporters this morning and, we're trying to get the footage, but she got in an unmarked car. No one at OPA has seen or heard from her." Cyrus braces himself for the coming shouting match with Fitz. He knows he sounds cold when it comes to Olivia, and given their history he's anything but, but his first concern in this moment is the Republic.

Fitz is silent. His eyes though, they tell the story of a man who is doing everything he can to keep from losing it. Looking into his eyes, Cyrus is glad he had the foresight to occupy Mellie with some meaningless tasks. Fitz's face is a study of emotions, of what the face can say without the mouth moving. Pain. Concern. Rage. Love. One nice, untidy bundle.

"Tom. Hal," Fitz bellows as he walks around to the front of his desk. Cyrus steps in front of him, blocking his next move. "Get out of the way, Cyrus."

"Sir, you might want to think of the optics of the situation." He's using that tone. The tone that Fitz hates, that says without words, Listen to the adult in the room.

"Cyrus-"

"No, just think about how this looks to the American people. Their President, the one they think may be a little slutty at this point, has a mistress. Not just any mistress. His campaign fixer, his press secretary, his right hand whose had cart blanche of the White House ever since he's been in office. Not to mention how it looks to the party who is as exclusionary as ever, only openly. Racist. Sexist. Homophobic. Oh, and you have young children whose father couldn't keep it zipped. We have wars, sir. We have an economy in a shambles. We have primaries coming up. We have problems, so many and you can't just run to her side because she's in trouble. She's a fixer. She has a team. Let them fix it."

On some level, Fitz knows Cyrus is right. But on another level, the real level which is his life, Cyrus is dead wrong. How many times had he tried to break them up? How many times had he played one against the other? How many times had he won?

They'd fought too long and too hard to get to the point where they are truly in it together. But, it'd been worth it. Waking up next to her. Seeing the smile on her face, which was a mirror image of his own. Few can understand what they have because it's so rare.

Just then, Tom and Hal appear. "We're going to OPA."

Tom and Hal exchange glances.

"What?" Fitz asks, becoming impatient with them already. He needs to leave.

Tom speaks up, "Sir, we're told OPA is surrounded by press-"

"So?"

"So, it may not be the best idea to leave the White House right this minute. Perhaps we can send some agents-"

"Tom, pull the car around."

"Yes, sir."

Cyrus falls onto the sofa, unable to believe everything he's worked for is about to fly out the window. He has no words left, having used his best just moments before. He sighs heavily, hunched over from the pain that's in the pit of his stomach. Trying to think of a Plan B, if one exists.

The elevator doors open with a familiar ding. The lobby seems more active than usual, but Olivia shakes it off. She smiles at her neighbors. Sunlight pours in from the windows; it is a glorious day.

Olivia's iPod is louder than usual, but it's Stevie Wonder and there's something about his voice that makes everything okay. She nods at the older African-American man who sits in his usual spot by the door. So distracted is she by him, she doesn't see the storm gathered to greet her as soon as she steps through the doors.

She pushes through the front door and it takes her a moment to realize what's happening. The smile immediately changes to panic as countless bulbs flash in her eyes, blinding her.

She feels light-headed and dizzy. No, no, this is all wrong, she thinks. This isn't how it's supposed to be. Her legs feel weak, as though the ground beneath her is opening and she's going to fall endlessly into a cold, dark, space, all alone.

She cannot see the men who appear by her side, taking her gently by her elbows and leading her away from the chaos. Only a few words that are being shouted in her direction she can make out, "Mistress. Girlfriend. Marriage." Before she can protest, she's being shoved into a car.

Still trying to comprehend what's happening she looks down, wondering how she let this happen. How she lost control of the narrative, the one thing that's never supposed to happen.

She thinks about what she should do first. She can't go to the office because press is likely to be camped out there as well. The White House is definitely out of the question. As her mind races and she plays with her hands, she becomes painfully aware that she doesn't have her cell phone with her.

As her mind continues to run, she finally looks up and sees who's in the car with her.