Time had a funny way of passing slowly when all you wanted was to get to the next moment. Just like it had a funny way of speeding up when you wished you could stop it. Olivia pondered this conundrum for what seemed like the thousandth time, waiting for her tea to heat up. She leaned against the counter, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. The TV was on in the other room – Sports Center.
As Olivia waited, she thought back to those moments that made her scream with joy and hang her had in despair. Theirs hadn't been an easy road.
"Liv? You coming? Your show is about to start," he called from the other room. And then in a lower voice, "Although I don't know how you can watch this crap…" he mumbled. It was one of the Real Housewives shows – a guilty pleasure of hers, but one that he endured (she knew he secretly loved it as well).
"I'll be there in a minute," she answered, now wrapping her arms around her waist.
After that night at her apartment, she'd never been able to go back. She'd never been able to go back to pretending that she didn't care, that she didn't love him, that she could live without him by her side. He'd wanted to leave Mellie right away, something she dissuaded him from doing. He was born to be a leader. If Olivia knew one thing it was that Fitzgerald Grant III was born to be a leader. He wouldn't throw away his political career for her. She wouldn't let him.
So for the rest of his first term and all through his second she stood at the sidelines. She didn't go back to work for him, although she was always there for consultation. Mellie had known, of course, even though he'd never mentioned it. He didn't really have to. Fitz found out exactly whom he'd married when Mellie calmly walked into his office, sat down, and told him exactly what she expected in return for her staying.
And he'd given her everything she asked for, because fighting with his wife about every little thing was beyond anything he cared about at that point. He filed for divorce the day after he left office. Olivia had advised him not to rush it – he didn't need the press attention, but the press attention he got. And the day his divorce was finalized, he proposed. He proposed to the love of his life and never looked back.
There was a wedding and then there were children; he wrote a memoir and she kept wearing the white hat. And now it was thirty years later and he wouldn't change anything for the world. He would marry Mellie again if it meant he got to relive his life with Olivia Pope. It had made them stronger. They knew each other, inside and out. There were no secrets. Nothing to hide behind. They were two souls who'd found each other and refused to let go.
She thought back to one of their stolen moments at Camp David during Christmastime.
They were sitting on the couch, her legs tucked up underneath her, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm around her. The fire was crackling in front of them.
Olivia was reading a book about Elizabeth I, Fitz was watching her. He loved watching her read, loved watching her in this state of complete relaxation that was neither here nor there. He reached over and closed the book, stopping her protestations with a shake of his head and a look.
"I was... in the White House library the other day, just kind of… getting away from things," she gave him an odd look. It was unlike this man to be nervous. "Anyway, I found this book of poetry, and well, you know I hate poetry," she nodded, he did hate poetry – almost never understood it. "Well I found this one poem and…" he was getting nervous again.
"Why don't you just read it to me?" she whispered, almost afraid to scare him off from whatever he was about to say.
He nodded. Olivia always had the best ideas. And so in gravelly but strong voice, he read her the only poem he ever liked, the only poem he ever understood.
"I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then?
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?
'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be.
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love, all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown,
Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.
My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres,
Without sharp north, without declining west?
Whatever dies, was not mixed equally;
If our two loves be one, or, thou and I
Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die." He stopped, not meeting her eye. If he'd looked at her, he'd have seen the single tear running down her face. He started to speak again, "I know, I know it's been hard. It's been hard and… not ideal. But I need you to know. I need you to know that I love you," he paused for a moment, then whispered, "I can't live without you."
"I know. I know," she replied, nodding. "I love you too," she whispered, bringing her hand up to his cheek, stroking.
He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes, "I'm gonna marry you someday." She smiled.
Olivia was brought out of her memory by Fitz, who was standing in the door to the kitchen, just watching her. "Are you coming? You'll never believe what Countess LuAnn just said… What?" he questioned, tilting his head to the side for emphasis.
"Nothing," she replied, shaking her head. "Come on, Donne." Picking up her tea she started toward the den with her husband in tow.
So that's the end... I hope all have enjoyed.
The poem is called The Good-Morrow, by John Donne