A/N: This little microstory takes place during 2x03 after Liv and Fitz fight in the forest.
(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)
He was never a good shot and the duck on the table was gamey though he had complemented the White House Chief for preparing the meal his Secret Service Agents presented him in a duffle bag as if it were a cartoon. At some point Mellie had sat down next to him and wanted to be alone for dinner but he was not in the mood. He was nowhere near the mood to pretend that he was interested in anything she had to say.
It was not a cruelty born of meanness but of necessity. He did not want to snap at her. He did not want to fight with her, not with this much liquid courage warming his gut. He did not want to be like his father, yelling at his mother as she stared daggers at Big Jerry and peppered him with her own well placed shots about failed presidential attempts and how her son, his namesake would be more. Would always be more.
He was unsure when he rose but he took the tumbler of scotch with him and he could feel her gaze travel with him, judging him.
Weak. A fool.
Maybe he was, but as he made his way through the residence, his steps the measured ones of a man who is unsure of how drunk he actually was, he knew he was only one person's fool.
"Sir?" Tom questioned as he reached the elevator leading to the main floor. Hal shot him a questioning look as well.
"I'm walking." Fitz said as he took a sip, savoring the heady warmth of his Scotch. Both men nodded in agreement as the elevator opened.
This place has a rustic charm about it.
It can be drafty. This is a house that is more majestic on television than in reality.
Nothing wrong with that, Liv. Sometimes not everything has to be majestic to work.
You should know something about that, right?
Oh, we going to that well again?
I'm just saying. Forty-eight is coming quick and in a hurry.
And I still don't want a party. I want it simple. A couple of friends. Family. You with as little on as possible.
I think I can arrange that, Mr. President.
Good. I was hoping the Fixer was still running and ticking.
Fitz walked quietly at the spot they had spoken, her hair covering her forehead and a look of mischief in her eyes. They had been observing the portrait of Andrew Jackson and she had flushed at the thought of wearing as little as possible with him. He took in a deep breath and continued.
What do you mean? What is this, Olivia?
It's a resignation letter.
You don't get to do this.
This is for the best.
The best for who? For me? Is that why you're doing this. Out of some sense of preserving my marriage?
You are the President of the United States. You are the leader of the free world. You are the father of two beautiful children. And yes, despite what you wish, you are Mellie's husband.
What is going on right now? What is going on in your head?
Reality, Mr. President. The reality is we can't keep doing this. I can't keep doing this. It's not fair to you and it's not fair to me.
No. This is unacceptable. This is unacceptable!
It's the truth. Let me go.
Fitz gave a sardonic smile in her former office. They had fought for what seemed like hours. He and his press secretary in quiet and savage whispers, cutting and hitting each other in order to get their way. She was a woman of her word.
These walks always ended here. Hal and Tom knew that he wanted as much privacy as possible when he entered the space of the garden. He would gaze at the Monuments, usually with a drink in his hand, and drift where no one but her could find him.
You are not serious and you need to rethink…
I don't need to rethink anything. I love you.
Can you say it? You love me?
Fitz, let's not open that door.
It's already open, Sweet Baby.
Why do you have to do this?
Because I love you and I think you love me. When two people love each other they usually say how they love each other to each other. At least that's how it used to work but then again I haven't been on the scene in a long time...
I love you, Olivia Carolyn Pope. Nothing is going to change that. No amount of rationalization is going to change this.
Is that what you want? For me to admit that you're everything I ever dreamed of? That every time I think of you I go crazy. That my heart bursts wanting you?
I..I love you. Okay? Are you satisfied?
Yes. I love you.
Fitz turned his head to Tom and nodded. It was time to go. He looked at his glass to find it entirely empty.
She might not be his anymore. But he would always be hers.