Author Note: This is my first story: reviews are welcome. Thanks to the awesome burtneymac95 who pre-read this story and gave me some great feedback- loving all our debates over Scandal. Please feel free to pm me about Scandal or any other shows I do not own Scandal or any of its characters- all credit goes to the amazing Shonda Rhimes and co.
The screams were incessant. All around me, the Secret Service were scrambling to find him and Mellie and get them to safety. But as a break in the crowds emerged, I knew it was too late. There he was on the floor, bleeding, fading. I could feel my world imploding. I am a fixer. That is my job. Yet I knew as soon as I saw him that my gladiator shell cracked and I wouldn't be able to fix this.
I had tried so hard to push him away and when he finally let me go, I felt hideous. My gut is never wrong. Period. It has been telling me to rid myself of him. However, when it comes down to decisions revolving around Fitz, my gut always misleads me. He is the one person who is able to make me doubt myself and question my integrity. But now, facing the possibility of truly losing him, I understand how stupid I was and that maybe his influence on my instinct is pivotal to how I function. And perhaps I need someone who will make me question my actions.
I arrived at the hospital and witnessed firsthand the aftermath of the tragedy. This should have been a joyous occasion. The night should have been a celebration of 50 years of Fitz, it should have been a time when the American people could unite and most importantly, we should have had our "one-minute."
Unfortunately, we're here. The smell is intoxicating. There is too much blood- his blood and all I can do is wait in the shadows because even though he loves me, I am not Mellie. I am not the First Lady. I have no public claim to him. Instead, I am relegated to the waiting room and cannot intrude on America's grieving, on her grieving. The pain is unbearable. Verna always said that we "breathe in sync," but today, one half of the whole is struggling to breathe and the other cannot breathe for two.
We need him to recover. I need him to survive. I want him back.
It's a dangerous game that we play, tempting fate and trying to control our destiny. But still, we play, we roll the dice, and we hope for a second chance. We solemnly declare that we will never waste our lives again.