Hi everyone, hope you all are doing good. Hopefully the coast is clear for me to make my way back to the fan fiction realm. To those who have decided to stick around and read this story, I thank you all for your support.

Until Next Time,

Muse XoXo

Previously:

The stewardess talks on the intercom that they will be taking off.

"You ready boy?"

Fitz turns to Jerry. "You will leave her alone?"

"I'll keep my promise."

Fitz nods his head "Then I'm ready."

X

On Friday morning he stretches his hungover body, reaching over the women beside him on the large California king mattress to grab his watch, the clock says 10:15 he missed his meeting with a potential donor, this meeting was important yet as he stares at the screen he could care less about it, or anything for that matter. His phone vibrates beside him, a new text message came through. he scrolls through the numerous messages and missed phone calls, a mixture between Cyrus and Jerry.

He chuckles at the voicemail Cyrus left him. He liked him, he was his old professor from Harvard that Jerry hired to help him navigate the political spectrum. Cyrus, reminded him of a father and a mentor. He's both loving and strict. And at this moment, he is probably giving him a mild heart attack as he speaks. Cyrus, puts up with him, he's not sure why but he does and for that he has respect for him.

Cyrus has managed to stay beside him after his constant attacking and flailing. He should call him but he wants time. He desperately wants time.

He nudges at the brunette beside him.

"Time to go."

Quickly and swiftly she grabs her belongings and leaves without a word. They both know the grounds for this transactional relationship.

He showers leisurely, before deciding to go for a run. It's a cool September morning, where the leaves are beginning to turn, and the sky is a magnificent blue, not even a cloud in sight. His navy blue shoes become tighten as he sets off on his run. He needs this, he needs the space. He loves running. He love the freedom that comes with it, that his body is screaming at him in pain yet he continues to punish himself by pushing himself further and faster than last time. Often times he leaves his phone at home just for the possibility of disappearing and not having anyone tracking him down, and the hope of disappearing without a trace seems more tempting than anyone could ever imagine.

Exercising has become his only outlet. He's hasn't felt the desire to paint, or take pictures, and the idea of writing feels foreign to him. But the grueling punishment he puts on his body is enough for him at the time being.

He runs down the grass hill, this was his favorite spot. Down the hill was a river bank that connected to a park. Not many knew about it and for that he was thankful. He doesn't desire the company of another soul, but when he runs through the park he manages to fill his cup with the companionship he so desperately yearns for.

He eyes a young women with copper skin holding a toddler as she chases him through the park, he absorbs every detail of their interaction. The mother's infectious smile as she listens to the sound of her son laughing. His once fast pace turns to a slow jog as he savors the moment.

The bond between a mother and child is something magical and unbreakable. He still feels a chill crawl down his spine when he thinks of his mothers, but also sadness at the person he has become. Then there is Olivia.

Where are they?

He didn't mean for it to happen but it materializes often involuntarily when he thinks about them. What happened to Abraham? Did Olivia keep him? Is she happy? God, he prays that she is happy above everything else. Her and Abraham are all that he prays about, his faith has wavered in how the wicked always win, and the good people are always punished, but his devotion to them has always and will always remain.

He watches the mother and child until their figures turn into small lines, his feet move fast once again. All good things must come to an end, and it does him no good in thinking about the loves he left behind.

He eyes one of his favorite café's on the corner of Glade street, and decides to push himself to reach that destination. He pants furiously as sweat drips down his face. He crouches over, his hands touching his knees as he struggles to breath. He walks around for a few seconds to cool off before entering the large café with air condition hitting his flushed face.

He orders his cup of black coffee, and smiles softly at the memory of Olivia. It seems whatever he does, she is never far from his mind.

The café is comforting, the noise, the ambiance, it's only for a second that he doesn't feel alone. The barista places his coffee on the table, knowing Fitz was a typical customer. He takes a long sip of the strong drink, as he looks down at his ring. He wears it for her. Since he can't marry the one he loves, and he refuses to marry another, he wears her ring as a consolation to his own desires. Her father's ring is a symbol that connects him to her, a claim that she will always have on his heart.

The only problem is that the person who he loves, hates him. He struggles often with failing her so miserably, he's become fairly numb, yet when he thinks of her and their last time together he feels everything from the atoms combusting inside him, to the unruly pressure on his heart that leaves him awake at night.

He watches the TV absentmindedly, not exactly involved with the political drama that is their life but interested enough to keep his thoughts away. His interest becomes piqued, the Governor of California was caught in a cheating scandal. Because of the public shame, he was holding a press conference about his infidelities and why he would be stepping down effective immediately though he was planning on re-running for office at the end of his term at the beginning of next year. As the Governor continues talking and thanking his wife for her support, the camera pans out towards his support group in the back, and Fitz freezes at the sight.

His heart beats loudly through his chest, his lips become ajar as he stands up and walks towards the TV.

Towards her.

There she is.

"Olivia" he whispers her name like a sacred mantra.

Her hair is straight, she's wearing a dark blue blazer to match her pale blue blouse. She's in the corner observing her surroundings, reading the people in the room's thoughts, and quite possibly his.

My God.

She is beautiful. She is as perfect as he remembers her to be.

He stands in front of the TV, ignoring the heckling behind him for blocking the screen, right now none of that matters.

It doesn't feel like seven months since he last saw her face. It doesn't feel like months have passed and that he managed to break her heart and his own simultaneously, that he failed her more than he thought he ever could. On a calendar it has been two hundred and thirteen days and sixteen hours since they broke up, but his heart and his mind ages differently, what is months on paper is only one day in his soul. Because every day he replays the day they meet.

He's engulfed by her presence, he didn't think it was possible but in a few months' time she has grown lovelier. Her hair is thicker, her skin untarnished, he wishes he could see her eyes, but She doesn't make eye contact with the camera, she must know that he was watching, and he always does.

Every bit of longing, and desires rushes through his veins at the sight of her, she stands stall and unwavering yet he turns his head slightly to look into her eyes desperate to read her truth and know what she is thinking and feeling. Her eyes tell him everything, her eyebrows rise slightly, and Fitz walks closer to her with baited breath, she's about to look at the camera.

The channel changes and once again he lost her. His mouth is agape. He's slightly stunned, he doesn't complain at the sudden departure, he's grown quiet use to disappointment.

He rushes home, and goes to his computer and types her name and reads the several articles about the Governor's scandal and how he hired the best political fixer. He prints the article accompanied with her picture. He smiles down at her name written in times new roman, she's done it again. He smiles triumphantly.

Preciously he places the article in his album of her accomplishments. Every picture and article written about her rise in power and fame, has been cemented in his book that he looks at every once in a while as a reminder that he did the right thing.

Watching her become everything he knew she could be, has made this process bearable. Many days he questions whether he did the right thing, but then he look at his book and he knows he did the best thing.

If he hadn't let her go, then the world would be without the formidable Olivia Pope, and there's no world without her in it.

She's free now, and without him there to hold her back, she has flourished as he knew she always would.

There's peace in the eye of the storm, after all.

Gently he puts his favorite photo album inside the bedside table and closets it shut.

With nothing but time, he decides to draw.

/

"What the hell are you doing!" Cyrus rushes into his room, out of breath and slightly disheveled from climbing up the stairs.

"Hi Cyrus." Fitz smiles looking up from his sketch as he lays back down on the bed and draws.

Cyrus tip toes around the room, looking thoroughly for something out of place. Because there has to be a reason for Fitz's good mood and his disobedience.

"Where's the girl?"

"There's no girl." Fitz answers simply as he continues drawing

"Then you are sick?"

"I'm not sick, either."

Cyrus walks further into the room, eyeing Fitz the entire "Really!" He yells "you care to tell me why you are at home playing Picasso instead of at the meeting I scheduled for you?"

"I woke up late."

"And!" He yells

"And I didn't feel like going." Fitz lifts his eyebrow in response

"You didn't feel like going?" Cyrus repeats him "do you realize the strings I had to pull in order to get you that meeting! You are supposed to be outlining your race for Governor but instead you are drawing little hearts like a child!"

Fitz rolls his eyes "I'm not interested in being anyone's toy. And I told you and Jerry that I am not running for Governor, and that if you try and force me I will do everything in my power to fail and to make you all look bad."

"Oh you've been doing that really well, haven't you! "

"I'm happy today." Fitz remarks.

"Well guess who isn't happy, your father!"

"I don't care about that asshole. He is the devil himself and he could die for all I care."

Cyrus snatches Fitz's sketch "who the hell is this?" Cyrus yells looking at the drawing of women before Fitz takes it back.

"You don't snatch from people, Cyrus. It's rude." He goes back to his sketch.

"Who is she?"

"Someone from my past."

"Is she going to stay in your past?"

Fitz stares at Cyrus "careful Cyrus."

Cyrus wipes his face from screaming, he inherited a child. A man child, but his child. He sees him. The diamond in the rough. He is the closest thing that America has to royalty and he can feel it, he's special. He is the next John F Kennedy Jr.

He sits across from Fitz "is this the girl you call the love of your life?"

Fitz nods his head.

Cyrus nods his head in understanding "She doesn't know you anymore ,but if you get your act together she can."

Fitz stares at Cyrus "don't use her like bait."

"Look kid, the Governor of California has got into a scandal, and this is the best Christmas gift I have ever had since a child."

"That's sad."

"It's not because the once beloved Governor is no longer a contender which means now is the time for you to get out there and make a statement!"

Fitz shakes his head "I'm not going to capitalize on another man's failures.

"Damn it, Fitzgerald! This isn't about feelings it about seizing the moment and turning this man's scandal into a marketing point as to why you are the right man to become the Governor."

Fitz, doesn't disagree with the idea, it is the right decision to make if he was to become Governor.

He's stuck.

He's still at her doorstep, on the night he left.

"Make her remember you."

Fitz looks at Cyrus "I don't want her too." Fitz says softly getting up and walking to the window.

"You need to get ready. After the stunt you pulled today with that meeting, your father has flown in from Santa Barbara and he wants you to come to his hotel tonight."

"I'm not going."

"Listen, your father is angry and I told him I would get you there. Now, you need to come and be there tonight, please?"

Fitz looks at Cyrus and shakes his head in agreement but doesn't say a word. He walks to his bar across the room and eyes his nearly empty bottle of scotch. He downs the remnants in one large gulp before throwing the glass at the ground and walking downstairs to his cellar.

He stares at the bright hotel quietly for a long moment, raising his cigarette to his lips, he turns his gaze to the lowering sunset. If he listens hard enough he can hear the dark waves crashing on the shore.

Fitz checks the time on his watch, ignoring the slight tremble of his hand

He's late.

He puffs the cigarette in hopes of calming his nerves. It was starting to get cold outside now that the sun was falling and the moon was rising in its place.

A large gray puff escapes his mouth and evaporates into the air, before throwing his cigarette to the ground and finishing it with his foot.

He walks into the hotel that he knows all too well before stopping at his reflection. His hair was reaching the back of his ears though you couldn't tell due to its curls, his eyes are bloodshot red, he turns his head inspecting the brown bruise on his left eye, from a fight last week. He rubs his chin, remarking at the unkept stubble growing on his face.

Staring at his reflection, he doesn't recognize himself in the mirror.

The doors open, cold air rushes to him, an accustom scent penetrating his nostrils.

"Your late." Jerry roars closing the door after Fitz.

"I was busy." He shrugs.

"You were busy for that meeting too?"

Fitz shrugs his shoulders as he looks around the large Presidential suite.

"Busy, screwing?"

"Learned from you."

Jerry smiles, laughing at his son. He's not the same boy.

"Sit down."

"I'm busy. So let's get this done."

"Sit down." Jerry growls coldly that at one time Fitz would obey but now.

"Sit." Cyrus begs

Fitz walks up to Jerry, "you are an old lonely, miserable man."

"Sit down, you drunk! And you smell like cigarettes."

"You think I want to be sober?" Fitz turns to look at the two men before sitting next to Cyrus.

"I've had it with you Fitzgerald. You are fucking everything with a hole, drinking me out of a home, and costing me a fortunate to pay people's silence. Now, the Governor of California has resigned which means you are getting your act together sooner rather than later."

"I am not playing your political game, Jerry."

"You think you can go around and do what you want and not expect there to be consequences?" Jerry stares at Fitz.

Jerry fixes his suit daring Fitz to be defiant.

"You've done it all your life, why not." Fitz shrugs. "You want to tell me what my problem is ?"

"You. You are your own problem."

Hesitation glimmers across his face as he stares at Jerry who only smiles. Fitz is aghast. His small eyes widen. He feels his heart beating so loudly in his ears he can't hear anything else.

His head is bowed both in shame and fear. But he watches her long black pumps come into view and he knows, he's not imagining this. He smelt her fragrance the second he walked in the room.

She's here.

"Fitzgerald, let me introduce you to Olivia Pope your campaign manager and fixer"