AN: So, I write when I can. There's no way around it. I have a lot on my plate. Including a final thesis as I come to the conclusion of my Master program - a program that is writing and creative intensive. I'm often burnt out when I've submitted page 90 of the first round of edits to my work so I don't always want to turn on my computer and write more. I love y'all and am thankful for each reader, but please understand I'm busy. I have not forgotten anything or one, and I write when I can.

Now, for this. To the person who asked ages ago if I know Jones Day is an actual firm and that it isn't Jones & Day. I do know. My best friend is one of their attorneys. I just chose Jones & Day to play off of that. This was originally meant to be apart of the first chapter, but I cut it. I'm publishing it now bc I just feel like I need to publish something. The FF Scandal world has been in disarray as of late and I wanted y'all to know I was still around.

We not talking chapter numbers because the best laid plans...le sigh.

Hope you enjoy.

-M

This isn't my apartment.

It's the first thought Olivia can muster as her eyes open. The bed feels foreign and so does the sea side décor. The pastel blue walls and glass windows are definitely not hers. And neither is the cover she holds to her chest or the framed black and white portrait of a little girl she doesn't recognize in between blurry glances. Her head is going to break apart. The pounding starts at the base of her skull and travels up until it shoots left and right across her forehead in sharp, pointed spurts. A wave of dizziness coupled with nausea washes over her and she bolts upward, in search of a bathroom. Bare feet hit a plush carpet and then connect with something semi solid and fury.

A low howl scares her and she jumps back onto the bed. She covers her mouth with her right hand and steadies herself with the left, afraid of what the somersaults her stomach is turning might produce. Another disgruntled bark is followed by a low whine and Olivia looks over the side of the bed to find a golden retriever, tail wagging furiously. The dog barks again and Olivia shrinks back on the bed.

Lord, please don't let me puke.

She throws up the hail Mary and catches sight of her knee. Her bare knee. A cold chill zips down her spine and her the pounding of her heart matches the pounding in her head. She glances down to find the word NAVY scrawled across her chest. She's drowning in a men's gray NAVY t-shirt.

What the hell did she do last night?

Just then the bedroom door opens and the dog stops barking instantly.

"Come on Jasper; hush or you're going to wake her!" A man enters the room. He's covered in sweat. The white t-shirt draped over his body clings to him and he carries a water bottle. His shorts hang low on his hips and wireless headphones hang from his neck.

The pup's tail slows to a halt and he lays down.

"Good boy. Now – oh you're awake. How are you feeling? Do you need to throw up again?"

Again?

The look of utter confusion that crosses her face must spark something in this man's brain because he nods.

"Yeah, you were pretty out of it last night. Well your clothes should be dry if you want them. And I promise I didn't…my house keeper Rosita helped you change."

Olivia doesn't say anything, she just tugs at the hem of the t-shirt she assumes belongs to the man in front of her.

"Shit, are you about to throw up?"

Quickly she shakes her head, realizing that the nausea has faded and there's no longer a need to hold a hand over her mouth. Her hand drops to the bed and she fights to find the right words to say. Especially since his face isn't jogging anything in her brain. At least nothing concrete. He doesn't look completely like a stranger. Goddamn how much had she to drink?

"Olivia, are you okay? I mean, I know you aren't but…"

"Who are you?" she blurts out, fingers coiled around the hem of her shirt.

He chuckles, running a hand across his chin. "Good one. Are you okay?"

She stays still, eyes wide with fright. Not because she thinks he'll hurt her, but because she's never been in a situation like this. She's unnerved, confused, and the pounding won't stop.

"Okay, you're not. Okay. Uhm," he raises his hands so that they're in front of him, palms facing her. "I'm Fitz, remember?"

She shakes her head no.

"We met at the bar last night. You were beating up the wall?"

Again, no.

"Right…I work with Jake."

Olivia's eyes narrow at the mention of Jake. Unfortunately for her, that memory is still intact. "That doesn't answer how I'm in your bed with only a shirt on. Did we…"

He shakes his head no, cheeks brightening. "No."

She stares at his features, watching as the red rippled across his face, searching for an inclination that he wasn't being truthful. She didn't feel like she'd had sex the night before. And while she wasn't going to check her panties while he stood in front of her, she could feel that she had them on. Nothing seemed out of sorts. But why couldn't she remember him? His smile? Those eyes? What was it…why couldn't she remember?

Or did she not want to remember? The fact that she was wearing his shirt and not after they'd had sex was a red flag. Had she thrown up on him? She had, hadn't she? Shit. What if they'd been in the middle of going at it and she'd throw up on him? The more she pondered what her mind didn't seem ready to bring back, the less she wanted to remember it.

"You really don't remember?" He asked.

Olivia bit down on her lip and shook her head. "I'm sorry. The last thing I remember is talking to some guy over his cigarettes about his crappy wife and my –" a bell goes off in her head. He's the guy. Okay, that still doesn't explain how she got here. In his house. In his house that over looked the Potomac. She could see it as she cast her glance sideways. Wow. "That was you, wasn't it?"

Fitz nods. "It was. And she's my ex-wife." He holds up his barren ring finger. His water bottle still dangles from the other hand.

She cringes.

"I was the one who asked for the divorce. Not her. How's your head feel?"

"Like I've been hit by a train and scraped back together again. My head is going to break in half and I don't know why I'm telling you all of this." She marvels at her comfort levels. She should be more fearful than she is. This man is a stranger and she can't remember what their night consisted of and yet; she feels safe.

"I think after last night, you could share anything with me."

Olivia's brows knot together.

"Right, you can't remember. How about I grab you some dry toast, something for that headache and you're welcomed to a shower." He jerks his head behind him to a door Olivia hadn't seen on waking. It's partially cracked. "I think my daughter might have something that fits you if you don't want to put your clothes back on. Then maybe we can talk about last night?"

Teeth sink into her bottom lip and she has to stop herself from visibly cringing. What the hell was last night? "I'd like that."

-x-

Two Tylenol, one Motrin, a hot shower, and about forty glasses of water later, Olivia pads around the too large riverside abode. She's dressed in a pair of flowy PJ pants that belong to Fitz's daughter and his Navy t-shirt. There'd be no salvaging her hair thanks to a night without a scarf. She'd tried best she could to tamper the frizz with his lack of products, but alas it wasn't much.

The house was gorgeous; head to toe windows that opened to a large backyard with a pool. Past the pool was a pathway that led down to a dock. A boat sat at the edge. Jesus, this man was loaded. A house like this off the Potomac easily ran in the millions.

She finally finds her way into the industrial sized kitchen. Stainless steel appliances catch her eyes, as does the long island and overhead lights. A breakfast nook table sits in front of the double large windows that also look out onto the water. Fitz sits at one, a fresh t-shirt and a pair of sweats on. He smiles as he sees her.

"Hi." He offers.

"Hi," she replies. The headache is now a dull stabbing at her temples that she's almost able to ignore. She takes the seat opposite him and gives him a small smile.

"You feeling better?"

Olivia shrugs. "I can remember us getting to Jack Diamond's, but nothing after that."

"You knocked back about six shots of tequila, so I'm not surprised."

Her eyes widen and she slaps a hand to her eyes, embarrassed.

"What'd I do, pass out in the bar and you brought me here?"

He looks off easy and tugs at the neck of his shirt. "Not exactly. You, uhm, you suggested we come back here. We kissed and you…"

She slots her fingers open, waiting to hear what other idiotic thing she's done, but he stops. Heat in her cheeks she hates to ask, but knows she must. "Okay, I kissed you and…"

"We kissed. I very much so wanted to kiss you, too, but I didn't feel like I should since you'd had a bit more than me to drink…"

She's still piecing together her night and what her brain supplies isn't helping. "Did I throw up on you after that? Is that why your housekeeper changed me and I ended up here?"

He shakes his head again. "No…you…"

"My imagination is making things so much worse. Please just tell me, Fitz."

"You asked me to fuck you. Rather loudly and repeatedly."

Her head drops to the table to hide the red in her cheeks. "Go on…" she says, her voice muffled by her arms. "Please."

"Well, I knew you there was no way possible we'd have sex. You were far too inebriated to consent and that's just not me. So I got you back here and you started nosing through my things. Played some music and got maybe two steps into your very own strip routine when the tequila came up."

Olivia's entire body cringed. Once at the mentioned of asking him to fuck her and a second at learning she'd thrown up. She'd never been a real party girl on either facets. In fact, she'd only ever been with one man. How she'd ever fixed her lips to ask the man in front of her to fuck her, she didn't know. Not that she didn't want to fuck him. Even in her hangover addled brain, she's certain he's a fox. Fine on all occasions. But why did they have to meet like this?

Like this? Shit. Jake. Simone. Her apartment.

The images were back, bouncing off her brain as she thought of why she'd gone to the bar in the first place. Them. Her couch. Her heart.

She sniffles and sits up, her dry throat tightening under the promise of tears. "Whatever I threw up on, I'll pay for."

"It's okay. As you can see, I'm not hurting for money."

"You've been too kind to me. I'm sorry for…all of this."

"Don't be. I'm just glad I was there last night. Speaking of…" he stands up and crosses his kitchen, to the opposite end. He grabs something off the counter and seconds later he's standing in front of her again, hand out.

Olivia's eyes catch her shattered phone. A picture of she and Jake stare at her through the cracks and her battery is on 30%. The screen informs her that she has thirteen missed calls and sixty-seven missed text messages. She reaches out to grab the phone when it rings again.

Jake.

Anger seizes Olivia's body and she reaches out, grabbing the phone and hurling it to the ground.

"Well, I think you know how your phone ended up looking that way."

Horror crosses Olivia's face at her actions and she hurries to her feet to pick up the pieces as another woman, a small woman wearing an apron, runs into the kitchen.

"I'll get that cleaned up, Mr. Grant," the woman says as she rushes for the phone pieces.

"No you won't," Olivia says as she begins to pick up the pieces. "I'm sorry. You bring me into your home and I throw up on you and now I throw things in your place and…" she runs out of steam as tears wet her cheeks. She wipes at her nose with the back of her hand.

"Rosita, you're okay." Fitz says. He waves a hand to dismiss the woman who shuffles for a moment before taking off.

Olivia sighs heavily. "I must look real stable crying and throwing up over my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. I don't even know what we are. I…shit, he was. I gave him everything. He's the only man I've ever even been with and how does he repay me?"

-x-

Fitz's heart wrenches in his chest as he takes the broken pieces of phone out of her hands. He sets them down on the floor and smiles solemnly at her confession. "Stop apologizing to me," he tells her, sliding an arm underneath her legs and lifting her into his arms.

"Where are you carrying me? What are you doing?" Olivia asks, squirming.

"Getting you away from this broken glass with your bare feet."

She stops moving.

"Do you want to spend the day with me?" he asks as he sets her down, next to the chair she'd vacated moments ago.

"What?" She looks up at him with wide brown eyes that make his knees weak. God why hadn't he given her what she wanted last night?

Because that isn't him. It would never be. And he's been her, he's been right where she is. He knows how she's feeling and he knows that since meeting her – truly meeting her the night before – that he has a strong urge to take care of her.

"I can take you home and you can deal with whatever he wants," his head jerks towards the phone pieces. "Or we can spend the day making you forget – the right way."

"I'd like that."