#new chapters

You hadn't meant to do it. To leave the bottle of Uncle Matt's Organic orange juice sitting next to an empty glass on the side. To not have breakfast at all. You'd started a new regimen to boot recently-mixed fresh fruit with the cereal that you'd normally have in order to try and lose some of your post wedding weight. But as soon as you'd skimmed the headlines of all the Sunday newspapers you'd bought from the shop down the road in Blue Ridge, Georgia you'd found yourself sitting down with one of them and spreading the rest out across the rustic coffee table before you. You hadn't meant to go from one to the other, running your finger beneath key sentences, your frown getting deeper and deeper. Yet that is what you do and where you are still when your husband Fitz comes down for his run.

Dressed in a grey sweatshirt with the word, 'NAVY,' on it and dark casual trousers he pauses when he sees you, drinks you in-your slightly windswept h/c hair, lips that you have been nibbling on-and when your fingers tighten around your current read defensively his blue eyes sharpen. "Come on a run with me," he insists, already striding across and acting as if he is going to tip you out of the wicker chair.

"No." It is your immediate reaction but it sounds loud in the otherwise quiet of the morning and you wince. Fitz is still glaring at you like a hawk. "Why?" you try and course-correct yourself.

"Why?" His eyebrows lift. He gently steers you to your feet via your elbow and you drop the paper to the coffee table on your way, biting at your lip in frustration when some pages slide free.

"I've already been out this morning."

"Yep, I can see that, but what I want to know is why, when we finally got out of there, you want to do this to yourself?" Your features scrunch up in confusion so Fitz jerks his head toward the mass of newspapers. "Fret about the state of the world?" he says softly, reaching across to take a strand of your hair inbetween his fingers.

"I never hated my job like you did," you retort, all fired up, before you realize from Fitz's expression that you have gone too far and huff out a breath. "Sorry." You push your head down against Fitz's shoulder apologetically. "I didn't mean that."

"You so did," he knows, but his hand comes up to cradle your head and then shifts to support your back nonetheless. "What's going on?"

You lift your head up a little. "I know we're meant to be thinking about other things-doing up more of the house, babies..." your voice twists in a wistful fashion. "But"-

"But?" Fitz presses gently. Uttering another sigh you step back. "You want to go back to work, don't you?" Fitz seems to force the sentence out. You stiffen as if you have been caught and it is yet another sign to him that he hasn't been imagining it. That he'd felt the growing tension between you and the approaching storm clouds as if they'd been rolling over the mountains nearby. "What?" He steps back, feeling suddenly hurt. "All of this not good enough for you?" he gestures around him with his hands.

You feel guilty and apologetic, but you need to stand your ground. "I need to do something," you tell him, knowing that whatever you say it will not be good enough, that it will ruin the attempt you'd both started to make on a domesticated life together. Fitz makes a scoffing sound and that just makes you feel angry. "Did you honestly expect that I could just stay in this place forever? It's beautiful, but...as much as I like turkey sandwiches..."

"What? What else don't you like? Tell me."

"Don't be like this Fitz"- Close to tears with the stress of it all you shake your head, trying to dispel your emotion so that you can have a proper conversation.

"I waited for this! We waited for this...at least that's what I thought and now you don't want any of it?" he seems both frustrated and incredulous, astonished by your nerve.

"Don't you think I know that? Why don't you say what you mean whilst you're at it?" Fitz's eyes go dark and crackle, daring you to continue. "You don't care if it's this place I'm rejecting because we could go somewhere else. Anywhere. You care about whether or not I'm rejecting you, but I'm not your father Fitz and I never will be."

Fitz lets out a sound of frustration, before he goes hurtling out of the property, his mind running as much as his legs.

You have half a moment's indecision, before you slip your shoes back on again and tear out after him.

He has curved around to the trees that are close to the back of the property-there is a gap between the two which security had insisted upon-rather than following the route you'd taken to the city before. But he is still ahead and faster than you will ever be. He must hear you flailing through the muck behind him because, to give him his due, he slows and then stops altogether, just a little into the trees but far enough that it feels like it is just the pair of you.

"Thank you," you mutter, trying to get back your breath and reclaim some of your dignity, whilst you keep a wary eye on him. He nods and turns to you. You want the pair of you to be on the same side again. "I thought you only ran for your country? So that people would have second thoughts about bombing America? That you didn't like it"-

"Maybe I was running for us that time," he says a little breathlessly himself and you feel chastened. Sensing an opening he asks, "Did you forget everything? What we went through to get here?"-

"You know I didn't," your voice is mostly steady, but there is an emotional edge to it as one particularly memory comes back to you.

It had been when Fitz had still been President. He'd brought back the tradition of having annual garden parties for veterans at the White House and you'd accompanied him to that year's one on the South Lawn. You'd been going out with him for a while at that point-post his divorce with Mellie and after his relationship with Olivia had broken down-having re-connected when you'd returned to America following your work abroad for AmeriCares, who you still worked for. You had even moved into the White House. You should have felt secure, but the knowledge of Fitz's long list of women before you and the fact that the White House staff had still spoken of Olivia, even referring to Fitz and her as 'Olitz' had meant that you'd felt you were on borrowed time. You'd wondered as you'd watched Fitz shake hands for an hour in the receiving line on that fine June afternoon whether you should just get yourself out of there. You were sure there were plenty who would say that you should. The fact that you'd felt ill at ease with the formality of such an event hadn't helped either. You were used to Fitz and you being pressurized by your respective families, who had known each other for generations, to behave in a certain way and when you'd been teenagers that had resulted in you blowing off steam together through sneaking off to concerts and staying out late. There had even been the time when, as adults, you'd both stripped off and run through the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool for a dare and, not long after, had one drunk kiss that neither of you had stubbornly talked about until years later. You still found it strange that Fitz was the President, not having been around for either of his inaugurations, and found people's behaviour around him a bit baffling-to you he was still the smart and charming boy you'd known most of your life and anyone being too in awe or overly polite around him had the tendency to make you be tempted to laugh. Yet, as the United States Naval Band had struck up a tune-It's a Long Way to Tipperary-and people had started to dance, sway and mingle, despite your skin tight dress and uncomfortable heels you'd slowly started to settle into the event and your place within it. You'd reassured yourself with the usual platitude of, 'You had time.' Time to figure things out.

A feeling of unease had returned, however, when you'd finished talking to a veteran from Afghanistan and his family and had stepped away with half-a-smile upon your face and noticed that Fitz was no longer anywhere to be seen and neither was Olivia. Your expression had dropped then and your chest had tightened, but you'd soon managed to flicker on enough of a fake smile so that no one would see how you'd felt on the inside-similar to the one that you had worn when you'd carefully watched as Fitz had received Olivia before. There was no real reason for her to be at the event, but you'd had to get used to her putting in an appearance now and again and how it had made you feel every time. You'd gotten used to bracing yourself, to trying to sneak a peek at the guest list, though there was no guarantee, no matter what it had said on there, that she would or wouldn't be there. Since the worst might have just happened you'd tried to convince yourself that it didn't matter and that you'd try and go abroad with work again. Just like you'd done not long after Fitz had gotten engaged to Mellie. You going off the scene would probably please the press who had already been on about there being a conflict of interest as you had supposedly been telling the President to give more support and money to AmeriCares. Tried to convince yourself that you felt no particular ill will towards Olivia, that there was much she'd done to be admired and if it turned out that Fitz and Olivia wanted to give it another go then that was that and you could do nothing about it. But the truth was that whenever you'd seen Olivia it had set off sirens inside your head, which in turn had released a barrage of self-doubt and made your eyes seek out Fitz so often that you'd struggled not to hate yourself. Struggled not to become the type of woman you'd always claimed to hate. So, when you'd seen that they'd both been missing...

It had been a relief when another group had struck up a conversation with you, when that particular veteran had, had a support dog by her side-a yellow lab in a camo harness with the stars and stripes flag on it-and you'd been able to give the dog a little pat as you'd spoken to them all. You'd distracted yourself with stories and small talk until a pair of very familiar arms had slipped around your waist from behind and you'd felt that sense of urgent panic again-triggered all the more by Fitz's musky cologne-of being caged and of having to get out of there.

To Fitz's and everyone else's surprise-maybe even your own-you'd swung around and pushed him gently on the chest to let you go-out of the corner of your eye you'd clocked some of his security noticing. Then you'd strode out of there, past all the congregated groups, one of which now included an apparently oblivious Olivia and to a destination you hadn't even known.

Whilst Fitz had made an excuse and hurried after you, you'd just kept on walking, past the red and white striped tents that had been set up in order to help keep the veterans cool, past the water feature and some of the trees, until you'd finally worn yourself out so much that you'd stopped and Fitz had been able to grab at your arm and turn you towards him.

There had been a gardener nearby and whilst you'd tried to calm down your breathing and focus on the birdsong Fitz had quirked his eyebrows protectively at him and he'd gotten the message and moved further away.

Fitz had realized that there was something wrong and that you were past the point where you could just talk to him about it. He'd grounded you both by putting his hands upon your shoulders and by staring compassionately into your eyes. "Breathe. Just breathe." You'd nodded, but then your teeth had chattered and your panic had increased further because that hadn't been the first time he'd seen you in that state and you'd felt sure that every time he did it just drove him closer to Olivia, that maybe he'd already been with her that day...Fitz had snatched at one of your hands, stolen your focus and placed it on top of his chest determinedly. "With me, all right?" He'd breathed deeply. You'd nodded again, followed the pattern of his breaths and then slowly you'd calmed down, practically collapsing against him and trembling from all the exhaustion you'd felt. He'd held you with a firm kind of gentleness and kissed at your hair. "Want to tell me what that was all about?" he'd asked once you'd come back to yourself a bit more. You'd tentatively looked up at him. His eyebrow had lifted. You'd huffed out a breath and had stepped back from him-you hadn't even realized how tightly you'd been pressed against one another until that moment. You'd brushed down his suit jacket and had straightened his tie out of habit. He was still staring at you and had swatted your hands gently away when it had looked as if you were set to continue tidying him. "Stop ignoring it," he'd pressed when you'd looked at him in a questioning, hurt fashion.

"You should probably get back." You'd retreated stiffly. "People will be wondering where you've gone."

"I'm wondering where you've gone," he'd said and he'd looked concerned, but determined and as he'd crossed his arms and grounded his stance further you'd known that he wasn't about to leave.

"It's silly." Suddenly cold you'd crossed one arm over your chest.

Fitz had slipped his navy jacket off and tucked it around your shoulders without any further ado, pushing your hair away. "I'll bet you the entire Cabinet that it isn't." His blue eyes had met yours, before he'd stepped back to give you your space.

"Even Cy?" You'd referred to the notorious Chief of Staff Cyrus Beene.

"Sure," he'd agreed to the suggestion easily.

You'd let out your natural bark of a laugh in spite of yourself and Fitz's shoulders had softened, before you'd looked away again. "When I saw that you weren't there and neither was Olivia I...I guess I panicked." You'd shrugged and tried again to lessen the potential heartbreak, but you hadn't been able to look at him.

"You thought I was off with Liv?" Fitz had sounded so incredulous and maybe even a little hurt that you'd swung your eyes to look at him.

"Weren't you?" you'd asked him unsurely.

"Well, yeah"-he'd looked guilty as your gaze had hardened and you'd pursed your lips as your world had tipped-"But it's not what you think"-

"Even if it is"-you'd lifted a hand to stop him-"Maybe it's my fault."

His eyes had widened. "I don't know how"-

"I know-well I always thought it would end like this. That you'd go back to her." Fitz's mouth had opened, but again you'd gotten there first: "The staff still treat you like a pair, like you are meant to be"-Fitz had tried and failed to get a word in-"You still call her, 'Liv,' Fitz!"

"Look," he'd finally managed to interrupt, his own hand up to halt you, "I'll probably always call her that, I'm not going to deny it"-you'd made a scoffing sound and turned your head away as if his words had proved everything. He'd grappled for your fingers and to keep you there with him. You'd looked at him sceptically, but had allowed the contact. "She'll always be important to me." You'd struggled free. "Isn't there anyone in your life, before you went out with me who you'd feel the same way about?" You'd bitten at your lip and had looked away as you'd felt suddenly furious-he'd known that there was. There had been an entire issue in the press before about you meeting your ex when Fitz had been out of the country. It had reignited bitter feelings about the media inside you. Not to mention guilty ones when you'd eventually had a conversation about it with Fitz who had been doing his level best to avoid you-he'd felt sure that his relationship with you had been over and had started drinking at all hours of the day. He'd gotten so unmanageable that an irate Cyrus Beene had finally agreed to ensure Fitz spoke with you, having previously done nothing to help you. "I invited Liv here today," Fitz had said and your thought had broken. "Out of courtesy. Not for anything else." Not having understood you'd opened your mouth to try and get some clarification. Slightly impatiently he'd looked around. The gardener had left the area and aside from a few members of security who'd had you both surrounded from a distance he'd known that this was as private as he was probably going to get it in the Crown Jewel of America's prison system. He'd looked back at you, his eyes like twin blue flames. "This wasn't how I imagined it," he'd confessed. "I was going to do it later." Your heart rate had picked up. He'd swallowed tremulously. "I wanted to make it special. As special as it can be here, reference our history y'know? I was even thinking of having a cake that looked like the Reflecting Pool." You'd tried not to smile at that, but when you'd sensed that you'd failed in that department had looked away. Fitz hadn't been where you'd expected him to be when you'd looked back-he'd gone down on one knee. A breath had been stolen from you. He'd presented a ring-a floral halo with an oval yellow diamond-and had uttered your nickname with a sweet caress to his tone. "Will you marry me?" Dumbfounded you'd just stared at him. So much so that Fitz had lost his nerve and had finally risen. He'd slipped the ring back inside his pocket as if it had been a slightly disappointing dinner menu. "A thought for another day perhaps?" he'd trodden over the issue lightly and with the deftest of touches-one of the things that had made him a good politician-before he'd revealed, "It hasn't been Liv for the longest of times." His eyes had gone wistfully to you for a moment, before they'd swept away again.

"I thought"- you'd finally been able to speak.

"Yeah," he'd begun ruefully, "I know what you thought."

"Olivia and you seemed like end game?"

He'd paused for a moment just to take that in. "I was hoping we could be, 'end game?'" You'd swallowed at the bite that had been to his tone. "You don't have to answer," Fitz had backtracked. "You can just"-

"I don't want to forget," the words had come out faint, but automatic.

"Does that mean-?" Fitz had looked at you with a cautious hope in his eyes.

"Yes. I want to say yes, but I-" you'd fiddled with your hair and hadn't quite known where you were going with that.

"You're not sure?" Fitz had questioned and you'd nodded and had felt some relief that he'd understood, but also panic because you had worried that you were ruining the moment and that Fitz might change his mind about asking you in the first place. He'd stepped into your space, threaded a strand of your hair inbetween his fingers and reassured himself that your breathing was fine. That he hadn't just triggered another panic attack.

"I don't want a big thing-a spectacle," you'd attempted to clarify. The idea of being surrounded by a hoard of cameras on your big day was akin to a worst nightmare for you.

"Then how about we wait until I'm no longer President? Until we can leave Washington D.C? Then I'll ask you again. I'll earn you. If I've done enough then we can get married." He had made it all sound so simple, but in that moment a breath of relief had left you.

Somehow you'd done it-managed to keep connected to one another despite the insecurities that you both had. Managed to leave behind Washington D.C-albeit in a storm of Mellie's fury at Trump being the Republican candidate and victor rather than her-and you'd felt like you'd been able to exhale for the first time in a long time as you'd gone off in that helicopter. So of course you haven't forgotten what you'd both struggled through to get to this point. Haven't forgotten that initial bliss-when it had felt as if you'd both been able to throw away everything that had previously shackled you and finally enjoy your relationship. Finally get married in a beautiful and-thankfully small ceremony-with only people that you absolutely trusted there such as Fitz's living children Karen and Teddy along with your parents.

But then the news headlines had seemed more forceful, the hate in society and actually the permission to hate more apparent and harder to ignore.

"I can't just pretend we're on holiday anymore. I couldn't live with myself if I don't go back to work and I don't mean that I'd be going abroad, abandoning you, leaving us," you tell Fitz in the present, but he shakes his head at you sadly as if you are a right, proper conundrum.

"You can't know that," he finally voices.

"I think there's enough to be done here," you hate to say it, but it's true, "In this country so I'd fight to stay here. To work here. To actually do something again that might help and make a difference."

He stares at you and you can sense that he's beginning to understand how important this is to you, that it is something that you have genuinely agonized over and that you would not be suggesting it if there was any possible way to avoid it. You wait and just try and keep your expression as open as possible, hoping that he will be able to soak up all of your feelings and most importantly all of your love for him. But the longer that he doesn't speak the more worried you get. "It-It doesn't mean that you'd have to come with me everywhere. You could stay here. We could try long-distance," you suggest, finally losing your nerve.

"Is that what you want?" Fitz sounds honestly curious. You feel a twist of emotion inside you and stay silent.

"Of course it's not what I want," you eventually say when Fitz keeps looking at you. "But this isn't just about me Fitz. It has to be about what you want too and I would never make you leave this place if you didn't want to."

"Doing this would make you feel better?" You nod because you know it would. It would make your breaths freer. Your heart less heavy. Mind not as conflicted. It would give you a purpose again instead of feeling like you've lost your way and in turn that would enable you to appreciate and enjoy what time you get with Fitz. [You can't imagine that he, in the end, will not want to walk away from all this tranquillity and turkey sandwiches and find a new purpose. You'd just blinked first.] "All right," he releases a long breath with the words.

"Yeah?" you perk up.

"Yeah," he smiles and you can already see him readying himself to remind his party that they are better than what they have become and to try and encourage them to take a new direction.