If Only-Olitz

6

Marcus entered the room quickly, shaken by the loud noise. He glanced around the luxurious Vermont home. It had everything, yet it seemed to be missing something. He glanced at a worn out, tired Fitz, whose suit was wrinkled and tie was loose.

'Mr. President?' He spoke quietly, his voice somehow booming throughout the house in the process. He heard no response, but heard large, heaving breaths coming from the couch. 'Mr. President?' He walked closer, seeing his suites figure in the shadow. The lights were turned off, but the large windows compensated, shining in natural light brightly. The figure, who he assumed was Fitz, turned around. Marcus locked eyes with his red, bloodshot eyes, glancing around at the coffee table, looking at the bottles of beer set down, and a shattered one, glass spilled everywhere.

'What are you doing here?' He asked him angrily, completely forgetting that he himself was the one who invited him to come over. Marcus looked at him, shocked. He had never seen him like this. His suit was completely dirty, his tie messy. He didn't understand why or what had happened to him in order for him to act up like this. He paused, watching his body language as Fitz looked him directly in the eyes.

'Olivia.' He spoke her name softly, almost a whisper. Fitz turned around, his face softening at the sound of her voice. 'It's Olivia, isn't it? She's making you feel this way. Worthless, lonely, and you're coping it by getting drunk at 11 am.' He looked directly into Fitz's eyes, his brown eyes looking into his bright blue ones. 'It's Olivia, isn't it?' He repeated, getting closer to his face.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' he denied, grabbing an old beer and taking a sip. Marcus swatted the beer away before he could take another, listening to it shatter as it fell on the hardwood floor.

'Like hell you don't,' he lashed, looking at Fitz in his broken, lonely state.

'You better watch that tone with me, Marcus,' he warned, lifting himself up from the couch, anger clearly rising in his voice.

'And you...' Marcus walked closer towards Fitz, smelling his scotch stained breath. 'need to get your act together. You invited me here to help, and I come, only to find you drunk in a dark room. Really? Do you see yourself right now? Do you think she would want to see you like this right now? Weak, alone, and mourning? No. Get up.'

His voice deepened, his expression getting angrier. 'Don't you dare bring up Olivia. She made her decision, and I respect that. What I do with my life is for me to choose, and Olivia Pope doesn't dictate any of that.'

Marcus looked at him, clearly not convinced of his monologue. 'Get. Up. We have work to do. I brought spreadsheets for us to work on, and hopefully you're not too trashed to not understand them fully. Examine these, and I....' he paused, looking at the mess of beer bottles on the floor, 'will clean this up.'

Fitz worked diligently for several hours, Marcus joining him an hour later. Together they designed the building, choosing who to commemorate and the architecture of the building itself. The Fitzgerald Grant institute was going to be great, and he was going to make sure of it.