Olivia sat on the cold floor of the Residence's bathroom, her knees pulled up to her chest as she warily looked down at her feet. The polished tile offered no comfort, but she wasn't sure she would have felt any if it did. Rocking slightly, Olivia pulled her feet up from the tile, hearing the soles of her feet trying to grip the smooth surface, and failing. She cocked her head to the side and squinted at the space below her- now raised from the ground- feet.
"No,"
She warned, glaring hopelessly at the small stick that sat in front of her. The timer on her phone flashed without sound as she felt a wave of nausea pass over her ferociously.
"Please, no."
Olivia bit her lip as she pulled the fluffy white robe to envelope herself in its warmth. She was still damp from her shower, and despite the obligations that pursued her, she was rooted to the spot. She wasn't sure if she would ever move.
Her period was late.
For the first time in the twenty odd years that she'd had it, it was late.
She'd been on birth control- the pill- since she turned nineteen; she liked not having to worry. She liked knowing that her period came three times a year, typically on the twelfth day of the month.
She liked knowing. Being in control, being sure.
There was nothing sure about a baby.
Olivia clutched herself, suddenly furious that she'd been born a girl. Her body betrayed her sexuality- leaving her with the product of uncertainty, the remnants of passion.
Roughly, she bit the inside of her cheek and felt the tears spring forcefully from her eyes, blurring her vision of the pale blue interior of the bathroom.
Why? Why, why, why, why, WHY?
This was happening too fast. She had been feeling the bile rising in her throat, the constriction of her clothing, the tightness of her smile. The fact that she had gotten sick for the first time in nearly a decade was a testament to the new life- in the White House- that she was living.
It was probably the flu, the in house doctor lamented, and prescribed her a small installation of antibiotics.
She felt idiotic.
The most basic individual knew that some antibiotics rendered birth control ineffective. She knew that too; in the back of her mind she knew that she was forgetting something. Instead of pursuing the feeling further, she moved her attention elsewhere and continued the planning for one of Fitz's special luncheons. For some reason it was important for Olivia to be involved with the selection of the ornaments for the distantly present Christmas tree, as well as choosing the patterns for the China they would dine on.
What was she going to do? She couldn't go to the in house Doctor again. She couldn't allow this to get out, she couldn't tell Fitz.
Fitz would worship her belly before he could give it a second thought. This was the way he was; so eager, so willing to love and be affectionate.
He was a good father. Despite Karen being away at school, and Teddy spending a good portion of his day with his nanny, he was a good father. Better than his father.
That was the goal, right? To do better than your parents?
If Olivia was being honest with herself, she'd always wanted that- to be better. She craved the motherly instinct, the motherly warmth that seemed to radiate. She wanted to have an easy, loving smile.
Her smiles were strained, and though she often felt pleasant enough, she knew she appeared intimidating and reserved.
If Olivia was being honest with herself, she would know that she never really saw herself having children. Not in any real way. The thought of a family was distant, like a throwaway comment of sorts. She tried her hardest not to give it any real thought. If she thought about it she'd realize why the blinking 'PREGNANT' scared her so.
What if she did worse?
What if she failed? What if her daughter or son looked at her one day and hated her? Or barely knew her? Or resented her?
She didn't want this… The responsibility, the scrupulousness. She did not want it. If she admitted to herself that she was going into this thing broken… Broken and unable to be at peace with her own emotions… How could she raise a child with healthy ones of their own?
Olivia bowed her head and bit her kneecap out of frustration.
Fitz, oh Fitz.
She turned, knowing he was there, knowing that he'd come looking for her. She was supposed to have left the residence already. It was odd that she was still there.
Without thinking, Olivia moved her foot to cover the test, and felt relief wash over her as she realized Fitz hadn't noticed her slight movement.
"Liv?"
His voice was an octave below his typical concerned inquiry. He was tired. He was always tired lately. Since she'd moved in more than six weeks ago, he'd been tired.
They'd had sex a handful of times. A small handful. This was their nature, this they did well.
She could pinpoint the way Fitz was feeling by the way he gripped her thigh. She could measure how angry with her he was by his strokes, either he launched a systematic attack, with each movement careful and calculated, or he lost himself in her. That's how she knew they were okay. The way he breathed into her ear, his laborious sighs as he filled her, the way he sucked her neck.
That was home.
She hadn't been home enough lately.
She was floating in a sea of unfamiliarity, of sterility. She hated the pattern of the couch in the sitting area of their bedroom, she despised the fact that her past two days had been spent with a legal pad in a briefing about the history of the courses being served at the dinner that would take place the next day. She felt as if she'd been lobotomized.
She hated it. The fact that she'd shed her white hat for China patterns disturbed her. She was resentful for that. She hated that her intellect was questionable, when she'd spent the better part of her life proving her self. Her wit was only operative to comment on a lesser known fact about some White House showpiece. She was no longer Olivia Pope, Fixer, Gladiator.
She wasn't anything. Not really.
She was spent and numb.
But he was tired. And he regarded her with distance laced in his eyes. He was tired. Of fighting, of not fighting, of the emotional detachment. He was tired and so was she.
Olivia peered up at him, tears still finding their way down her cheeks.
"Are you alright?"
He asked, after his question went unanswered.
"I dunno,"
Olivia answered finally, resting her head on her knee and holding out her hand for him meekly.
Fitz raised an eyebrow, but took her hand, for this was uncharacteristically affectionate. He was suspicious.
Fitz got down on the floor with her and held her hand, his jaw clenched, his eyes searching hers for answers.
"Want to tell me what's going on?"
Olivia gripped his hand tighter and shifted her foot slightly so that the plastic scraped against the tile floor.
"I have to tell you something."
Olivia began, feeling her grip on reality loosening.
She was going to be worse than her mother. She was going to hurt this child, inadvertently, like she had. Her parents were terrorists, both of them. They used her, at varying times for their own personal gain. They'd destroyed her. They'd ruined her.
They'd ruined Fitz.
How could two ruined people make anything worthwhile? How could she give a child what they needed when she couldn't give herself what she needed?
But she had to tell him. At the very least she needed to tell him what she wanted to do.
What she had to do.
"I'm pregnant."
Olivia told Fitz calmly, still holding his hand tighter than ever.
Fitz's face contorted into one of mixed emotion, though Olivia could see that he was pleased. He was happy.
Of course he was happy.
"But… Your birth control…?"
"Antibiotics."
Olivia answered stiffly, trying not to lose her nerve.
"That's… A sign. This is a miracle."
Olivia watched as Fitz lifted her into his arms, standing up and squeezing her into an embrace.
She hated that she felt like she was suffocating.
"Fitz,"
But Fitz was gone, he'd started his journey to the moon.
"Of course we need to have you see Dr. Rhodes right away, or if there's another OBGYN that you want… And you'll probably want to scale back the amount of work you're doing around the house. Just to take it easy. I can hire a committee that will take the planning portion off of your hands…"
"Fitz,"
Olivia's voice raised higher, drowning out the plans he was making by himself.
"Jesus, Fitz. Please. Stop."
Fitz released Olivia immediately, hearing the desperation in her voice.
He stared at her for a long moment, but she couldn't bring herself to answer his stare.
He knew now. He knew what she wanted.
"Liv."
Olivia nodded her head quickly.
This would be unspoken. The word was taboo, and she'd never actually thought she'd be here, so resolved in this. She couldn't have predicted half of what had occurred.
"Why?"
Fitz asked finally, his voice no more weak than it had been.
"Fitz. You know us. We… Aren't ready. We aren't there. You've been ignoring me for at least two weeks now, and I've been killing myself trying to be the most charming woman in the room. I can't pretend this is what I want. Because it's not. You know that."
"I didn't know that,"
Fitz countered lamely.
"What part of the person that I was when you met me made you think that Id be a good First Lady? A good mother? Nothing. Before you knew my parents. Before you knew how screwed up I was. What made you think that I had the ability to be all of this? I can't. I can't."
"Why can't you? No one is ever ready, Liv. These things don't happen because you're ready, they happen because you're not. You'll grow into being a mother. You'll know what to do. I have faith in you, and I know you won't fail."
Olivia laughed in spite of the cascading sadness she felt.
"Please. Wake up. Be here with me and be awake. Because I can't take you telling me that I'm going to wake up one day and not be fucked up anymore. Am I going to wake up and have a mother? A father who isn't insane? Is that what'll happen? Or maybe I'll find a way to overcome everything that's happened in one night. Fitz listen to what you're saying!"
Fitz crossed his arms, his stance shifting. He was angry now. She could tell by the way he loomed over her.
"So you're having an abortion because you had shitty parents? Join the club. We are given what we are given. Either it be shit or sunshine and we make do! You are not your parents, Liv! You're not where you came from, alright? You cannot use your parents as an excuse to do this. If this is what you want, if you can look me in the eye and tell me that this is what you want, just because you want it, then that's your choice. That's for you. But you can't hide behind Eli and Maya. They made you. They screwed you up. I get it. I understand. But you don't get to walk around using that everyday. You don't get to use your Daddy issues to justify your behavior."
Olivia felt each of Fitz's blows in her gut.
She felt his anger, his frustration and his aggression coming toward her at once.
But, he'd taken it better than she expected.
"I can't have a baby, Fitz."
Olivia muttered finally.
"I can't have a baby and I can't pretend that I can. I will be a horrible mother. I know that. Not because I want to know that, but because it is fact. I'm not going to fuck up our child. I can't do that. I won't. I'm sorry."
Fitz nodded, not speaking as Olivia clutched herself, just to have something to hold on to.
"I'm not going to force you to do anything. I'm not going to preach to you anymore. I'll just say this: you always think you're on your own… you refuse to let me love you… you refuse to believe that you can be good, that you can have something nice. You refuse to see the good in yourself. I know a baby would. But I don't want you to have a baby you do not want. The choice is yours."
Olivia watched him go then, his crisp dress shoes barely lifted from the floor as he left the bathroom, then their room altogether. She heard the door close.
Olivia took a step back and crossed her arms again, staring at the still blinking pregnancy test.
He was right, in some ways. But very wrong in others.
Of course she'd let him love her. That was the only thing she'd been able to do: open herself up, let him in.
Fitz was her something nice. He was what she'd let herself believe she could have.
Stepping forward, Olivia placed her foot over the pregnancy test again, and leaned her weight on it, until she heard a satisfying 'snap.'
She pulled her foot up and examined the damage. Moving away from the crushed piece of plastic, Olivia decided on another shower, she wanted to wash her face, and get warm again; she was so cold.
The steam was welcome as she wafted in the gargantuan space.
Olivia rolled her eyes at herself as she placed her hand on her belly.
"Hi."
She whispered, looking down at her flat stomach. She was being silly, but she felt the tenderness of the moment; it snuck up on her.
"It's not that I don't want you, because I do." Olivia told her belly, suddenly not sure if she was crying or if water droplets were spilling down her cheeks.
"But everything is not for everybody. I'd rather let you go, than bring you here and ruin you."
She was crying now, devastatingly so. Her chest heaved and she clutched herself again.
"I won't ruin you. I'm so sorry."
Olivia slunk to the shower floor and looked up at the descending stream of water.
"I love you. I'm sorry."
And she did.
She wasn't sure if she was sorry for what she'd done, or what she would do. The tears were the same. The hurt was immeasurable. Her body ached and her soul screamed. Resting her head on her knees again, she let the water envelope her in a cocoon of silence.
"I love you."
She whispered to her belly again.
And she did.