"It's your turn." She says as she blindly feels the bed, gliding her palm lazily across the mattress, until her fingers reach the warm skin. She nudges him; gently.
"No." He mumbles into the pillow. "I physically cannot get up."
She pushes his shoulder more forcefully now, still refusing to lift her head. "It's your turn." She says in an annoyed voice, trying to push him out of the bed as the soft cries grow louder. She hears him mumble something under his breath; but then she feels the weight on the mattress shift, and the cold air sneaks under the covers; where his warm body lay mere moments ago. She hears the soft creek of the door through the baby monitor, soft whispers and the cries quieting, until they're just occasional sniffles.
"You hungry?" He asks in a soft voice, the one that makes her heart melt, because with her, with their daughter, he's so different; he's not the former president, and he's not the confident, sexy man she married; he's lost for words when she smiles, because there's nothing to say, no words that are as perfect; so he just smiles instead – a cheesy grin unconsciously stretches across his face, every time his daughter smiles in his presence. His broad shoulders slouch when she cries, and when she grabs his finger with her small hands he tilts his head; to see her better, to memorize the moment perfectly – because every time there's something different – either the little noises she makes; or the look of her unruly curls; the way she scrunches up her nose, or how she purses her little lips. Every time, every moment is perfect; because she's theirs, she's a part of them, and she has his eyes and her mother's full lips; soft caramel skin; chubby fingers and plump cheeks; and she has a laugh that rings, a laugh that could save a thousand fairies. And she drifts back to sleep, as she listens to them head to the kitchen.
She wakes up as the faint winter sun peeks through the crack in thick curtains. His arm isn't around her, and his head isn't resting on her shoulder, and she can't feel his chest rising and falling behind her back. She grunts in protest, as she scoots closer to where he should be, but the bed is empty – cold and empty. She finally turns around and opens her blood-shut eyes. She lifts the covers, and lets the cool air wake her up – her tired muscles slowly coming to life. She grabs his NAVY sweatshirt from the armchair next to the window and puts it on, disappearing in it comfortably. She inhales, but it no longer smells like him – she's been wearing it for too long – they need to trade, again. She walks to the nursery, listening to her footsteps echo through the eerie quiet. She pushes the door open, slowly – she's terrified that even the slightest noise, the smallest creek will wake her up and the quiet she's come to revere will disappear.
They're in the rocking chair. He's shirtless, and she's wrapped in his t-shirt, instead of a blanket. They're both asleep, snoring softly in sync. She brushes her knuckles against his cheek.
"Fitz."
He stirs lightly, but doesn't open his eyes. She bends down and lays a soft kiss on his lips, letting her thumb play with the curls along his hairline. "Fitz."
He smiles against her lips, "Sleep."
"You need to get ready for work." She whispers, leaning her forehead against his.
"No. I don't want to." He says in a whiney voice that makes her chuckle. But then the baby in his arms yawns, and stretches her small arm, and instantly she freezes, and goes back to barely breathing. "Shhhh, you'll wake her."
"Liv, she'll wake up eventually." He says, finally opening his eyes, and looking at her lovingly. He still has that spark in them – it's there when he sees her in the morning, and right before they go to sleep; it's there when he watches her with Neve, or if he just watches her read. He still looks at her the same way he always has, except that now – there's more love, somehow, each day, there's a little bit more love. Another little thing she does, another special smile, a different way of pulling her hair back; hearing her say a word he hasn't heard her use before – each day there's something new he discovers, something special, something that only he notices; something that makes his heart skip a beat. And each morning – he wakes up, loving her just a little bit more. And now, every time he looks at Neve, he sees another little thing to love about Liv.
"I know she'll wake up eventually. I'd just like eventually to come a little bit later this morning." And with that, as if on queue, the infant stirs, furrows her little forehead, and lets out a deafening wail. He gets up, and hands her to Liv, smiling apologetically.
"I need to get to work."
"That's a lame-ass excuse." She hisses after him, before focusing on the screaming baby. She feeds her and she changes her. She walks with her, and dances with her, and sings to her. She plays music and she talks to her. He leaves, at some point, he leaves, but she doesn't notice; the infant's cries too distracting. And she stops, she does, but it's only for short moments, to let her mother get in a breath, before she starts up again. And she feeds her, and changes her again; and she cradles her, and cuddles her. She gives her a teething ring and she kisses her feverish forehead. But nothing, nothing makes a difference. When he comes back, she's in the kitchen, warming up milk, while rocking the cradle swing.
"Hey." He says from the doorway, and she just smiles weakly over her shoulder, as she pours the milk in the bottle, with a shaky hand. He crosses to where she's standing and lays a soft kiss on her forehead, then turns his attention to the red-faced baby. He scoops her up in his arms, and she stops momentarily, to look up at him, but then starts again.
"Has she been like this the whole day?" He asks as he takes the bottle from her hand.
She just nods her head tiredly. "Her fever's gone down, and she napped for half an hour a while back, but then I guess the pain got worse and she just… she's been going non-stop since."
"Have you eaten anything?" He asks, looking at her tenderly.
"Yeah, I fed her three times. But she didn't have much."
"No, Liv. Have you eaten anything?"
She looks at him, tilting her head, as if confused for a moment, "No, I don't think so." She says, looking into the distance. "I must have forgotten."
He gives her a scolding look, but it's not angry, just concerned. "Go take a long bath, right now."
"Fitz… I can't. She's-"
"She's not crying right now, and when she does it will be fine, because I'm her dad and I can take over for a while. I've got her. Now go, get into a warm bath with your iPad, listen to Stevie and try to relax."
"You just got home." She says, more in acknowledgment than in protest.
"I did. Which is why I need some daddy-daughter time." He says with that oh-so-charming smile, and she doesn't have it in her to protest again; so she just props herself on her toes and lays a soft kiss on his lips.
"I love you."
"I love you too. " And she kisses him again softly, then turns around and leaves. She starts stripping her clothes as soon as she reaches the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded items leading to the bathroom. She fills the tub with water, just a little bit too hot, and adds bubbles. It's perfect. She gets her iPad, but then pauses for a moment – maybe she should check on them. The screen flashes with a message and she smiles – We're doing just fine. Relax. And she does.
"Hi." And she snaps out, slightly startled, opening her eyes widely. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were asleep."
"I wasn't… I was just napping." She says groggily, but then she focuses, her face contorting in panic. "How long have I-"
"Only an hour. She fell asleep. Did the water get cold?" He asks, as he kneels next to the bath.
"A little." She says with a sheepish grin, "You want to test it?"
And he just smiles and gets up, pulling his shirt out of his navy jeans and unbuttoning it. He plays with each button, stripping slowly; enjoying the way she's looking at him – her eyes suddenly alive. He slips into the bathtub behind her, pulling her in between his legs, wrapping his arms around her midsection, gently cupping her plump breast. He kisses her shoulder, and she looks up at him, leaning her forehead on his cheek. "Hi."
And they both close their eyes. "Hi."
/
As they lie in bed, her back to his chest; their legs intertwined and their fingers interlaced; their breaths perfectly matched, a familiar cry echoes through the dark.
"Not again." She mumbles into the pillow. He kisses her shoulder, and wraps his arms tighter around her stomach. 'Fitz… I need to get her."
"Wait for it." He says sleepily.
"Fitz." Her voice is terse, but amused, as she tries to wiggle out of his embrace. "Wait for it Livvy." And there are footsteps echoing through the baby monitor, and then a familiar voice; and suddenly the cries quiet down.
"Tom? You made Tom babysit?"
"Hey, he's like the baby whisperer! He calmed her down today."
She turns around in his arms, looking at him in the dark. "Tom got her to calm down? Tom? I thought it was you! I thought I was an awful mother and she liked you better."
He opens his eyes lazily and kisses her forehead. "No, unfortunately she hates both of us equally. Tom, on the other hand, she seems to adore."
"You can't make him babysit." She protests weakly.
"You want to get up and take over for him?" He asks with a smirk.
"No." And she chuckles.
"Well in that case, turn around and be my little spoon. Tom's got her."
She settles back into his arms, melting instantly, "Wait, what did you promise him?"
"That he doesn't have to taste your cooking ever again."
She ponders that for a moment, stroking his hand with her thumb, absentmindedly. "That seems like a good deal."
"Mhmmm." And with that they're drifting off to sleep.
Impossibly exhausted and incredibly happy. The reality surpassing their wildest dreams.
I think this is a first completely angst-free thing I've written, so I hope you liked it. Let me know your thoughts :)