Hope is a thing...
Wasn't that how the poem started? It was supposed to have feathers, sinews, nerves, webbing to support the wingspan, to soar endlessly along a clear sky. They'd been wrong about hope, Olivia thought as she sat in the back of a campaign bus alone, leaning back against the headrest with her eyes closed.
Hope was far more fragile. As delicate as newly-blown glass, and as inherently flawed as its creator. Relentlessly faulty. Light.
/
She had grabbed his hand, palm to palm, the familiar tingling that ran through her body when he touched her barely an echo as she tugged him down the hall, toward the elevator. He made some vague sputtering noise but she didn't respond, marched on until they were safely enclosed in their private bubble. She pressed a button at random, waited a few seconds as they moved up before hitting the emergency stop button. Her hands fell to her sides and for a moment, she was frozen. Her mind screamed at her, loud, sharp, clear, but her body silently refused and her lips stayed pressed together.
"Olivia?" she heard him ask, his quiet footsteps heading toward her as she stood facing the elevator doors, part of her hoping they'd suddenly split open so that she could disappear into the elevator shaft, never to be seen again. She said nothing, didn't know the logical, concise words for the turmoil inside of her mind.
"Liv?" he asked, his hand making contact with the small of her back. The warmth of his body, of his blood racing through veins, made its way through layers of cloth to try and comfort her in a way his voice couldn't.
"I think..." Her traitorous tongue began to say, nausea roiling inside of her stomach, twisting.
"What is it?" He was such a patient man. A kind man. The best man she'd known in her life. The sort of man who believed in forever. Turning her around until she faced him, his fingers glided along her arm before sliding her hands into his again. Cradling them unbearably gently, he took another step forward until she could feel her blouse rustling against his body, her eyes still closed.
She felt him release one hand before it pressed against her cheek, tilting her head slightly so that she knew if she opened her eyes, they'd be looking up at his. Her eyelids were shields, armor against exposing too much of her vulnerable center. But he'd seen too much of her already for her to step back safely.
"Fitz," she managed, the sound broken and hollow. "I'm pregnant."
The words filled the emptiness of the elevator, spreading around them in waves, resonating, returning. Fluttering eyelids lifted, like a veil around hidden treasures, and eyes opened to bravely meet his own.
"What?" he asked, the shocked expression taking over his face. He blinked, as though he wasn't sure he was seeing correctly, senses stunned as his brain tried to make sense of the words she'd said. She wondered if she ought to have felt hurt by his reaction, but all she felt was relief.
"Okay," he said, the wrinkle on his forehead smoothing out as he looked down at her, resolute in wherever his mind had led him. She took a step backward, peering up at him in confusion.
"Okay?" she wondered this time.
"We'll figure this out."
"Figure it out?" she repeated, unable to stop her voice from sounding incredulous.
As his lips parted to answer, she heard the restless buzzing of his phone in his pocket. He silenced it instantly, focusing on her.
"We'll make this work," he answered calmly, as though it was the only option they had.
Her arms lifting to cross over her chest, her stance screaming protection.
This time it was her phone, sounding out inside the intimate space. Cyrus' name blinked up at her, but she pressed ignore before looking up at him, about to respond when her phone began to beep to tell her she had a text.
EMERGENCY, call now!
With a frustrated groan, she turned away to hit the button, a slight bump in the elevator before the whirring sounded again. Fitz turned her around, his grasp of her elbow less gentle than he had been only a moment ago.
"We need to discuss this."
"We've both got work to do," she reminded him, facing away before the doors dinged open, a polite smile glued onto her face as she hurried down the hall searching for Cyrus.
/
Perhaps she shouldn't have told him, she thought to herself, her inner monologue chiding her as she stood inside of her hotel bedroom, pulling out the pins holding up her hair in a neat bun.
But she needed that intimacy, to share another secret that only the two of them knew. She looked down at her lap, considering the possibilities of a more perfect world. If they belonged to one another. If there were more than wrinkled hotel sheets and urgent touches stoking passion between them. If promises could be made, and kept. In that misty-colored world, would she still be so terrified at this news? She took stock of her hands, empty, thin fingers and narrow palms. His hands were her safe harbor. Her eyelids felt suddenly heavy, closing against the sudden tumult of boundless emotions.
But those were a fool's wishes and she was here. Her skin, her body, her muscles and joints and tendons only existed in a life where she was a man's mistress. However deep her feelings here, the reality stayed the same. And bringing a life into a cold, dark place would destroy it. It would destroy her. Now, thinking about it in calculated, precise terms, she saw the naivete of her decision earlier to allow him into the situation. It had been easier when she only had to consider herself in the equation.
A quiet knock at the door had her eyes opening again, tiredly stepping across the room to open the door, knowing before whose face would greet her. He stepped inside without waiting for her invitation, her mouth opening as she began to say how exhausted she was, but he held up a hand.
"Just...I know, I know in the elevator earlier, I didn't recover quickly, and I'm sorry for that, but I'm here, and I'm in this, and whatever you want to do, I'm here. I am here with you."
She let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the door, watching him as she considered his words. His left hand was behind his back and he brought it forward with a flourish, holding up a small stuffed elephant. The familiar line appeared between her eyebrows as she looked down at it and then up at him, understanding.
"It seemed appropriate, considering the circumstances of our meeting," he went on, the slightest trace of nervousness coloring his voice. He had bought her a stuffed animal. Not just a bear, or a puppy, but the mascot of his political party. Humbled, overwhelmed, lost in her affection for him, she stepped forward, until she could stroke a hand over the top of the animal's fuzzy head. His other hand reached out to touch her cheek.
She couldn't speak, couldn't trust her voice to remain composed as her wild thoughts raced in her mind. When his hand fell to her waist and tugged her closer, she rested her cheek against his shoulder, letting him enfold her body with his. His hands stroked her back gently, his own cheek resting on top of her. His silence asked for her to share her burden with him, to let him in.
"Okay," she said, the word an exhale against his collarbone.
"Okay," he replied back to her.
/
The next morning, she found herself alone in the hotel shower, shivering as the water turned cold. Beads of blood clung to the inside of her thighs, the water cleansing her of the future they might have had together. Here, in this moment where there were no babies or possibilities, the empty pregnancy test box seemed to mock her.
/
From light to darkness. As her eyelids slowly lifted, she glanced at the image of his back as he leaned down to tell Cyrus something. She had texted him the news earlier, too caught up in her own sorrows to take on his, to grasp the courage it required to meet his gaze as she broke it to him. He had approached her when he'd seen her, but she had retreated to the back of the campaign bus, accompanied by the ghost of their previous encounter and the small stuffed form of an elephant.
No, hope is a thing like glass, she understood now. Because when it shattered into a thousand different pieces, it shredded everything it came into contact with. And those tiny little fragments became embedded inside, until you learned to live with it, until you learned to survive amongst the wreckage of your destroyed dreams.
A/N: Dear readers, I wrote this drabble for one of my favorite Gladiators in the world. It's angsty, and I tried to write fluffy Olitz pregnancy scares, I really did, but I kept coming back to this Emily Dickinson line. I hope you enjoy it! Reviews and thoughts are always more than welcome!