Chapter 28: Do You Want to Say Hello?

"So, are there any Grant family traditions I need to know about before tomorrow?"

They're all sitting in the formal living room after dinner with the fire blazing, listening to the radio as the rain continues to hammer at the windows. It's cozy and warm; with Olivia beside him on the sofa, snuggled into his side, Fitz would even go so far as to call it 'homely' - and that's the first time he's thought that about this house in a very long time.

"Not really," he tells her, looking at his father. "We eat the food Betty has made, drink too much, fall asleep here in the evening."

"And we always watch a Bogart movie, don't forget."

"Oh yeah. Mom's favorite."

Olivia squeezes his thigh. "That's so nice. Which one have you picked for this year?"

"We haven't yet. Dad, what do you think?"

"It's been a long time since Casablanca."

"'We'll always have Paris,'" Olivia quotes, sighing happily. "I love that movie. I saw it for the first time when I was about ten and it pretty much became my idea of what true romance was."

Fitz frowns at her. "But it's a doomed romance. It doesn't have a happy ending."

"I disagree. He makes her leave because he loves her, and her happiness is a bigger responsibility to him than his own. It's beautiful."

"I'm with you, Olivia," Marilyn adds from her armchair by the fire. "I think it's a gorgeous film. Always makes me shed a tear."

"Me too."

Fitz watches his father roll his eyes and smiles. There will always be certain things which unite them, no matter what the state of their relationship.

"You're so sweet," he tells Olivia, holding her tightly against him. He notices her mug is empty. "Do you want another hot chocolate?"

"No thank you. That was delicious, though."

"Wasn't it?" He'd had one with her, to avert suspicion when she wasn't drinking alcohol - but he'd spiked his with orange liqueur anyway. "Marilyn, can I get you anything?"

"Another red wine would be lovely. Thank you."

"Dad?"

"I'll help you, son. Just a second."

He winces in pain as he gets to his feet.

"Is that your knee?" Fitz asks him. "You really need to get it seen to."

"Please tell him Fitz," Marilyn calls as they leave the room. "He won't listen to me."

In the kitchen, Jerry stops him before he's even had chance to open his mouth. "I'm fine. Don't pester me. It just gets stiff in the cold weather and I can't take anti-inflammatories anymore because of my damn stomach ulcer."

"I'm sure there are other painkillers you could try. Have you seen your doctor about it?"

His father dismisses him with a wave of his hand. "I said I'm fine."

"You're stubborn."

"I know. I'm sorry you had to inherit that from me." He smiles, and Fitz can't help but reciprocate. It's a rare moment of humor between the two of them. They managed to spend a bit of time together yesterday but he'd had several video calls to make with Cyrus and the rest of his staff, and any conversation with his father had mainly been about Olivia - her background, her work, her ambitions.

"She is a gem," Jerry says fondly now. "I can see how happy she makes you."

"She's amazing."

"I also noticed you've taken down every photo of Mellie from around the house."

Fitz shrugs. "Of course I have. I did it the night we arrived, before I even gave Liv a tour. I don't want her to be reminded that I'm married. I don't want to be reminded that I'm married."

"Not for much longer, by the sounds of things."

"Hopefully not."

His father looks at him for a long moment. "How did she take it, when you asked her for the divorce?"

He really doesn't want to think about that conversation in Mellie's office again. It makes him feel so uneasy. It needs to stay in the past, where it belongs. "Not well. But she signed the papers, so that's the important thing."

"Do you think you'll stay friends?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Why?"

"I like her, that's all."

"Well, I'm sorry." He says it genuinely. The two of them did get along, and it's a friendship he's now taken away from his father. "But she really made things tough for me, and for Liv. She put us through weeks of hell. And I said some pretty awful things to her in the end. I'm not proud of myself for that."

He hasn't voiced those thoughts before; hasn't had anyone to talk to about this since it happened.

Big Jerry considers him, without a hint of judgement on his face. It's possibly the only good thing about having a father with far worse morals than his own: most of his behavior is angelic in comparison.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Jerry says at length. "She's a tough woman. She'll bounce back."

"Hmm."

"Or," he suggests as he pours two glasses of red, "If it's really bothering you, you could apologize."

"I don't want to speak to her."

"So email her. Text. Come on, boy. You're supposed to be the younger generation here. Use your brain."

He says it good naturedly, and Fitz smiles. "Good idea. Thanks."

"No problem. Now, are you having wine? And what about Olivia?"

"She's fine. I think I'll have a scotch."

"Okay. You know where it is."

Back in the living room, Fitz asks his girl if she and her dad have any Thanksgiving traditions.

"We usually get up early and go for a walk. Then we have a small breakfast and start cooking."

"I thought you couldn't cook?"

She elbows him in the ribs. "You shouldn't believe everything Stephen tells you."

"I seem to remember you agreeing with him at the time."

Her laughter fills him with joy. "Okay, I'm not very good. I mainly do all the chopping, the prep. My dad is awesome though. His food is incredible."

"We'll have to go to his house next year, then."

She holds his gaze. He knows what she's thinking: how different their holiday season will be with their five-month-old baby. Her eyes are full of excitement and he can't help but kiss her, uncaring that they're not alone.

"What does your father do, Olivia?" Jerry asks, interrupting the moment.

She blushes very slightly, just enough for Fitz to notice. "He's a biology professor at Columbia. He's away right now at a conference in Europe. So thank you again for inviting me here."

"It's our pleasure."

Fitz notices his use of the plural pronoun. He wonders how much time Marilyn is spending at the house these days. Hopefully a lot. He doesn't want his father getting lonely, now that he's retired; plus, Marilyn is so good for him.

A short while later, Jerry excuses them both to go to bed. It's almost ten o'clock. Olivia stretches out, yawning; when she relaxes, she pulls Fitz down further into the cushions with her, sighing contentedly.

"Mmm. Your dad was so lovely tonight," she says softly, gazing up at him. "I had such a nice evening."

His hand automatically sneaks beneath her black cashmere sweater, covering her lower abdomen. "He was. And I'm glad."

"Do you think they'll be pleased with our news?"

"I'm sure they will. My father thinks you're great. I mean, how could he not?" Her smile is beautiful; he has to kiss it. "Also, the last time I was here he actually told me he wanted grandbabies."

"Did he?"

"Yep."

He's kissing her breast now, nuzzling it with his nose. She has the most amazing body. He just wants her, all the time.

"Fitz," she says thoughtfully.

"Mm?"

"There's another Thanksgiving tradition we have, which I didn't mention before."

He looks at her, sensing the solemnity of her tone. "What is it?"

"We each light a candle for my mom, in the evening. Sometimes we watch a movie she liked or listen to old records of hers; sometimes we look at photos. We just remember her, really. She died just after Thanksgiving."

Fitz can feel his heart breaking. "Oh, Livvie. I'm so sorry. Do you want to light a candle tomorrow?"

She nods. "Yes please."

"Okay."

She runs her fingers lovingly through his hair. "I have another favor to ask you, as well."

"Anything."

"It's the anniversary of her death on Saturday. Fifteen years. My dad and I always go to visit her grave but he's not here this year. Will you go with me instead?"

"Of course." She looks sad, and vulnerable, and brave. He slides his arms beneath her body and lifts her onto his lap, so she's sitting sideways and he can hold her tight. "I'll go anywhere with you, Olivia. Always."

"Thank you."

She doesn't cry, although he feels like he might. They stay there for a long time, breathing quietly together, thinking about their mothers. Eventually Fitz kisses her temple, whispers in her ear: "You are going to be the best mommy."

"You think so?" Her smile is tentative. Hopeful. It reminds him just how young she is; just how little time she's had to really come to terms with the shock of this unplanned pregnancy, with what motherhood will mean for her.

"I know so."

They both look down at her tummy, overcome with affection for their child.

"I love you," she murmurs, and Fitz knows she isn't talking to him, for once. "I won't ever leave you, little one. I promise."

"You won't," he says firmly, when her voice falls apart at the end. "I'll be here, looking after you every day. I won't let anything happen to you. Okay?"

She meets his eyes again. Hers are dark, shining with tears. "Okay."

When she kisses him it's somehow soft and fierce at the same time. He can feel her love for him, feel her gratitude radiating out like heat from the fire. And then, gradually, the mood changes: the softness fades; her passion takes over. She tangles her fingers in his hair, presses her body into him. This is how they express themselves when they run out of words. This is how they take care of each other when they need it the most.

"Take me to bed, Fitz."

It's a request he could never refuse.


They make love again in the morning, snuggled down beneath the covers where it's warm. It's a fervent half-hour of bare skin, entwined limbs; of gentle hands and quiet sounds drowned in never-ending kisses. It's the kind of sex Olivia likes best of all: when she can show him how thankful she is to have him in her life, in her bed; how she loves him with all her heart and soul.

After they shower, Fitz dresses in dark jeans and a blue and white check shirt. When they were packing to leave New York, he told her that Grant Thanksgivings are quite casual - whereas her father always changes into a suit and tie for dinner. She decided to bring a pretty dress anyway, something similar to what she would usually wear. She will always think of the holidays as formal occasions because that's how she was raised. It's so fascinating to learn the differences between her upbringing and Fitz's; to imagine how they might merge their experiences in the future, to create family traditions of their own.

Her dress is red, patterned with large black and white flowers; short sleeves, sweetheart neckline, tucked in at the waist and then flaring into a floaty skirt which falls just above her knees. She wears it with black tights and a long cardigan, her hair straight; Fitz stands behind her and brushes it aside so he can kiss her neck, his arms tight around her.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs, meeting her eyes in the mirror, his warm and full of love. She turns her face and kisses his cheek, his lips.

"Is it obvious?" she asks, looking down at her bump.

"Yes. And I love it."

She can't hide her smile. "Me too."

"Happy twelve weeks and four days," he says, so cutely that she has to spin around, to hold him close.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Fitzy. I still can't believe that next year there'll be three of us."

They look at each other again, completely besotted with the very idea of their baby, their own little family.

"I love you, Olivia Carolyn Pope."

He's smiling but serious. When she speaks, she is too.

"And I am so thankful that you do."


Mark calls just after midday, as he does every year. His first ever experience of the holiday was with Fitz, just a month or so after they'd met one another at their university rowing club in London. They ended up so drunk neither of them can actually remember what happened that day, but it was obviously epic because they've been best friends ever since.

He excuses himself from the living room to take the call. At Olivia's request, he and his father have spent the last hour showing her childhood photo albums. He's already lost count of the number of times she's used the words 'adorable' and 'cute', and commented on how blonde his hair was when he was a baby. It's also so nice to see his mom, to revisit old memories of her with his dad and tell Olivia all about her. The only thing missing is sharing their pregnancy news, which Fitz is keeping for his speech before dinner. Every so often he glances up from the photographs to catch his girl's eye, knowing that she too is picturing the same scenes but with different characters, set forty years later. Her subtle smiles and the way she squeezes his hand make his heart constrict in his chest.

He walks past the kitchen where Marilyn is cooking all of Betty's pre-prepared food. She insisted she didn't want any help, despite their numerous offers. Once he's inside the library with the door closed behind him, he perches on the edge of the desk and updates Mark on all the recent events of his life: the whole Mellie saga and the divorce; Olivia, the baby, the twelve-week scan.

"Do you remember seeing your girls for the first time?" he asks, his voice overflowing with the same emotion he felt last Friday in the OB's office. "It was just the most incredible thing."

"Of course I do," Mark says in reply, his smile audible. "It's unforgettable. How is Olivia? Is she showing yet?"

"She is. It's amazing. I'll see if she'll let me send you a photo." He'll take a new one later, with her fully-clothed this time and not just in her underwear.

"Have you made any decisions on what you're going to do with the media? Annie's been checking the internet every day. She says nothing's come out so far."

"No decisions yet, but I think Liv is becoming less worried about it. She's been so much more chilled lately, which is great. Oh, and another thing - she asked me to move in with her."

"Wow. Congratulations. There's so much going on in your life - it sounds exhausting."

Fitz laughs. "Far from it. This is the best I've ever felt."

As he hears his own words aloud, he realizes just how true they are. He's halfway through his fortieth year and yet, since meeting Olivia, he's feeling younger every day. The physical effects of happiness - and love - on the body are astounding.

"Well, make the most of it now," Mark says wryly. "You've never known sleep deprivation until you have a newborn. You remember London; pulling consecutive all-nighters to get our dissertations finished? It's like that, but it goes on for a year and it's even more petrifying because there's a tiny, helpless baby who depends on you completely."

Fitz wonders if he should be scared, but he's not - he actually can't wait.

"Your two turned out surprisingly well in the end," he teases.

"I take no credit for that," Mark admits good-naturedly. "It was all Annie's doing. Women are truly the better half of the species. In the spirit of today's holiday, I'm thankful to be surrounded by three of them."

"I miss you guys," Fitz sighs. "I'm gonna have to go in a minute, but we need to Skype soon so I can chat to the girls."

"Of course. They miss you too. Have you thought any more about visiting us?"

"To be honest, I haven't had chance. But I will, I promise."

"You know you're always welcome. And don't tell her I told you this, but Annie is desperate to meet Olivia. She's so excited about the baby. I'm half expecting her to turn around one day and tell me she wants another one."

"And your response would be?"

"Absolutely no fucking way. I'll leave that to you kids."

"We're the same age," Fitz frowns, amused.

"But I feel twenty years older. That's the beauty of fatherhood."

"Right. Well, on that cheerful note, I'll say goodbye."

Mark laughs. "Sorry mate. It's the best time, of course it is. I'm just a grumpy, cynical old dad now."

"You've always been grumpy. And cynical."

"Touché." They both chuckle. "See you, Fitz."

"Thanks for calling. Give my love to everyone."

"Will do."

Back in the living room, Fitz asks his father if he can borrow Olivia for a minute. He takes her hand and leads her upstairs to the bedroom. Her big brown eyes are wide with curiosity and he can't help but kiss her once they're inside, drawing her close with his hands pressing into the small of her back.

"Hi," she breathes when he lets her go, a gorgeous smile lighting up her face. "How's Mark?"

"Good. I wondered if you'd let me send him a photo."

"Of us?"

"Kind of." He sits down on the end of the bed and pulls her to stand between his legs. When he presses his lips to her belly, she brushes her fingernails through his hair and he almost purrs. "Hi baby," he murmurs, his voice full of tenderness. "Do you want to say hello to Uncle Mark and Aunt Annie?"

He takes several pictures of Olivia's baby bump with him smiling, kissing it, looking at it with mock-horror. If, somehow, the images ever got intercepted, there's no way of knowing who the mother of his child is.

He sends three to Mark, one of each expression. Afterwards, Olivia straddles his lap and presses her mouth to his, long and heartfelt.

"I love how you love me," she says softly, a minute later. "I hope that never changes."

"It won't."

He kisses her again. He might never have stopped if it wasn't for Marilyn's voice reaching them from downstairs: "Dinner will be served in ten minutes!"

They break apart, breathing hard. "Are you ready?" he asks, stroking her hair back from her face with his fingers.

She stands up and holds out her hand. "We're ready for anything with you, Daddy."


When the four of them are seated around the table in the dining room, a feast spread out before them, Big Jerry raises his glass of wine to kick off the toasts.

"I'll keep it short, because this food looks damn good and I'm starving. This year, I am thankful just to be sitting here; to have survived what happened to me. I'm thankful for this woman who saved me then," he looks at Marilyn, seated beside him, "And who saves me every day."

Fitz feels a lump form in his throat, witnessing the restrained yet loving way they look at one another.

"But I'm grateful that it happened," his father continues, turning his gaze to Fitz, "Because it brought you back to me. I don't think you know what it's meant to me, to be in your life again. And I know I've made a thousand mistakes over the years but I am truly thankful that you are the sort of person who has a heart big enough to forgive. I can take no credit there; it's all you and your mother."

On instinct, Fitz reaches across the table for his dad's hand and squeezes it. He's not sure he can speak right now. Senator Grant has always been good at making speeches but never ones so personal, and his words touch Fitz deep inside.

"Finally," his father says with a smile, "I'm thankful to have met you, Olivia. Welcome to our family. I hope you'll stay for a long time."

"I hope so too," she replies, touching Fitz's thigh beneath the table.

"Oh, and I almost forgot," Big Jerry adds. "Retirement! I thank God every day for that."

Everyone laughs. "To retirement," they repeat in unison.

As the other host, Marilyn speaks next. "As always, I am thankful for my daughter, for her husband and for the life she loves in Scotland, even though it means she can't be here today. I am thankful for you, Jerry, for all the reasons you already know and many more you don't.

"And I am thankful for this food we are about to share; for the roof over our heads; for each new day. I pray that God will protect us and keep us safe from harm, especially those who are so much less fortunate than we are."

This time they lift their glasses with an "Amen".

Fitz looks at his girl. "Ladies first."

She smiles at him. "I only have a few things to say," she begins. "I'm thankful to be here today with you, and for the food you have provided. It looks amazing, Marilyn."

"We should thank Betty too," the older woman adds thoughtfully, and they dutifully toast the housekeeper who is spending the day with her own family.

"I'm thankful for my Dad," Olivia continues afterwards, "And for the work that I am lucky enough to do. And I'm so grateful for you, Fitz." Her voice softens as she turns to him. "For everything you've given me. I'm thankful every minute of every day for our future together."

And she means the baby, and he knows.

"To the future."

"My turn," he says, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from hers. His heart has started to race. He wonders if the two people opposite him have any idea what he's about to tell them; wonders if the excitement, the thrill of sharing their news will ever get old.

"Thank you, Dad and Marilyn, for having us here. Thank you for welcoming Olivia into your home. There is so much I'm thankful for today; so many things I'd come to take for granted, which I'm only just learning to appreciate once more. And that's because of you, Livvie."

He's looking at her again; falling in love with how delicate she is, how utterly perfect.

"You have changed everything for me. You have made me better, stronger, smarter... and you've humbled me. You led me to reconcile with my father because you made me realize that there is nothing more important than family. And then you whispered to me one night in the dark that we were going to start a family of our own, and I won't ever have the words to tell you how grateful I am for you... and for our child."

He turns to his dad and Marilyn who look stunned, trying to work out if he's saying what they think he is. He's sure the grin on his face confirms it, as well as his next words: "Olivia and I are expecting a baby. Due in June next year."

"Oh my goodness!"

That's Marilyn speaking but Olivia is laughing, overcome with joy, and she just consumes him. He pulls her into a hug, kissing her hair, her lips. "I love you," he mouths, holding her chin with his thumb and forefinger, drowning in her eyes.

"I love you too."

It's only when he hears the clatter of cutlery falling to the floor that the spell is broken. All he sees is his father's back as he strides out of the room.

Marilyn looks at him, surprise replacing her initial smile. "I'll go," she says, but Fitz is faster.

"No, I will."

He tries not to look too concerned; hears Marilyn reassuring Olivia as he leaves, before congratulating her with genuine delight.

"Dad?" he calls out in the hallway.

"In the library."

His voice sounds odd. Fitz follows it, and finds his father standing behind his desk, looking out of the window.

"Um… What the hell was that?" he asks. He's not sure if he's angry or just bewildered.

"I'm sorry." Big Jerry blows his nose on his handkerchief, still facing away. "I just needed a moment to… compose myself."

When he turns around, there are tears in his eyes - and a huge smile on his face.

Fitz is taken aback. "What-?"

"Come here, son." He rounds the desk, pulling Fitz into his arms. "Congratulations. I am so happy for you."

The only other time he's seen his father this emotional was when he visited several weeks ago and they talked about his mother. He would never have expected this kind of reaction from him - and neither did Big Jerry himself, by the sounds of it.

"I don't know what came over me," he says, finally letting go of his son, dabbing beneath his eyes again. "I could hear the emotion in your voice, and seeing the way you look at Olivia… I suddenly knew I was going to burst into tears, and I didn't want that to happen in front of everyone. This is so embarrassing."

Fitz puts his arm around his dad's shoulders, touched beyond measure. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."

"Thanks. I don't know how to- I can't explain-"

"It's okay, Dad. You don't have to. Some things are beyond words. Thank you for being happy for us. It means the world to me."

"You deserve this, Fitz. More than anyone. You know, I've wanted you to have children for years. I always knew you'd be a great dad. And I thought I could start over with a grandchild; be the kind of role model I should have been to you. Still, I have a feeling I'll end up being the indulgent grandpa who gives them everything they ask for."

"You have my permission to spoil our child to your heart's content," Fitz says with a smile, realizing how much happiness the idea brings him. "Just don't tell Olivia I said that."

"Your secret's safe with me."

They share another brief embrace before heading back to the dining room.

"Olivia," Jerry says, holding out his arms towards her. "Congratulations. I'm so sorry I left like that. I am overjoyed for you, honestly."

"Thank you." She stands and hugs him back, looking both intrigued and relieved. Fitz just shrugs a little, silently telling her it's all okay.

When they're finally seated together again, he takes her hand and raises his glass. Olivia lifts her water, at last able to stop pretending to drink wine. "One last toast," he announces, and it's the most important one of all. "To family."

"To family."


They seem to talk about babies for the rest of the day: through dinner and pumpkin pie; drinks and card games in the living room; a quick stroll around the grounds during a lull in the weather, as it's starting to get dark. Just before they settle down to watch Casablanca, Fitz excuses himself and Olivia for half an hour, to light a candle for her mom.

He takes her upstairs, to a room at the back of the house which is an informal living area. It's barely used these days but he explains that it used to be his playroom, and consequently somewhere he spent a lot of time with his own mom.

"On a clear day, you can see all the way to the San Bernardino Mountains. We used to go hiking there in summer. She made the best picnics."

Olivia looks up at him, her eyes bright and understanding. "Do you want to light a candle for your mom too?"

It's not something he's ever thought about doing before, but he answers without hesitation: "Yes. That would be nice."

They sit together on the floor, their backs against the sofa, snuggled under a blanket while the heater starts to kick in. Besides the two tall, white candles on the table, the only other light comes from a lamp across the room.

"Do you want to talk?" Fitz asks softly, stroking her thigh.

She shakes her head. "I want to tell her about the baby… but I can't." Her voice trembles. "I've tried so many times, but I'm not ready."

"That's okay. You'll get there."

She sniffs and cuddles in closer. "I hope so. Most of the time I'm fine, and then some days I try to imagine doing this without her and I don't know how I could ever… I miss you, Mommy. I love you."

She cries quietly, her face buried in his chest. Fitz wishes there was something he could do, but no amount of love can give her the one thing she wants most of all - and that destroys him.

It's only a few minutes before she starts to recover, sitting up, wiping her eyes. "Sorry," she says, but he shushes her with his finger on her lips.

"Don't you dare," he murmurs. "Don't ever be sorry, baby."

He pulls her onto his lap, her back against his front, his chin tucked over her shoulder. Together they watch the flames flicker and he runs his palms back and forth over her abdomen, thinking about the life inside of her; wondering how fast its little heart is beating, if it knows how much it's cherished already.

"Can we still sit like this," she muses aloud after a couple of minutes, "When I'm more pregnant?"

"Do you mean physically, or-?"

As intended, she laughs. "No. Well, maybe. But I just love these quiet moments with you. I can't wait to feel the baby moving."

"Neither can I. As soon as it starts, I don't think you'll be able to get my hands off your belly."

Olivia turns her face to look at him. "Good." Her gaze falls to his lips. "Thank you for taking care of me," she says, so tenderly, and seals it with a kiss.

"I always will."

She brushes her fingers down his cheek. "Do you want to talk about your mom?"

"Okay."

He tells her, and the baby, all about Allison Attaway: where she was born (San Francisco, 1948); who her parents were; where she went to school, college. How she loved growing up in the Sixties; how those years gave her the freedom to follow her own path, to choose a life dedicated to helping others. How she met her husband at a party when she was twenty-four; how he fell in love with her instantly but had to work for her hand, because she was so beautiful that every man wanted to marry her, and so smart she knew exactly what she deserved and wasn't prepared to settle for anything less.

He tells them about the charity work she did, about how she visited some of the poorest countries in the world on her own because her fiancé (and then husband) couldn't leave his government job - and probably didn't want to. He says he thinks she probably regretted marrying his dad, even though she loved him, because the life she lived with him never seemed to make her as happy as she should have been - and that was even before the adultery began.

But he doesn't want to think about all that right now, not when he's remembering her beautiful soul.

"I wish she could know you," he says sadly. "She would love you as much as I do."

"Is that possible?"

He smiles against her neck. "I'm not sure. Probably not."

The candles are burning low. He's aware that they've been gone awhile already, and that his father and Marilyn are waiting for them to watch the film. But still, this girl is his number one priority.

"Do you want to talk about your mom?" he asks gently.

"Not tonight."

"Okay."

"It's not that I don't want to. I just can't put her into words. With my dad it's easy, because we both knew her. But I can't explain her to you, Fitz. I can't capture her. She was just… everything. She was the best mom in the world."

He kisses her temple. "I think you've just said it all," he tells her. "If you want to stay here longer and think about her, we can. Take all the time you need."

About five minutes later, Olivia stirs again. "We can go now."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I've said hello to her. I think she's okay."

"I'm sure she is."

They get to their feet, and each blow out one candle.

"I made a wish," she tells him as they leave the room. "I'm not sure why. I don't usually do that."

"What did you wish for?"

"To be as good a mommy to my baby as she was to me."

Fitz doesn't know what to say. He hopes his eyes convey it all instead: just how strongly he believes in her; how sure he is of her ability to love and nurture their child.

"Come on," she says, her tone brightening as she pulls him along by the hand. "It's time for Casablanca."

And then he realizes that he can't let her go just yet; that he doesn't want this moment, nor the last, magical half hour, to be over.

"Olivia Pope," he sighs, pinning her to the wall at the top of the stairs. He nuzzles her warm cheek, breathing her in. "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world… you walked into mine."

Her giggle resonates in his ears, and in his heart. "Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time."

He thinks it's another quote from the movie but it doesn't matter, because he already is.