A/N: I can't thank you enough, yet again, for all your amazing comments. I appreciate every single one. It makes me so happy to see people re-reading the story from the beginning, readers who are still here with me after all this time. I'm so grateful.
Chapter 17 - Oh.
The phone on Olivia's desk rings, for perhaps the hundredth time so far today. It's an internal call from Quinn. She doesn't pause in typing the report she's trying to finish as she answers: "What's up?"
"I've got Andre from Versace on the phone again. He's wondering about navy?"
Olivia sighs. "I said black."
"I know."
"Do you want me to speak to him?"
"No, I can handle it. I was just double-checking."
"It has to be black. Tell him that I'm really sorry to change my mind the week before the ball but I have this necklace I want to wear and I need a simply-cut, black dress to show it off."
"I did say that on Monday, but I'll tell him again."
"Do I sound like a diva?"
Her friend laughs. "No, Liv. You're fine. Anyway, no designer is going to back out of dressing Olivia Pope, no matter what you demand."
She can't help but roll her eyes, even alone in her office. The concept that she is a fashion icon, that there will be photos of her in magazines and on websites for days after the party, is still foreign to her, still quite unreal. "Thanks Quinn."
"No problem."
Olivia ends the call and tilts her neck back and forth, stretching the aching muscles. The phone rings again almost instantly and she reaches out to answer it without looking, her face still turned to the ceiling, eyes closed. "What?"
There's a pause. "Well, hello to you too."
Her lips curve into a smile as the warmth of Fitz's voice flows through her. "Hi. Sorry, I thought you'd be Quinn again."
"Busy day?" His tone is immediately full of compassion and it makes her heart ache with appreciation for him.
"Yeah, crazy. This report is going to take twice as long as I'd hoped and my afternoon conference call has been brought forward two hours, which gives me roughly-" She glances at the clock on the wall. "-No time for lunch."
"Oh, Livvie. You need to eat. Are you still feeling sick?"
She's been nauseous every morning this week, since the day after her birthday. Initially she put it down to a hangover; now, five days later, she's suspecting it's stress-related as her work schedule seems to have caught up with her in a big way. She hasn't been getting home until gone seven every evening and, as Fitz is having the exact same problem after more than a month of travelling, she feels like she's barely seen him. Even though he's stayed over at hers every night, it's not enough - she misses him.
"I'm fine now," she tells him truthfully. "I had a smoothie a few hours ago."
"Do you want me to bring you something over?"
"Don't be silly," she says fondly. He's so cute. "Quinn will get me a salad when she goes out for lunch. Anyway, aren't you busy too?"
"Not too bad today. I just have one more staff appraisal to do this afternoon and then I'm all caught up with those."
"Who is it for?"
There's a pause. "Cyrus," Fitz admits and she can tell he's grinning, which makes her laugh.
"Surely you have to pass him with flying colors? He's been doing all your work for the last month."
"I know, that's why I booked him in for Friday afternoon - so we can both leave early."
Olivia smiles. "I like your style, mister."
"I like yours."
His voice has dropped slightly; just enough to hint at what he might be thinking, to make the hairs on the back of her neck rise in anticipation. "I can't wait to see you tonight," she says, and it's true - despite the fact they've only been apart a few hours since leaving her apartment early this morning.
"I can't either."
"Do you want me to bring anything?"
"Just your beautiful self."
They're quiet for a moment, both thinking how lucky they are; falling a little more in love.
"See you later, sweet baby," Fitz murmurs eventually, and she has no idea how he does it but those five words seem to contain a thousand promises.
"See you later."
The thing about Fitz, Olivia thinks as her head falls back onto his shoulder and her knees start to shake, is that he's always so selfish when it comes to her. Here she is, in Henry's kitchen all dressed up for him, and here he is pressed up behind her, his hands wandering, his lips dancing along the sensitive skin of her neck as she tries not to melt into a puddle on the floor. She only arrived five minutes ago: just long enough for him to kiss her hello and tell her how incredible she looks; to pour her a glass of Champagne and ask about her afternoon before his gaze roamed over her body again and he seemed to realize that nothing he was saying was as important as this woman, this vision, in front of him.
How dare he take control of her like this, mind and body? How dare he trample all over her grown-up sophistication and render her a speechless, quivering mess? How dare he seduce her, when her sexy little dress and her heels and her barely-there makeup were all planned and perfectly executed to seduce him?
In the small part of her brain still capable of conscious thought, she remembers the night they met: the ambience of the ballroom and the intense blue of his eyes and his words - "You're a control freak."
I'm not the only one, she thinks now with a smile, as her hands cover his and she gently removes them from her abdomen, the ribs just beneath her right breast.
"Fitz," she admonishes, stepping forward, out of his arms. She turns and he's already in front of her again, filling her personal space, drawing her back to him with the most irresistible, most charming grin she's ever seen.
"What?" he asks innocently, dipping his head, kissing the corner of her mouth. The feel of him, his warmth and his scent as he pulls her closer, overwhelm her. She turns her face and lets him kiss her properly this time. Their mouths meet in a familiar dance: softly at first, and then deeper, the tip of his tongue sliding over her lips and then between, to meet hers, to play and taste and turn her on so effortlessly.
He backs her into the counter, slowly, one step at a time. He's turned on too, she can feel it in the tension of his muscles, in the hardening of his cock against her belly. If they're not careful they're going to be fucking in this kitchen in no time at all, such is the exponential course of their desire when they're together like this. Does she really care, though? Does he?
Just as she's beginning to think he might not - as his fingers slip beneath the hem of her dress, as he groans from deep inside his chest - he suddenly releases her and steps back, putting air and space and sense between them. He's panting, his gaze dark and dangerous as he stares at her, trying to steady himself. She holds onto the edge of the counter with both hands and stares back, her lips curving into a smile, her breathing ragged.
"I'm sorry," he says, his eyes struggling not to fixate on the rise and fall of her breasts.
"You should be."
That makes him look directly at her, surprised. "Why?"
"Because I came here tonight wanting to seduce you, and you do this to me-" She gestures to herself, to her generally disheveled state, "- without even trying."
That makes him smile too, his body finally relaxing. "Baby, that was you seducing me." He moves forward again and holds her: affectionately this time, without secondary intent. Up close she can see that his lips are still moist from her tongue, that the pulse in his neck is still racing. "Don't you realize what you do to me? Everything about you seduces me. I can't be alone with you and not touch you, not want you. Especially when you look so unbelievably beautiful. If you actually tried to seduce me, I don't think I'd survive the experience."
He kisses her, sweet and long, and Olivia has to concentrate hard to stop herself falling apart again at his incredible words, his intoxicating proximity.
"Am I forgiven?" he asks eventually, his hands finding hers and intertwining their fingers.
She looks up at him, her eyes hazy and utterly besotted. "Yes. Always."
"Good." He raises their hands up between them and tugs, drawing her towards him, across the kitchen as he walks backwards and she giggles. He finally lets her go and passes an untouched glass of Champagne to her. "Cheers. Happy Friday."
"Happy Friday," she echoes, toasting him. He moves around the table and begins to take ingredients out of the fridge. "Am I allowed to know what we're having for dinner now?" she asks. He's been keeping it a secret all week, ever since he told her he was going to cook for her tonight. (The way he instructed her and assumed she would acquiesce, instead of offering her an invitation, is just another example of the maturity and confidence which make him so attractive.)
"My favorite meal," Fitz answers, now opening cupboards and drawers, picking out chopping blocks and knives and pans. "Chicken, asparagus and snow pea risotto."
"Ooh. Sounds fancy."
He turns and grins at her. "Not really. It's just a little labor-intensive, but so worth it. Here, sit down."
He withdraws a chair for her. "Don't you want any help?" she asks.
"No. Relax, Livvie. You've had a hard week."
She kisses him before she takes a seat, holding his face in her palm and gazing into his eyes. "Thank you."
"My absolute pleasure."
It's impossible not to believe him.
"You know," she confesses a minute later, after he's connected his phone to the house's audio system and the soft tones of Sam Cooke are filling the air, "You're the first man who's ever cooked for me. Apart from my dad, obviously."
"What?" Fitz stops on his way back to the counter, looking at her in shock. It makes her feel a little embarrassed. Maybe she shouldn't have admitted that. Maybe it somehow reflects a failing of hers?
"Yep," she shrugs, trying to play it down. "I've never dated anyone with any culinary talent."
"But didn't any of them try?"
She can see he's struggling to accept this fact; that it's so opposite to his views, to his beliefs about how women should be treated, that he just can't comprehend it.
"No, I don't think so. Unless you count take out or microwave food."
In almost two years with Edison, she can't recall a single time he offered to cook for them. It had simply never occurred to him that a man would, or even could, make a meal. It was both a failing of his upbringing and of him. He was unable to see beyond his own little world; unwilling to acknowledge that times had changed since his parents' generation, since their ideals were planted into his young mind, and that not all change was bad. It was yet another warning sign she chose to ignore, until it was too late.
"Don't pity me," she says quietly, because that's the look on Fitz's face right now and it feels pretty awful.
"I'm not." She continues to gaze at him until he concedes. "Okay I am, but only because I'm horrified. How can that be true? How come no one has done this for you before?"
"I don't know." She's getting annoyed at him now, for making this such a big deal. "Maybe it's my fault. Maybe there's something wrong with me."
"Don't." He's beside her instantly, crouching down, lifting her chin to make her look at him. "Don't do this again, Olivia. Don't ever think you're not worthy of affection, of love. That is totally ludicrous."
She can feel tears stinging her eyes. Don't cry, she wills herself. Don't cry over Edison to Fitz. It's over. Let it go.
"You can't blame yourself for other people's failings. I won't let you."
He looks so serious that she doesn't dare tell him the truth: that blaming herself is her biggest flaw. That Edison comes all wrapped up in a self-destructive package along with her mother's death and the subsequent, devastating withdrawal of her father's affection. She wants to believe him so badly but she's too damaged to be fixed overnight; too scarred to ever be pristine and new again.
"I'm sorry," she whispers now, glancing down at her lap.
"What for?"
Again, he's incredulous. Is her behavior really so extraordinary? It must be, because Fitz is staring at her like she's insane.
She doesn't know what to say. I'm sorry I'm not perfect. I'm sorry I have issues, things which happened to me before I met you. I'm just… sorry, for everything.
As usual, whenever she is struggling, fighting to keep her head above water, Fitz seems to know exactly what to do. "Come here." He stands up and pulls her to her feet, leading her across the kitchen tiles to an area by the door where there's a bit of space. He takes one of her hands in his and places the other against the small of her back, drawing her against him. Olivia lets her forehead come to rest on his shoulder as he begins to sway gently to the music. 'Darling, you send me…' It's a beautiful song, one of her favorites. Her dad still has the original vinyl at his house and the nostalgia of that thought makes her smile. They really need to play records together more often.
"You're dancing," she murmurs after a little while, turning her face towards his neck. She can't look at him just yet: she's too ashamed of herself.
"I am. Anything for you."
The song changes. After a few lines, a soft laugh escapes her. 'It's been a long time, a long time coming; but I know a change gonna come.'
She looks up and sees Fitz is amused as well. "How apt," he says, and she feels his voice rumbling in his chest, his thumb brushing up and down her spine, his love for her surrounding them.
"I'm so sorry," Olivia says solemnly, stilling their movement. This time, he allows her to apologize. "You're so good to me, and I let myself get caught up in the past. I've ruined this evening-"
"Livvie, ssh." She stops at the authority in his voice. "You haven't ruined anything. I'm here for you, no matter what you have to go through. I want all of you; every last piece. Even the ones you don't like, the ones that hurt."
He leans down, touching the tip of his nose to hers. "I'll wait for as long as you need me to. I'll always be here. And I'll cook for you every damn night from now on, just to prove to you that you are so deserving of love, Olivia."
"Thank you." She can't help but smile, even as she reaches up to kiss him. "Can we start tonight over?"
"Which part?" he replies. "I don't want to erase our hot little make out session."
"Me neither," she giggles. He kisses her again and she lets herself get swept away, surrendering to him. Why can't she just be happy right here, in these moments, with this incredible man? Why does she keep sabotaging herself?
It's only been a month, says a voice in her head. You've already started to face your demons. Just give it time.
And she promises herself that she will, because time is something they have.
At least, that's what she thinks...
After the most delicious risotto, so rich with garlic and parmesan, and a dessert of melt-in-the-middle chocolate puddings, they snuggle down on the sofa and switch on the TV. Olivia is barely paying attention, distracted by the feel of Fitz's body beneath hers, by his straying hands. Her dress is short and low-cut, a satiny cream-colored fabric which clings to every curve, and he's taking full advantage of the easy access beneath it and all the bare skin that's on offer.
After a while just playing with each other, pretending to be interested in the comedy show rerun, he shifts her off his lap and stands. With his shirt partially unbuttoned and his hair a mess from her fingers, he looks absolutely delicious. She can see the outline of his erection against the backdrop of the TV screen. "Stay here," he commands, his voice throaty and low.
She watches him leave, feeling her body humming with desire, aching at the loss of him. She squeezes her thighs together; tries to be patient but finds it an impossible task. She's already on her feet, intending to go look for him, when he calls for her.
"Come upstairs, baby."
He's filled the bedroom with candles: the floor, the windowsill, the bedside tables. There's music up here too, more of the same, gentle soul. It's the most romantic scene she's ever seen and there in the middle, still dressed in his clothes and looking at her like she's his whole world, is the most romantic man she'll ever know.
With a smile, he takes her into his arms once again and resumes their dance. She starts to speak, although she's not sure what she can say to express how this makes her feel, but he quiets her with his finger on her lips. There's fire in his eyes, and lust, and love. If he hadn't already banished all her doubts, that look alone would, in an instant.
As they move in small circles, their hips swaying to the slow tempos and crooning voices, Fitz begins his very deliberate, methodical worship of her. He doesn't make a sound, other than his heavy breathing which sends shivers through her when it caresses her ear, the side of her neck. He kisses her only briefly, always breaking away too soon to trail his lips along her jaw, down the column of her throat. Olivia is burning up for him, frustrated and aroused by his torturously leisurely pace in equal measure. She wants to tell him to stop, to go faster, to touch her where she needs it most, but she can't. He has all the power. He's completely enchanted her.
After a little while he turns her around. Their eyes meet in the mirror and he smiles again, but she can't. His fingers easily find her zipper and he kisses every inch of exposed skin as he slowly unfastens her dress, from the back of her neck all the way down to her bottom. She feels his teeth nipping at her, pulling at the lace she's wearing, and more heat pools in her core. The dress falls to the floor, lying forgotten around her ankles because Fitz's hands are on her hips and his nose is pressing against the inside of her thigh, his teeth grazing the most hidden part of her panties, and she can barely stay on her feet because everything feels so. damn. good right now. Then he licks along the creases between the tops of her legs and her gluteal muscles, somewhere no one else has cared to explore before, and she has to retract her statement because this is better than good: this is something like heaven.
He withdraws soon after, leaving her gasping for him. There's tension in every single one of her muscles; she's soaking wet, and he's barely touched her. He stands in front of her and takes off his clothes. She wants to touch him too but she knows, instinctively, that if she reaches out he will stop her. How could she have thought him selfish? This is all about her.
He moves behind her once more, pressing every inch of his hard, bare body up against her. They're still facing the mirror and she watches, feels, his hands roaming over her: her shoulders, her arms; down across her abdomen, the barest touch between her legs - which makes her arch helplessly - and back up, to her chest. He takes hold of her breasts, kneads them, and they're so tight and it feels so amazing, but then he's gone again, far too soon.
Her bra is undone quickly, by his clever fingers. She takes it off and throws it aside, careful to avoid the candles. If it set on fire, she's not sure she would notice right now. Fitz remains right behind her, the heat of his body enveloping her, his erection hot and insistent against her lower back. Feeling him there turns her on even more. She wants to take him into her mouth, to make him moan her name, but again she knows that wouldn't be allowed.
"Do you remember," he says, his words shaking her bones, "that night in the hotel?" His arms encircle her and she covers them with her own, sliding her fingers into the spaces between his. The flickering candlelight on their bodies blurs their skin so they start to become one, white and brown and golden; aflame. "When I held you against the wall and we just looked at each other; the first time I was bare inside of you?"
Of course she remembers. How could she ever forget?
"I do." Her voice is hoarse from lack of use, from desire. He's been holding her gaze in the mirror this whole time and she knows he can see what that night meant to her; the wonder she still feels when she thinks about it.
"You know," he goes on, tightening his grip on her, "I've been doing some reading about Tantric sex since then. It's all about the journey, not the destination. It's about connecting with each other on the deepest level; gazing into each other's souls."
His hands are beginning to wander again, his left up to her breasts, his right down low on her belly. "I think we were doing it without even realizing," he says and she has to agree, even as her eyes fall closed because his thumb is brushing over her nipple and it's sending electricity to the end of every single nerve.
She feels his mouth on her neck, his teeth biting her earlobe as his fingers now slip into her panties and push them down her legs. "Come sit with me," he instructs gently. She follows him to the bed without hesitation.
He settles in the middle of the mattress, feet together and knees apart, and she sits in the space between his legs, resting hers around his hips. They automatically shuffle closer together until they're touching: her chest against his, his cock against her center but not inside - not yet. He nuzzles her nose and smiles at her, and she can't help but smile back. His hands are resting at her lower back, hers behind his neck. The music is still playing softly but it seems more distant now; muted. Olivia breathes in, filling her lungs, and focuses on all the sensations in her body: the ache deep down inside her, pulsing in time with her heartbeat; the feel of his skin, his dark hair against her tight, tender nipples; the new and incredible feeling of being in such an intimate position with him and not having sex.
They stay there for an indeterminate amount of time, breathing in and out together in sync, soul-gazing. It feels comfortable from the very start: she's not embarrassed to be baring herself to him, literally and mentally, as maybe she would have thought she might be. At some point they start to alternate their breaths, sharing each other's air like they did that night in London. Fitz's fingertips are gently caressing her back, her arms; hers are in his hair, running over the arches and lines of his face. Every single touch heightens her arousal; every passing second deepens her desire for him. It's starting to become unbearable and yet at the same time, she wants to delay the end for as long as possible because this is the most phenomenal experience of her life.
When he finally kisses her, it's so light she barely feels it; just a whisper of his lips over hers. They continue to look at each other as he kisses her again and again and she realizes she can see inside of him, can see everything: that this is a man who really, truly loves her. They are connected now by something beyond them, by their shared energy which is almost tangible in the stillness of the room. She will never be able to go back now, to life before him. They've made a bond which will last forever.
They seem to decide at the same time that they're nearing the finish line; that they can't last any longer, full to the brim with sexual tension, with uncontainable longing. When Fitz lifts her and then lowers her back down onto him, the feeling of fullness is unlike anything she's ever known before. Her muscles dilate to accommodate him, drawing him even deeper; she whimpers and tilts her head back as he moves just a little and she clenches helplessly around him.
"Not yet," he murmurs, holding her still, waiting patiently until she's able to look at him again. The temptation to come is almost unavoidable; it takes all her willpower to stay there, right on the edge, with him. "I just want to sit with you like this for a while."
How can she refuse?
They continue to breathe together. He inhales on her exhale, making his body rise ever so slightly, making him move millimeters inside of her but she can feel it, and it makes her wetter and hotter and more tense than ever. He's so close too: his eyes tell her, and the indentation of his fingertips on her skin, and the small twitches of his hips he's trying to suppress. The air around them is stifling, heavy with anticipation. The current song is starting to build, to fill with more voices, an orchestra; a crescendo which is so perfectly reflective that Olivia finally decides it's time.
She begins to move, using her feet on the bed and her arms on his shoulders for leverage. She's only taking him in and out by about an inch but it's enough for him to get the message; to take hold of her waist and help lift her up and down. They don't go fast - they don't need to. He's stroking the inside of her, stroking her towards the most intense climax of her life, and her clit is rubbing against his lowest abs and she's going to fall, gazing into his dark eyes, the two of them bound together now, as one…
When she starts to come, it's gentle at first; a trickle of pleasure, building slowly from the inside, allowing her to savor every single second. She doesn't have to tell him that it's begun: she can see from his mesmerized expression that he already knows. He dips his head and sucks her left nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over her, his teeth. It intensifies every feeling, makes her muscles contract a little more forcefully, taking her higher, further. This is the best place in the world; she wants to stay forever and yet she's also desperate to get to the end, the finale, the pinnacle of fulfilment. She's moving faster now, coming harder, every sensation snowballing; an avalanche ravaging through her body. She starts to moan, unable to hold it in any longer, and Fitz kisses her, taking the sound into him; absorbing everything she's giving out. She feels his grip tighten and knows he's right there too, just about to fall.
And then suddenly he's pounding into her and the most powerful orgasm hits her, overriding everything else she's felt tonight, slamming through her with a force which leaves her breathless and boneless, which removes her from reality for an unknown amount of time. Wave upon wave of ecstasy rolls over her, from the epicenter between her thighs all the way to her fingers, her toes. She's aware of Fitz beside her, beneath her, around her; his face buried in her neck, shaking uncontrollably. She clings to him as if her life depends on in, feeling his heart pounding against her chest. He's everything right now. There's nothing else but him, but them.
It seems like a long while later when Olivia finally starts to regain some sense of herself. She's lying on top of him on the bed; every so often her legs jerk, fizzing with aftershocks. She feels totally broken, like her fragile body was unable to contain that amount of pleasure.
"My god," Fitz is saying, his voice barely formed. She thinks maybe they broke him too.
"I know," she breathes, unable to open her eyes. "I know."
She wonders if she's fallen asleep because the next thing she knows, Fitz is gently moving her off of him and getting up from the bed. The music stops; the darkness behind her eyelids deepens and, if she concentrates, she can hear him blowing out the candles.
He rolls her over, freeing the covers from beneath her limp form, tucking her back underneath and wrapping her up in his arms. He kisses her forehead, holding onto her fiercely. I love you, she wants to say, but she's so tired that the words won't come.
Sleep takes her in seconds.
"I love you, Olivia."
But she's so satiated, so exhausted that she's already asleep. Fitz says it again anyway, because he's never felt it as acutely as he does right now. It's never ached in his bones before, never burned beneath his skin like this, fighting its way out of him; finally unleashed by the earth-shattering experience they've just shared.
"I love you."
Henry arrives home from Belize the following evening. Fitz picks him up from the airport as Olivia is attending a charity event in the city.
"I'd really like to tell him about us," he'd said to her that morning at breakfast. She didn't mention his admission the night before; didn't give any inkling that she'd heard him, which he's partly pleased about because he doesn't want to freak her out, but partly saddened by because she needs to know that she is loved. She deserves to know, even if she doesn't believe that herself. "You're bound to meet each other when you visit here, and he's one of my oldest friends."
"Do you trust him?"
"Yes."
"Then so do I." She'd smiled at him over the brim of her mug of ginger tea. "My friends know. It wouldn't be fair to ask you to keep it from yours."
He'd kissed her and then driven her home, because they both had some work to do during the day. "Thank you," she'd said, leaning over towards the driver's seat to wrap her arms around him. "Last night was so incredible."
"I know. You are so incredible, Livvie."
She'd given him a look which said, You're so sweet. I'm so flattered.
He'd returned it with one of his own: I can't wait to get you naked again.
She'd laughed and blushed as she exited the car, restarting his internal timer which logs how much he misses her until the next time they're together again. Now, twelve hours later, it's already registering 'a lot'.
"Ah, it is so good to be home," Henry says, settling down into the sofa with a beer. "So, what's new? How's Olivia?"
He wiggles his blonde eyebrows, even lighter now after three months in the sun, and Fitz laughs. "She's great. Really great, actually."
"Oh? It's serious then?"
"Yeah." His friend has no idea. "It's pretty serious."
"Wow. And so soon after Mellie."
Fitz shrugs. "You know what she was like. We hadn't really gotten along for years. I already knew I didn't love her before I left."
Henry nods. He's been Fitz's marriage confidant for a long time. "So, how did you and Olivia meet?"
"At the Global Initiative in London. She was seated next to me."
"She works in women's rights too? That's handy."
"Yeah, she does. You'd know her, actually. Well, you'd know of her. I don't think you've met before."
He waits. Henry is a clever guy, he'll work it out. Olivia plus women's rights equals…
"No way!" his friend exclaims just seconds later. He sits up straight, almost spilling his drink in the process. "You're dating Olivia Pope? She's the Olivia?"
Fitz can't help but grin in what he's sure is a very smug way. "She is."
"Fuck."
"I know. That's what I think, every day. She's just… phenomenal. I think I fell in love with her the moment we met."
"I can see why, man. But what the hell made her interested in you?"
"Maybe the fact I'm not a complete ass like you," Fitz retorts, their old banter always returning so effortlessly.
"Takes one to know one."
"What are you, eight years old?"
"Quite possibly." They both laugh. Henry leans over to clink his beer bottle against Fitz's. "Well, congrats buddy. I'm happy for you."
"Thanks. We're keeping it quiet though. Obviously I'm still married - although I've already filed for divorce - and we want to protect Olivia's reputation."
"I won't tell a soul," he promises. "Although can you imagine the look on Miss Melody's face when she finally finds out she's been traded for a younger model? And for Olivia Pope no less - America's newest sweetheart."
Fitz doesn't really ever want to think about his soon-to-be ex-wife's face again, but he also doesn't want to purposefully hurt her. He just nods and lets his friend enjoy his little joke. Divorce has made Henry bitter; Fitz hopes he won't end up the same way. With Olivia by his side, he thinks he'll be okay.
"Now, what about you?" he says, changing the topic of conversation. "Any señoritas I need to be aware of?"
"Ah, I do have some stories for you…"
A week later finds them in a cab together on their way to Unicef USA's annual fundraising ball. Fitz hasn't told Olivia he's going too: he's about to surprise her, and he can't wait to see the look on her face. When he first received the invitation six months ago, he wasn't in a good place. The thought of having to take his wife was so unappealing that he'd declined altogether, sending a donation instead. But then it turned out that Henry had acquired a spare ticket from a colleague who was staying on in Belize and it took little persuasion for Fitz to accept it.
They have to queue to enter The Prince George Ballroom, slowly edging forwards until they can enter the elegant foyer. Here there's a blue carpet - Unicef blue - and several photographers snapping shots of the guests against a backdrop of sponsors' logos. He and Henry pose together, just as the people in front of them did. He wonders if anyone knows who they are but someone shouts his name - "Dr Grant, over here!" - and he smiles in that direction. He's been in the field a long time, had articles written about him and his work before, but not for a few years. It's very flattering to be recognized.
They each take a glass of pink Champagne and Fitz scans the room for any sign of Olivia, but she's not here yet. He does see several people he knows though, from way back, and he and Henry go over to say hello, to catch up.
It must be about fifteen minutes later when the room suddenly starts to grow louder; people are moving, edging towards the entrance. "It's Olivia Pope," someone whispers and when Fitz turns, tall enough to see over most people's heads, she's there.
She looks… sensational. He can't think of any other word to describe her. Her long hair is tied up in a smooth ponytail; a one-shouldered black dress envelops her body, hugging her breasts and the curves of her waist, her hips, her ass. It falls all the way to the floor but when she moves he realizes there's a split in the left side, revealing her slender leg all the way to her thigh. His gaze rises over her again, greedy, and this time he sees that between her collarbones, highlighted by the flash of the cameras, is the pink diamond necklace he gave her just two weeks ago. Her glossy lips are also pink as she smiles at each and every camera, showing off her perfect teeth, her high cheekbones. She poses effortlessly, like she's been doing this since the day she was born. She is glamor, perfection, personified and it seems utterly impossible to him, in this moment, that this is the same woman he calls Livvie: the sweet girl he cuddles in bed, who runs her fingers through his hair as he's falling asleep; the girl who cries in his arms when she's feeling overwhelmed.
"Wow," Henry says, close to his ear. "You are one lucky son of a bitch."
I know, Fitz wants to reply but he can't, because he's already making his way towards her. The crowd seems to be settling back down again, having had their fill of her - this celebrity in their midst. He loiters at the end of the blue carpet, hiding behind the last photographer. She's talking to a couple of them, people she's obviously met before. He wonders if they're used to this kind of interaction with the stars they take pictures of, or if she's just particularly nice. He thinks it's the latter, although he'll admit that he's biased.
She doesn't see him straight away. She takes a glass of bubbles from a proffered tray, listening to another woman who is speaking in her ear. Olivia laughs at her friend, someone Fitz doesn't recognize, and they walk off together around the edge of the room. A journalist taps her arm, gets her attention, and she greets him warmly before they begin to chat. Fitz stands close enough to hear what she's saying: "The work that Unicef USA does in support of the United Nation's Children's Fund is extraordinary. They are helping children all across the world; uplifting them from poverty, removing them from warzones, providing them with educations. I'm honored to be invited to this event, to help their cause in any way I can."
She moves away again, playing the socialite, saying hi to almost everyone she passes. It's fascinating to see her like this; he's torn between revealing himself and just observing her. An old acquaintance comes over and strikes up conversation with him, distracting him. They talk for several minutes, reminiscing about their time together in South America, more than fifteen years ago now. Henry joins them and eventually Fitz decides enough time has passed that he can excuse himself without being rude.
Olivia is standing by the far wall in a small group of people, her back to him. If their relationship was anything resembling normal he'd just walk up to her, put his arm around her waist, kiss her cheek. Instead he's forced to wait once more, to judge the right moment to surprise her. He doesn't want her reaction to give their whole game away. It's less than a minute later when her companions disperse, leaving her momentarily alone. Fitz takes his chance.
"Excuse me," he says, coming up behind her. "I'm looking for the most beautiful woman in the room…"
The look on her face when she turns is priceless. Stunned just doesn't cut it.
"Oh my god!" She throws her arms around his neck, her body rising into his. "What the hell are you doing here?" she whispers.
Maybe she holds on a second too long; maybe he should stop her, remind her where they are, but he can't. She smells so enticing, feels amazing in his embrace. The temptation to draw back and kiss her, to show her how much he loves and desires her right now, is almost too much.
Eventually sense seems to dawn on her and she releases him, forcing herself to take half a step backwards. They're still close enough that he can feel the heat of her skin radiating across to him. Her gaze falls down over his tux and when she meets his gaze again, he knows her thoughts have become just as indecent as his.
"You look so amazing," he tells her quietly. He has to put his hands in his pockets to stop himself from touching again her.
"So do you," she replies. She plays with her Champagne glass, almost empty now, and she's clearly having the exact same problem. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
"I wanted to surprise you."
"Well, you succeeded."
They smile at one another. Fitz is falling into her dark eyes; drowning in her. He can sense her breathing becoming more erratic. What he wouldn't give to be able to kiss her right now: just once, to quench his thirst.
"Fitz," she murmurs after a long moment, dragging him back to reality. He shakes his head a little and tries to calm the fire in his blood.
"Sorry."
"You see, this is why we can't be at events together."
"Well I'm here, so you'd better learn to deal with it."
She's trying not to smile again, pursing her lips. "You're incorrigible."
"I am not! Wait, what does incorrigible mean again?"
She laughs and looks away, absentmindedly smoothing down her dress over her abdomen. "Persistent. Incurable. Hopeless."
Fitz pretends to consider her. "I am all those things, when it comes to you."
"So cheesy," she sighs, rolling her eyes.
"You love it."
"I don't."
"You do."
Fortunately their childish game is interrupted by the arrival of Henry. He's met Olivia already this week, when she came to his house for dinner and stayed the night. "Miss Pope," he says, kissing her on both cheeks when she turns and smiles at him.
"Hi Henry. How are you?"
"I am fantastic, thank you very much. I see you're busy chatting up my plus one?"
She laughs again, her gaze sliding briefly back to Fitz's. It's full of humor, of secrets, of promises. "So you're the reason he nearly scared me to death just now?"
Henry puts his hand to his heart. "Guilty as charged, ma'am."
"Do you still do any work for Unicef?"
"No, but we're old pals, aren't we?" He puts his arm around Fitz's shoulders. "We were volunteering together when you were still in junior school."
Fitz does a quick calculation - he's absolutely right.
"That's scary," Olivia admits, smiling self-consciously.
"That's what happens when you choose to date an old man."
Fitz withdraws from his friend, amused. "Hey, you. Stop with the 'old'. I get enough of that from her. You're only two years younger than me."
"And it shows, right?" Henry grins at Olivia and strikes a pose, showing off his jawline, pouting his lips. She giggles and glances at Fitz again, her eyebrows raised, silently asking: Is he for real?
Oh yes, he replies with a nod, a mock-exasperated expression. Just then a waiter comes over to them and announces that dinner is due to be served, and can they please make their way into the ballroom.
Fitz follows Olivia close behind, using the crowd to hide the hand he places on her waist. "By the way," he says next to her ear, "I love your necklace. Who bought you that?"
She turns her face towards him, her lips curved in a smile. "A pretty awesome guy."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. The same guy I'm gonna take home with me tonight, after this is over. If he's interested, of course."
"Oh Livvie," he sighs. "He will always be interested."
They do spend that night together, and every subsequent one for the next week. The longer they're together, the more insatiable they're becoming: they make love all evening, eating only as a means to refuel, to carry them through into the early hours of the morning. By the time Friday comes Olivia is exhausted. She can't wait for the weekend, to have some time to relax.
It starts out just like any other day. She goes to yoga in the morning, staving off an unsettled stomach with ginger tea. She's busy at work, approving plans for her organization's upcoming Christmas fundraisers, reading several new UN reports. She takes a longer lunch than normal, treating herself and Quinn, before her assistant goes back to the office to finish up and Olivia heads to her doctor's appointment. She's down to her last strip of the pill and needs a new prescription.
She didn't know it then but then next time she saw her friend, she would be an entirely different person.
"What can I do for you today, Olivia?" Dr Roberts asks as she takes a seat. She's young, maybe just thirty, with a hint of a Southern accent. They've not met before; Olivia rarely comes here and doesn't have a regular physician.
"I just wanted another prescription for Micronor please."
"No problem." She looks at her computer screen. "You last script was back in 2012, according to this."
"Yeah. I stopped taking it for a while, between relationships. I found some left over about four weeks ago and started it again. It was still in date."
"Okay. Let me just take your blood pressure." Olivia rests her arm on the desk and waits patiently as the numbers tick down, measuring her vitals.
"Perfect," Dr Roberts declares. She removes the cuff and turns back to her computer. "So, are you in a new relationship?"
"Yes." She thinks automatically of Fitz, of how excited she is to spend time with him this weekend.
"Have you been having sex without condoms?"
She frowns. Surely that's obvious? "Yes, we have."
"Have you both been checked for sexually transmitted infections?"
Olivia frowns. It hadn't even occurred to her, despite all the warnings she's received at school and university. She knows she's clean, and she's sure Fitz is too. "No," she admits.
Dr Roberts doesn't react, doesn't judge her. "Okay. Well, we should get you tested anyway, just to be safe."
"Okay."
"Now, tell me about your cycles. When was your last period?"
It seems like a lot of interrogation just to get a prescription but Olivia dutifully checks her calendar on her phone to find out. Now she thinks about it, it's been ages. "August thirtieth til September second."
"Are you usually regular?"
"Yes. Every four weeks."
Her doctor looks at the calendar on her desk. "So you should have had a period the weekend you started the pill? Do you think you could be pregnant?"
When Olivia thinks back to this moment in the days and weeks that follow, she'll remember it as the very first time she realized that one simple question can change the entire world.
Do you think you could be pregnant?
The immediate answer is: no. Obviously not. If I'd thought I was pregnant I'd have come here saying exactly that.
The next answer is: it's impossible. I'm on the pill.
The third, and most devastating, is: fuck. I don't know.
Dr Roberts gives her a moment. When she next speaks, her voice is gentle. "I think you should go and take a pregnancy test, Olivia." She opens a drawer and takes out a small white packet, a pot with a yellow lid. "At the same time, we can collect a urine sample for the STI test. The bathroom is just across the hall; come straight back in when you're done. Okay?"
"Yes," Olivia says automatically. She moves without really being aware of it, her body controlled by something else, her brain fixated on three words: I can't be. If she repeats it enough times that will make it true, right?
She pees into a plastic cup from the stack on edge of the sink; dips the end of the white stick into the clear yellow liquid and recaps it again. Then she fills the other pot and washes her hands, still on autopilot. I can't be.
She passes her wares back to Dr Roberts and sits down. Her heart is beginning to hammer in her chest. What if-?
I can't be.
"It's positive."
Her head jerks up and she stares at this woman, this stranger. What?
"I'm sorry?"
"It's positive, Olivia."
"I… It can't be."
She thinks her heart might escape from her body. Dr Roberts shows her the two red lines which will alter the course of her life forever.
"Sometimes these tests take up to two minutes to give a result but when it's this fast, it's definitely positive."
"Oh."
Oh.
And then a barrage of thoughts begins to flash through her mind, so fast she can barely keep track: the morning nausea, the sudden dislike of coffee, the forgetfulness, the emotions, the fatigue. When did this happen? Was it in London? What is she going to do? Her career, her life, her father. And Fitz… What will he think? What will he want to do? Can they have a baby together? They barely know each other. Does she even want to have a child? Can she? What does she know about being a mother?
It's too much. She realizes she's crying; Dr Roberts is handing her a tissue.
"Thanks," she mumbles, wiping her eyes, trying to take deep breaths. "Oh my god."
She sinks back into the chair and gazes up at the ceiling. Is she looking for help? Hoping her mom, or God, or someone will tell her what to do?
"I take it this is unexpected," the doctor says with a kind smile and Olivia finds herself reciprocating in a bizarre way, like her mouth no longer belongs to her. She certainly doesn't feel like smiling.
"You could say that."
She has never, in her twenty-seven years, entertained the idea of having a baby. Not once. It's always been something she's assigned to 'the future'; to being in her mid-thirties, married, settled. It's certainly not something she would ever have planned at this age, in a brand new relationship, with her career really starting to take off. How could they have been so careless?
"I'd like to send you for an ultrasound scan, to find out how far along you are. By your dates, you could be up to eight weeks pregnant."
Olivia shakes her head. "That's impossible. We only met six weeks ago."
"Pregnancies are dated from the first day of your last menstrual period, which was August thirtieth. Often women don't know the exact day they conceived so it's done in this way to avoid confusion. The sonogram will confirm the dates of your pregnancy by measuring the size of your baby."
Your baby.
That just sounds so wrong.
Suddenly Olivia feels like she needs to get out of there; to run away from all these new words, from this terrifying future she's somehow stumbled into.
"Can I go now?"
Dr Roberts looks at her for a long moment. "I know this is scary, Olivia. This is life-changing, no matter what you decide to do. I think you should talk to your partner about it, take some time to figure out what happens next. If you choose not to continue with the pregnancy, here are some leaflets about abortion facilities in the city…"
She's still talking but Olivia's mind has drifted again. Abortion. Such an ugly word. She's worked with women who've had abortions; specifically, women who've been raped, desolate, desperate. She's seen them before and afterwards, listened to their fears, their resolutions, their regrets. It always seemed like another world, back then; somewhere she would never need to go.
"Come back and see me any time, if you want to talk."
She refocuses her attention on the woman in front of her. "I've been drinking," she says, from nowhere. "Alcohol, I mean. I didn't know."
Guilt floods her. There's a tiny life inside of her and she's been poisoning it for weeks. What kind of a mother would she be if she's already doing it wrong?
"That's okay," Dr Roberts says, leaning forward. "A significant percentage of the women I see have unplanned pregnancies. They continue to drink as normal until they find out; some of them smoke, too. The vast, vast majority go on to have completely normal babies. It's repeated alcohol consumption, over time, which causes harm. The occasional glass of wine has never been shown to be dangerous. You should start taking folic acid though, for development. I'll give you a prescription to take until you reach twelve weeks, if that's the decision you make."
"And the pill I was taking?"
"Not harmful," Dr Roberts reassures her. "The hormone that it contains is a synthetic version of progesterone, which literally means 'pro pregnancy'. It's the hormone that prepares the uterus for implantation of the fetus; it influences the baby's development and causes changes in your body such as growth of breast tissue and preparation for labor. But let's not get ahead of ourselves," she says with a smile, obviously noting the look of horror on her patient's face. "Here's a form for the sonogram. If you call around a few centers, you might be able to get a last-minute appointment this afternoon."
Olivia leaves the office a minute later, on shaky legs. The very first thing she does on the street outside, making sure she's not being overheard by anyone, is phone the radiology clinics listed on the referral form. She has to know all the facts before she goes home and tells Fitz. She needs as much information as possible, to be prepared, to feel even slightly in control of the situation. Miraculously, the first place she calls has a cancellation in twenty minutes. It's four blocks away; she can make it easily. She gives them a false name over the phone: she'll explain properly when she gets there; make sure they abide by their own confidentiality agreements.
The sonogram is fascinating. To her it's just a grainy black and white picture on a screen; completely meaningless, like a foreign language. But to the sonographer who is performing the scan, holding the cold probe inside her vagina because it's too early to see anything through her abdomen, it obviously makes perfect sense because she's taking measurements, tapping away on the machine.
"You are seven weeks and five days," she announces. "Here is your baby."
Olivia looks but she's not sure what she's seeing. That little grey dot is a baby? It can't be. It's so tiny. She nods and pretends she understands; smiles and acts as though she's a happy, expectant mother. But actually, she's confused. This whole afternoon has been unreal. Has it even happened? Wasn't she just at lunch with Quinn ten minutes ago? She's not really pregnant, is she? Maybe that miniscule thing inside her uterus is just an anomaly, an error. Maybe this whole day is just a dream.
She gets home around five o'clock, completely forgetting to stop by the office, to tell Quinn she's done for the week. When she checks her phone there's a message from her, asking if everything is okay.
Fine, she types. Have a great weekend xx.
She's restless now. She makes a cup of tea and then worries about the caffeine content. Can she drink tea now? Is caffeine allowed in pregnancy?
In pregnancy. That makes her laugh. The only thing she's in right now is a kind of detached denial.
She sticks to water and sits on the sofa; two minutes later she's up again, wandering to her bedroom, tidying up clothes. She stands in front of the mirror and contemplates looking at her body, checking for signs - but she doesn't dare. She can block out the two red lines, the ultrasound image; if her body has changed, she won't be able to ignore that.
She decides to go for a run; she's dressed and out of the door before she can even think twice. Two blocks away she stops, however. Can she run while pregnant? A horrible thought crosses her mind: what if she started to bleed, to miscarry (such an alien word)? Wouldn't that make everything easier, take the decision out of her hands? She can't think about it for too long. She's such a mess of emotions and it makes her want to cry.
Back at home she showers, avoiding the mirror until she's fully clothed again. She procrastinates as long as she can before she's finally out of distractions and she has to face her next, greatest dilemma: how is she going to tell Fitz? "Hey honey, how was your day? I went to the doctor for a prescription and came out with an STI test and the news that I'm pregnant. What do you feel like doing tonight?"
The problem isn't what he'll think of the news: she knows he'll be thrilled, because he's Fitz and he's already told her he loves kids and he's so serious about their relationship he won't see it as an issue. The problem is confessing that she has no idea what to do before he gets his hopes up. The problem is how not to break his heart.
He's out tonight, invited to a dinner with the Mayor and several other state politicians. It's good for him to make friends with these people, given his long-term ambitions, but it's horrendous timing. She wants to see him now. She wants him to hold her, to reassure her, to tell her what to do.
Against all her better judgements, she calls him. "Livvie? How are you?"
"Can I see you tonight?" Her voice is small, her hands shaking. She feels weak for asking, for needing him this much.
"Um, I'm just on my way to dinner. Is everything okay?"
"I… don't know." It's true: she has no idea.
"Do you want me to cancel?"
And he would, if she asked, but she can't do that to him. "No," she sighs. "Don't. Just come over after? Please."
"Of course. What's wrong, sweetheart?"
"I'll tell you later. Have a nice time."
"Livvie-" he says, but she hangs up. He's just too good. How can she tell him? How can she begin to explain all the thoughts racing through her brain? He deserves to start a family with a sensible adult: someone who knows exactly who they are; someone who's ready. Not someone who's so young, so unsure, so broken.
It's about three hours until he texts to say he's on his way. She's filled the evening watching TV, endless reruns of Friends. Every time there's mention of a pregnancy, a baby she looks away, muting the sound. By the time he's there she's in bed in her pajamas. She can barely look at him, her body a jumble of nerves. She feels sick.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, sitting down beside her, clearly sensing the gravity of the situation.
She shakes her head. "Can we just cuddle?"
He undresses, brushes his teeth in the bathroom. She switches off the light as he climbs into bed beside her, enfolding her in his arms. His familiar smell surrounds her and it's so soothing. This is Fitz, the man she loves. Maybe everything will be okay.
She doesn't speak for a long time. His breathing is regular, even; she wonders if he's asleep yet. She tries to imagine what their life would be like with a baby. It would be asleep now, in the bedroom down the hall or in a crib beside them. She would have to get up several times in the night to feed it, to soothe its cries. It would be dependent on her, on them, for the next eighteen years of its life - if not longer. And what about her career? What would the media say when they found out a married man had gotten her pregnant? What would her father say? How could she ever face him again?
Her thoughts are endless. Round and round she goes, making herself more upset and more afraid until she can't take it anymore. She has to tell Fitz, to ask him what they should do, or she'll explode.
She turns in his arms so she's facing him. He stirs, his hand rubbing her back. "Fitz?"
"Mm?"
Her heart is thundering against her ribs. She presses her face into his neck, breathing him in. If she whispers it here, maybe that's where it will stay: in the space between her lips and his skin, real and not real at the same time. "Fitz, I'm… I'm pregnant."
He stays very still for a moment. Perhaps he's wondering if she even spoke at all? But then he starts to move, lifting her head, bringing her face up to his in the dark. "What?" he asks, his voice no more than a murmur.
"I'm pregnant."
It's easier, now she's said it once. It still doesn't mean anything to her but at least she's told him; she's confessed. Now it's his turn to deal with the news.
He suddenly reaches for the light. "Don't," she says, because she doesn't want to see his face just yet, but it's too late. She blinks in the brightness. Fitz is sitting up, looking down at her.
"Sorry, but I had to turn it on. I needed to see you, to make sure I'm actually awake." He looks completely stunned, his wide blue eyes searching hers, trying to discern whether she's telling the truth. "How pregnant…" He stumbles over this unfamiliar vocabulary. "How far along are you?"
"Seven weeks, five days."
"But we only-"
"I know. It's to do with when my last period was."
He's silent again, processing. She sits up too, desperate to know what he's thinking. "When did you find out?" he asks, giving nothing away.
"This afternoon, at my doctor's appointment. I went for an ultrasound. I don't know when it happened, when we…"
She gestures vaguely in the direction of her abdomen and he glances down, obviously expecting to see some kind of change beneath her tank top. Their eyes meet again, vivid blue and terrified brown.
"That first morning in London," Fitz says quietly, as if describing an old memory which is very slowly coming back to him. "We were half asleep. I was spooning you. Did we use a condom then?"
Olivia shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe not."
There's a long pause. Tell me what you're thinking! she wants to shout. I can't take this anymore.
But of course, this is Fitz. The sweetest, kindest man; the only person in the world who knows her well enough to have any idea about the sort of internal struggles she might be going through right now. He doesn't say: "I think we should…" or "I'm so happy/sad/otherwise." He knows it's not about him; that this is far more complicated than a yes-no decision. He knows her, and he knows there's no easy fix, no matter how much she wishes there was.
Instead he looks at her and asks, in a steady voice: "What are you going to do?"
And she responds in the only way she can: "I have no idea."
