There were things she enjoyed about pregnancy. There were, many. But now, lying in bed, awake at 1am, having to go to pee, again, she can't think of any. Right now she hates this. She hates the kicking up her ribs right after she eats, and she hates the swollen feet, she hates that she is wobbly. Right now she is grumpy. She is grumpy and she is going to let him have it – she knows that they wanted this and it's their baby, but in that moment of grumpiness – it is his child, his fault her bladder is the size of a dime, and she won't accept anything less. She can't hear him breathing next to her – good. She can have her rant and give him a piece of her mind, without actually having to wake him up. She makes her way to the bathroom, slowly, barely – the whole entire time arguing with the baby. Only once she's done and regaining the control of the rational part of her mind does she realize that the only thing coming from the living room is dark – no light turned on, no laptop illuminating the room; no moving shadows from the TV; it is just darkness she was facing. She opens the door wider, inspecting the room, then stepping in – anger turning into worry. There's no light, and he's not on the couch. She makes her way to Zoey's door and peeks in, maybe she couldn't sleep and he was telling her one of his stories, but the room is filled only by her daughter's breathing. She calls him, but his phone starts vibrating on the kitchen counter. She tries the office although he hasn't been there since he's come back. She thinks about calling Cy, but Fitz has been avoiding him, so she opts against it – just a gut feeling. She doesn't know who else to call. She feels helpless and out of control. She's panicking. She knows, she knows rationally he could just be out, he could have gone to the park or something harmless like that. Except that it's the middle of the night and there's no note, no message and that's not like him, he knows she'd worry. And it's almost her due date; he wouldn't just leave without telling her; he wouldn't just leave her. Something's wrong – she just knows. She is pacing, small circles, stopping every little while to hold on to the couch. She's light-headed and her back hurts. She sits for a while, but then she's back on her feet – she needs to be moving. The tips of her toes emerging rhythmically, peeking from under her oversized belly. Then there's a click of the door; a click of the lock and she looks up a dark figure emerging from the hallway lights.

"Thank god." Is the first thing. And then, "Where have you been?" She can't see his face, no it's too dark for that, she can just see him taking a step back, and hanging his head.

"I went for a run." His voice is laced with guilt.

"In the middle of the night?" Her worry is evaporating, the panic leaving her body and all she's left with is anger – taking over – completely.

"Sorry." It's quiet, resigned to almost a whisper.

"Sorry? Seriously? You've been gone for almost three hours; I've been worried sick, and all I get is a sorry." She's hissing; not yelling, no, 3:30 am is not the time to yell.

"I don't know what else to tell you Liv." He sounds angry now too, irritated. He kicks off his shoes and walks off going into the bathroom. His eyes never leave the floor. She follows, in step; no longer wobbly or slow, no longer nine months pregnant; no, right now, she's just pure, distilled anger. He finally looks up as she shuts the bathroom door. The light is harsh, too bright; the light lets her see the redness in his eyes; the dark circles that stretch to his cheekbones; the light lets her see past the lies.

"Why did you go for a run?" Her voice is even now, almost emotionless, but not quite, not yet.

"I just needed to clear my head."

"You never came to bed."

"I just needed to clear my head."

"From what?"

"Nothing, Liv. I'm fine. I just need to splash some water on my face and shower." He dares. He dares her to leave, he dares her to believe. He knows how much she wants to, almost as much as he.

"No. You're not getting out of this. You say you went for a run to clear your head, but nothing is going on. You never came to bed and you look like you haven't slept for days. You just nodded as Zo told you about her day yesterday and you never do that; you didn't even ask about it today and you had five cups of coffee before midday. You don't come to bed and you're up before me every morning. And your eyes; bloodshot eyes." She slowly walks up to him, her thumb grazing his cheek, then she cups it. He leans into it. Relaxes into it. With her touch he closes his eyes. "Fitz, have you been sleeping?"

They stay like that for a while. He doesn't look up, no he keeps his eyes closed just feeling the warmth; feeling the soft skin on his cheek. Then, then she surprises him. She steps on her toes and lays a kiss on his left eyelid, softly drawing her other thumb over it, and then she does the same thing on the right side. A tear falls from his closed eye. She slowly drops kisses along his jawline. Her fingers trailing every, last one. Then she moves back to his eyes. He never looks up. She'll see past the lies; it will break her heart. But finally, she steps away, her hands still cupping his face, "Look at me." He doesn't. He can feel her stare, but he's looking away, his eyelids covering his shame. "Look at me." Her voice is weaker this time, it's a plea, it's a window into how broken she is; how much she's hurting. He can't stand this; not any more; it's time to tell her. It will break her, but then she can let him go. It will break her, but she will heal; she will heal and one day she'll be happy. It's time to break her, to set her free.

He finally opens his eyes and for a moment she's just lost in them, lost in their pain, trying to read it, to understand it, to take it away. "Why can't you sleep?" Her thumbs are still caressing his face. Barely touching it, but he feels the electricity.

"It's the guilt." He can't believe he's saying it; he can't believe he's letting it out, when he's tried so hard to keep it in, keep it buried.

"Because you lived?" Her voice high-pitched; the hope trying to mask the fear.

"Because I killed…" Her eyes are narrowing, she's shaking her head; but never dropping her gaze, never looking away. "Liv, I killed James."

She shakes her head. "No, no, you didn't."

"He came back for me…" He steps out of her reach and turns away, once again dropping his gaze. "He came back for me. He got out and then, then he realized I wasn't there and he ran back in. He went back in for me. He went back in and I, I was stuck. It was too bright, too hot, I couldn't see. He came back for me, and I could hear, but I couldn't see." He falls to his knees and she's just staring at him. Just listening. "I called out. I called out to him. He found me. He actually found me. In a burning building." He chuckles to himself. Not because it's funny, but because of what comes next. He chuckles at the cruelty of life, cruelty of death; because that's all that he can. "He opened the door. But the fire, the heat, it just exploded. The flames. Climbing up like a vine. And then suddenly they go wild. I ran out. I ran. He was there. He was OK. He was right behind me. But then, then the floor collapsed and he fell through. He tried to hold on, I tried to hold him up. But it was too hot. The flames were all around. I tried to hold on. But then, then I just let go. I let go of his hand and he fell. Fell into the flames. And I ran. I ran outside. I killed him. He's the reason I lived. And I… I'm the reason he died."

She doesn't know what to say. She just stares at the back of his head. She's trying to process. Her emotions are running wild, raging flames taking over her mind. Pain, he was in so much pain and he didn't let her in, he didn't let her help him. Hurt, he was hurting and she couldn't fix it. Fear, he was afraid and she couldn't take the fear away. Guilt, he was drowning in guilt; she could see it, she has been seeing it, but she just let it; she just left him, drowning. How could she do this to him, how could she let him believe; how could she fail to fix him. She sits on her knees. Behind him. "It was an accident." She's crying. He can feel it. He can feel the tears through the thin material of his shirt, he can feel her tears rolling down her cheeks; he can feel her tears falling on him. He thinks she's crying for him; for the man she thought was him; for the lost dreams. He thinks she's mourning his soul, he thinks she's letting him go. She's not. She's crying because she thinks she did this to him, she failed to see it, she failed to fix it, she failed to fix him. She's not letting him go, she's trying to hold on. Finally he speaks up.

"You have to let me go."

"What? No!"

"Livvy, I'm no good. I'm damaged goods. And I'll damage you too."

"No. I failed you. I know I failed you. But I can fix you. I can, I just… I just need some time. You can't leave. You can't just leave. I can fix this." She's sobbing now and he turns around.

"Livvy, what are you talking about?"

"I know I failed. I should have caught this earlier. I should have known what was wrong. I should have known." She's shaking; her whole body trembling.

"No, no, no. This, this isn't on you. You couldn't have known. You couldn't have caught this. You couldn't have fixed this. You couldn't have fixed me." He's lifting her chin up, trying to catch her eyes, but they're darting around, avoiding – the tears just keep on falling. "Liv." Nothing. "Livvy." He's pleading. "Look at me." She finally does. "You couldn't have fixed me. Nobody can. I can't be fixed. That's why I want you to leave." She just stares at him. The tears no longer falling, the tracks still shimmering in the light. But they dry. They dry while they sit there. In silence. No time, endless time; two lost souls in the universe. Finally, she speaks.

"I couldn't have fixed you." It's soft. A realization. Not for him, for her. "But we'll find someone to." And that, that is for him, for them. They'll find someone who can. They'll find someone to do what she can't. "I can't leave. I left. OK? That night, I freaked out and I left. I tried. I tried to move on. I tried to have a life. But for fifteen years I was reading your articles, taking in the words; I was looking for you in the streets; I was seeing your face, everywhere. You were everywhere. I left and you were still everywhere. And every time you left now, every time you were gone, I felt so lost, so alone. When we're apart; when you're away – I lose my way. I lose me. And I hate it. I hate that I need you to breathe, to eat, to sleep. I hate that I need you just to be, to exist. I hate it. And I tried to change it. For fifteen years I tried. And I tried when you were on the verge of death in that hospital. I tried. But I can't. So I can't leave. I can't leave you, without leaving a part of me too – a part that I need, a part that makes me, me. I can't leave. So don't push me. Don't make me." She's not crying. She's just pleading. Her heart racing; hurried breathing. She's panicking. He just pulls her in; wrapping his arms around her protectively.

"OK. It's OK. We're OK." Whispering. To her, to him. Just whispering. "I'm sorry."

They hear Zoey moving about. It's morning. The night long gone. He gets up slowly, then lifts her up. She washes her face; water taking away the traces of pain. He just watches her, mesmerized. He's not good enough; he'll never be good enough – all he can offer her is love. And somehow, she thinks that's enough. Somehow she thinks he's enough. She steps towards the door, but he pulls her back in and kisses her slowly. But then her tongue is playing with his bottom lip – it's salty; it's laced with tears. Suddenly the kiss is no longer slow, or soft – it's desperate, it's confused – it's him telling her – he loves her, he needs her and he wants her; it's her telling him – she'll never leave. It's a magical kiss; except there's no such thing. When they break away, they're both still afraid; afraid that they hurt each other more than they heal; that for all its power their love could kill – kill them; it could kill itself. Loving the other more than they love themselves; losing who they are in them. They are no longer capable of existing alone, and that scares them both. All great love stories are tragedies; all great loves loss of identity. They find themselves in each other, but they're lost apart – and this nightmare showed them just how much. And of that, that void, of that emptiness – they are afraid.

But their millisecond of fear is broken up by a splash – and they both look up.

"Is that?"

"Yeah."

"We're having a baby." And their lips stretch into a smile in a kiss.

So this was one of the most emotionally draining things I've ever written and that's saying something considering all my stories reside in the neighbourhood of Doom and Gloom.

Now, Fitz will go and see someone, because as a child who spent many hours in therapy - I believe in its holy powers of healing. And don't worry, I won't leave Liv like this either, but her wounds are of different kind, and from a different time, so it healing will be a bit different. And we'll come to that. But in the meantime - THEY'RE HAVING A BABY, and they're gonna have some happy :)

Thanks for reviewing - you sticking with this story is really inspiring. Especially when writing chapters like this :)