My attempt to make up for the sadness of the last chapter. This is for Roo. Because she needed some cheering up.
"Morning." He says as he rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm, sleepily.
"Morning." She looks up from her laptop and gives him a small smile. There are dark circles under her eyes, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She's wearing his NAVY sweatshirt, her knobby knees tucked under it neatly. He rubs her shoulders lightly, the hard knots around her neck worry him, but he doesn't say anything. He just lets her melt into his touch; even that is a good sign; it's progress. She leans her head back, and lets the heat of his body warm her up. He leans down and kisses her forehead. It's feather-light and so tender; as if he's afraid anything more would be too much. She closes her eyes and tries to focus on the feel of his lips against her skin; tries to hold on to it after he lifts his head. "More." She says, her eyes still closed, and he chuckles, squeezing her shoulders.
He bends down again, and kisses the bridge of her nose; then lays soft kisses on her eyelids; then the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. They're upside down, and it's sloppy; his jaw is on her forehead, and their noses are hitting each other at an awkward angle. But the sensation of his lips on hers, of the soft warmth that feels like home, that makes the world stop; that makes forget about life, about death – his lips on hers are all she knows in that moment.
"Mhmmmm." She murmurs against his lips, smiling. He pulls away slightly, but stays within reach and she runs her hands through his unruly curls. She loves his hair right after he gets up in the morning – out of place, a few daring curls on his forehead; it's inviting and intimate, and a privilege that comes with a life together. "Hi."
He kisses the tip of her nose again, "Hi." He walks around the chair and leans on the table, so that he's facing her. She tilts her head and looks at him, smiling. She can see the worry in his eyes; sometimes, sometimes he almost succeeds in masking it, but she can see the shadows behind the bright blue. She runs her hand down his arm, until her fingers are resting in his palm.
"I love you."
"How bad is it today?" He asks as he brings her hand to his lips.
"A six." She says, looking away, trying to focus on the fresh coat of snow in the garden.
"Liv?" And he squeezes her hand, giving her a look she knows well.
"An eight."
"What did we say?" He asks as he pulls her up. He wraps his arms around her, resting his forehead on hers.
"No sugarcoating." She says as she closes her eyes and inhales his scent. She misses him. He's right there. But he's hovering. He's treating her like she will break at any moment; like a needy grip, or a deep kiss will unravel her, like she's too fragile to handle the intensity of his love. She misses the taste of his tongue, the texture of his mouth; she misses exploring his body, grabbing the exposed flesh with hungry hands; she misses the feel of him, deep inside her; the insanity that comes with it, with them, with sex; the contentment; the connection; the intimacy. She misses him, but all she sees in his eyes is worry, and not desire.
"Morning." Zoey chimes from the stairs, Nur in her arms, her head resting on the teenager's shoulder. She stirs a little bit at the noise, and gurgles in discontent, making them chuckle.
"Hey Zo." He kisses the top of her head, and runs his hand though Nur's wild curls, before making his way to the kitchen.
"Morning sweetheart." Liv pulls her into a hug. "Let me take little miss fussy off your hands, you should go get ready for school."
"That's OK, I-"
"Zo, I love you for helping out. And we both appreciate it-"
"We really do." He chimes from the kitchen.
"But you're a teenager. So you go take an insane amount of time to get ready for school, because your boyfriend is picking you up. And then rush downstairs, grab the toast and run out of the house without saying goodbye. Act like the teenager that you are. We want you to. Life has to go on." And she takes Nur from her hands before the girl can protest.
"How did you know-"
"That Ben's been picking you up?" Fitz yells from the kitchen, a tone of disapproval in his voice. A tone that makes both ladies them roll their eyes, and makes Nur clap her chubby hands happily. "Well, deciding to walk to school each morning, but not leaving enough time to get there on foot, is a pretty good indicator."
"Also, the fact that you stopped putting your lip gloss on before leaving the house." Liv whispers in her ear, and the girl blushes. "Oh, come on Zo, it's not like I was under any illusions as to what you two are doing."
"We're not…" And her voice trails off as she looks at the floor.
"Good to know. But we still need to talk about it."
"We already talked about it." The girl protests.
"And we'll talk again. Many times. Until it sinks in to the extent that I can wake you up in the middle of the night, and you can recite the whole speech to me. Backwards."
"Talk about what?" Fitz asks, poking his head through the door.
"Sex!" Liv yells; adding an exaggerated tone of exasperation to her voice.
"On that note." And Zo turns around and disappears up the stairs.
"You need to stop encouraging it." He says as she walks past him, into the kitchen.
"Well you need to stop acting like it's the Middle Ages." She says as she drags her free hand lazily across his chest. "And I'm not encouraging it. I'm preparing her. So that we can avoid becoming grandparents in out thirties. Or well, my thirties. Your forties." She says with a sly smirk. "I mean as far as I remember, you lost your virginity at 14, in a back of your brother's truck."
"Yes, but I'm a guy."
"You did not just say that!" She says, as she settles Nur in her high chair.
"Well, why did you wait until you were 19 then?" He asks, as he flips the French toast.
"Because I wasn't ready. Doesn't mean she's not." She says as she drops the fruit in the blender. "Look, I'd much rather she doesn't have sex until she's done with her PhD and running the world, but it's a part of growing up. And when she decides she's ready, I need her to be prepared." She leans on his back, and lays a kiss on his shoulder.
"I hate it when you're rational." He says as he kisses the top of her head." She tries to sneak around him, and grab a piece of French toast from the plate next to the pan, but he slaps her hand away. She moves back, playfully and he pulls her in, flush against his body. Suddenly their breaths are hurried, their eyes glossy, as their lips part open. She wants him to kiss her. To lift her up on the counter and run his hands up and down her thighs. She wants to feel his hardness pressed against her heated flesh. She yearns for hunger. And she can see the battle in his eyes, but he just kisses her temple, and eases his grip on her waist, turning his attention back to the French toast. And for the first time in her life she is jealous of the toast's sizzling life.
She presses the button on the blender, and a loud noise fills the room – and she feels like she wants to scream from frustration, yell and stomp her feet. Instead, she just taps her hand on the counter rhythmically. She notices he's looking at her, out of the corner of his eyes but looks away as soon as she looks at him. She sighs loudly, and stills. She turns the blender off and pours the contents into a silicone bowl and gives it to the excited toddler. "I'll go shower." She says over her shoulder, and he just nods his head as he flips the last slices out of the pan.
He walks over to Nur's chair and scoops some of the gooey matter on his finger before offering it to her. He smiles at the grinning toddler and says in a somewhat tired voice, "Mommy's off to shower. Well, guess what, daddy needs to shower too." And the toddler just claps her hands. "Daddy needs a cold shower." He says as he drops his head on the plastic tray and she pats her sticky hands on his hair.
She comes back down twenty minutes later, in her work attire. Her pants are loose and her jacket seems way too big for her small frame. She looks frail.
"You're going to work?" He asks, trying to hide the tone of surprise in his voice.
"Yeah." She says as she lays a quick kiss on Nur's head. "Just for a few hours, or so. They need my help with a report." She grabs her phone form the counter and throws it into her Prada bag.
"OK. I… just can you forward me the booking for the Paris trip. This week is the last one that we can cancel." She just nods her head and turns to leave. "Liv, you should eat something." He says in a soft voice. But the worry in it, it's starting to frustrate her; the hovering, it's getting too much.
"I'm not hungry." And it comes out much harsher than she intended, "Sorry." But she doesn't explain. She just leaves instead.
"Hi." She says from the doorway. He's putting the dishes in the dishwasher. He looks up, and nods his head in acknowledgment of her presence. "Fitz…"
"I was worried sick."
"I was swimming. My phone was off. I lost track of time."
"It's 10 p.m. Olivia." He says through gritted teeth. "You said a few hours."
"So, what, now you're monitoring my movements, in addition to monitoring my sleeping and eating patterns." And she regrets it the moment she says it, but it's too late; it's out there – in the space that's been filling up with small resentments. "I'm sorry, I…"
"No." He says bitterly. "You've been thinking it, might as well say it. At least you're not lying again." She gives him a confused look. "Your phone was here this morning. No one called from work."
"Fitz…"
"I worry about you." He says as he drops the large pan loudly on to the counter. "I wake up in the middle of the night to make sure you're still breathing. You've lost so much weight that I feel like you're disappearing. And you keep saying that life goes on, and you have this brave face, but I can see you're in pain. You just won't let me in. You put a front on, and you joke, and you pretend and I'm just waiting for you to break."
"I know." She says softly. "And I need you to stop."
"I cannot stop Olivia!" He yells, running his hands though his hair.
"You have to." And she gives him a small smile. He just lets out an exhausted sigh. "I'm pretending because that's the only way I know how to deal with this. I'm pretending that I'm fine, that life goes on, because the thought that it doesn't, that I'll never be fine again – it's terrifying Fitz. I wake up in the morning and there is a brief second before I remember, and then it hits me, again. Always a new wave. And something happens, Nur does something, or Zo does something and I want to call her to tell her. You hover and I want to ask her for advice, I want to ask her how to do better. Life isn't going on. It's standing still. And I feel like I'm drowning. But that, that isn't a possibility. I have the kids, and you and a life I dreamed of, I have too much to live for; so I'm pretending, until slowly, it's no longer pretending, and I mean the laughs and the smiles. And you…"
"I what?" He asks softly.
"You treat me like I'm not me. I miss you. I miss us. I…"
"I don't know how to act around you. I don't want to make it worse. I mean on a good day, your hurt is at an eight. I just, want to make it better. Take at least some of the pain away."
"I know."
"What do I do?"
"Have sex with me." She says quietly. Her eyes on the floor, her hands playing with the hem of her shirt. "I know my face is a mess, and my hair is a mess, and I'm a mess, and I've lost weight, and I am disgusting right now. I get it. But I need you to see me; I need you to make me feel… complete. I-"
But before she can finish the sentence he's crossing to where she's standing and taking her face in his hands. He's cutting her off with his lips, as they crash feverishly on hers. And the kisses are open-mouthed, hungry. And he's moving her back, until she's pushed against the counter, and then he's lifting her up. And they break up, breathless; his hands resting on the heated skin of her stomach.
"Zoey?" She asks, playing with the buckle of his belt.
"She's at Maddie's."
"You sure? She could be at Ben's, having s-"
"Do. Not. Finish. That. Sentence." He says before ripping her shirt off, sending the delicate buttons flying across the room. And she grins mischievously, and for the first time in two weeks – it seems genuine. And the clothes are falling to the floor; her bare shoulder blades are sticking to the cool window. It's all rushed, hungry, desperate. It's thrusts that make her gasp for air and dig her nails in to his back. It's the bites that leave marks, and scratches that leave thin trails of blood. It's pleasure, so intense that it borders pain – but it's the good kind of pain; the kind that makes her feel alive, not dead.
And as they come back from their high, his head on her shoulder, her hands running absentmindedly though his hair as warm liquid trickles down her shaky thighs, she whispers, "I want to go to Paris."
"You do?" And he lifts his head to look at her.
"Yeah." And she kisses him quickly. "We need us time."
"We need to catch up." He says with a small chuckle. "I'm tired of cold showers." She looks at him, her eyes wide, her lips trembling. "Oh, come on, Livvie, you are never not the most beautiful, the most attractive, the most infuriatingly sexy person in the room to me. I just… I was trying to give you time to heal." And with that he starts nibbling on her ear, as he runs his hand down her body.
"Wait." She says and he freezes momentarily. "We need to eat. I'm starving."
Next chapter - Paris. Just Olitz. I mean I love the kids, but I feel like one chapter of just them is needed.
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