Yes it's been forever but I hate leaving things unfinished, even if it means finishing them a decade later.
"You should leave." He doesn't look at her as he says it, he stares at his feet, his jaw clenched.
"No, I want to stay." Her voice is weak. She is tired, she is exhausted. Her back hurts, she is dizzy, she is nearing her breaking point.
"Olivia," and dear god his voice pierces her skin like razorblades, he knows how to make her bleed without even trying, "she's woken up, she's stable, she's doing fine. There is no need for you to stay here. Mellie is here, Gerry is here, I am here-" he pauses, as if to let her know that she does not belong, "there is no need for you to be here too." She sucks in a breath, and damn-it but it's too loud, it sounds like a muffled cry and she hates herself for it. "Zo and Nur need you." And he adds it as a small courtesy, a mercy.
"Right." She can't argue, not any more, she doesn't have it in her. "I'll say goodbye and then I'll be on my way." Her voice does not sound like her own, there is resignation in it, a void.
They walk next to each other, aware of every nerve ending in their bodies, aware of every cell of their skin, careful not to touch, not to make any contact. Her stomach is in a knot. She can feel acid travelling up. She can feel it reaching her throat. The contraction, and she's bending over, coughing up yellowish liquid. She can feel his hand on the small of her back. Instinct. "I'm fine." She spits out, her pride rising to the surface. She'd rather handle his anger, than his worry, than his pity, than his guilt. And he moves his hand and looks away.
"Have you eaten anything?" And she can hear the battle in his voice – the softness, the warmth, the velvety undertone, fighting the anger, the harsh, icy baritone.
"I'm fine Fitz." And the nurse is running towards them, a reprimanding look on his face.
"Ma'am – " and he gives her a look, "I told you take it slow this morning."
And Fitz looks at her, then at the nurse, panic in his eyes. "I am fine." She repeats weakly. She steadies herself on the wall. But it seems to be moving, the whole hallway seems to be moving, it is all spinning. And the ground does not seem to be where it used to, and the walls are moving, and the air is becoming impossible to breathe. She is falling. There is no bottom. Just fall. And she can hear a terrified "Liv!" in the distance. And there is a part of her, a small part that is still conscious that is relieved that he still cares, that there is still some love left behind all the anger.
"The baby?" is the first thing she asks as she opens her eyes. She looks for him. He is not by her bedside, he is pacing, his brows furrowed. "The baby?" She panics, her heart thumping loudly in her throat. Soft thumps fill the room, and she just notices, then, the machine on her belly, the doctor and two nurses.
"Fine. All fine." The doctor says, squeezing her hand. "You're just exhausted. And your blood pressure…" he trails off, "you should have let us admit you this morning."
She takes the tissue from him, and wipes her belly quickly, "There was no need."
"Well you have to stay here for another hour, we'll get you on an IV, you're dehydrated."
"I'm fin-"
"Damn-it-Olivia!" And his voice is venom, "For once just listen to what someone else is saying."
"Can we have the room please?" She asks quietly, her voice thick with anger.
"You should really take it easy." The doctor says, less to her than to him.
"You are done yelling at me." She says as she sits up. Her guilt, her fear, being overtaken by anger, hot, boiling anger. "I fucked up. I should have told you she was cutting. But I made a call, a call as a parent, as someone who loves Karen, as someone who has battled with depression, I made a call. It was a wrong call, but Fitz, there was no right call; there was no great solution; there was no quick fix. So I made a call, the one I thought was right at the time."
"You had no righ-"
"What, I had no right to try and help Karen?" She challenges him. "What, because I'm not her mother, I'm just someone her dad married, so I'm not really a part of the family, is that it?" And she's throwing his words back at him, and he flinches; he never said it, but they both know he thought them.
"I never…"
"Don't. Just… The way you've been treating me. Like an outsider who doesn't deserve to be here, who needs to be kept at bay otherwise she'll cause more damage… I deserve better than that. I deserve lo…" and her voice trails off, "I deserve some respect."
He stares at her. Angry, furious, but he is still looking at her, he still sees her; he still sees her more than anyone else will ever be able to. And she sees him, and she sees right through him. She sees through the anger and the fury, and to the pain, to the fear that everything his father ever said to him was true, that he is a failure. She sees it, but she is too tired to fight with him, against him, for him. She is too tired, and in that moment, it seems too hard. She remembers the morning before she left him, in college, and she remembers Abby's words – "Love should not hurt this much." She turns on her side, and forces her eyes to look at the frozen image on the monitor. "Please go get the doctor."
With a bowed head he leaves.
12 hours later she is home. In their bed. Alone.
"So, you're not going to tell me what happened with you two?" Cy asks her, without even as much as a glance; his eyes are firmly fixed on the paper, toast in hand, his coffee mug dangerously close to the table edge.
"Nothing happened." She doesn't look at him either; suddenly the surface of her toast is fascinating, bewildering, a magical thing. For a moment she thinks she understands the way Nur sees the world.
"Liv…" He is still avoiding looking at her, but his tone warns her, he might raise his eyes – and soon.
"Cy…" Two can play this game. Two can play, and she can win. She is her mother's daughter after all.
"You come back from Boston 10 days ago, all quiet and sulking and pretending you're not, which is fine, I get it, you have two kids and you need to keep it together for them, and I can respect that, but come on Liv, I'm a friend, a grown-up, a confidant…" he tries to add a lightheartedness to a conversation with a small smile.
"I was not sulking," she gives him a look, finally peeling her eyes off her toast, "I am not sulking."
"He called, you know." He says it in an even tone, the kind that leaves the possibility of a follow-up. She looks up. Victory. He smiles internally. "He wanted to know how the kids were doing."
"Oh." And he can hear the disappointment in her tone. And she knows he can; she hates herself for not masking it better. "Did you say they were fine?" She tries to sound calm, but she sounds chipper. It is almost frighteningly unnatural.
"Yes." He slices way too much butter with his knife. "He'll be in New York for a few days this week…." He spreads a thick coat on his toast, "a book thing," he drops a large spoon of jam over it, "but I am sure you already know this."
"Of course," she answers curtly. She gets up and walks around the table. She takes the toast from his plate with a frozen smile, "You have heart issues Cy, you cannot be having this much butter." She bites into it, "the baby and me on the other hand…"
"You know, it's not my fault you aren't talking to your husband." And he regrets it as he says it, he can see her shoulders slump, even as she rushes off to the kitchen.
"I thought you said you two were talking?" Zoey chimes from the stairs. He can feel both their eyes burning holes in the side of his head.
"I should get going." He smiles apologetically as he kisses the top of Zoey's head, "I'll come get Nur in the afternoon."
At least she waits before Cy leaves. Olivia's learned to appreciate these small courtesies. "Mom," and her tone is almost accusatory, "I thought you said you were talking."
"We are Zoey." She sighs as she washes her hands in the sink. They're clean, but she needs the water to cover up her silence.
"Mom." And it's a whine. It's too much. She cannot be handling this right now.
"Why aren't you ready for school Zoey? You know I have to get to work and drop Nur off, are you intentionally trying to make my life impossible?" And she knows how unfair she is being, she is acutely aware of it, but she doesn't apologize, instead, "Go get ready, please. Now." And she knows she's made it perfectly clear that this is the end of the conversation. She hears the girl dragging her feet up the stairs. She feels tired and guilty and like the worst mother on the planet. She feels like she is doing it all wrong, and ruining Zoey's life. Nur, Nur will be fine. She's too young to know, to remember, but Zoey – Zoey had them, she had them happy and together and a family, she knew it, she remembers it, she can miss it and she will miss it and she can't bring herself to tell her that. She can't bring herself to tell her it's all over. No, not today. She grabs her phone from the counter. Voicemail. Again.
Zoey slams the door upstairs. The entire world shakes.
The front door slams shut.
"Zoey?" She mumbles, awakened from her premature slumber. But she knows, before the reply comes that it's not the girl; no, she'd know the sound of those footsteps anytime, anywhere. "What are you doing here?" She wants to sound soft, not angry, she wants to be glad he's here, but she's not – she is too hurt to feel anything but rage.
"It's my house too." And she can't tell if he sounds amused, or annoyed. It bothers her, more than she's willing to admit; she used to be able to always tell.
"Really? Because the way you've been acting-"
"Do not start Olivia!" Annoyed it is then. She feels relief, somewhere deep, that she can still make him that angry, that quickly. He still cares, he must do, if he is this upset.
"I've called you a dozen times!" He doesn't look like he's about to explain or apologize. She can feel her pressure rising, "It could have been Nur, or Zoey, or-"
"No, it couldn't have been!" He shoots back, "Cy would have called me if anything had happened!"
"Cy is not your wife! Cy is not who should be calling you to tell you things, Cy-"
"Oh, so now you want to tell me things? Now? Not when you found out my daughter was self-harming, or when you sent her to therapy, or when you found out she had not quit? But now, now you'd like to inform me of my children's wellbeing?"
"I apologized. I said I was sorry. I said I made a mistake, it was a wrong call. What else do you want me to say Fitz? What else can I say, or do to make you feel better? Would me saying that it's all my fault make it better? Because fine, if that will help you heal, fine, it's all my fault – it's my fault Karen tried to kill herself, it's my fault you couldn't save her from this, it's all my fault. Happy? Feeling better?" And she wishes she could stop. Yelling, talking, feeling – just for a moment she wishes she could stop, take a break, step back and heal.
"How can you even ask me that?" And he sounds broken. It shatters her anger. She crosses the room to where he's standing. She wants to touch him, but she is afraid, she is scared her touch might shatter them. And she can feel his breath on her skin, and the truth is she hasn't felt this alive since the hospital, this much like herself, this grounded and this present. "I am going to California for a while." He is looking at the floor as he says it. His voice is soft, almost as if the tone will make what he's saying hurt less.
"What-t?" Damn it. How can her own body betray her like this, how can it crack like this.
"Just for a little while." He is still looking at the floor. Their bodies are almost touching, it is taking all their strength to stay rooted in place, to keep their limbs fixed to the sides of their bodies, their eyes on the floor. "Just until Karen's better."
"OK." And she steps away. She cannot stay this close to him, not without it pulling her in. Before, it used to feel like gravity, now it feels like a hurricane, a storm threatening to destroy all she holds dear.
"Liv…" He reaches out for her, but she pulls her arm away, no, she cannot let him touch her.
"You should leave."
"Liv-"
"What?" And she's yelling. She is unsure of where that voice is coming from, it sounds foreign, unlike herself. "What do you want me to say?" She doesn't realize she's crying until she tastes the saltiness of her own tears, "I won't beg you to stay. She is you daughter, she has to come first. Right? I mean that was always… that was how it always was and how it should be. She is your child and you are her dad and you need to go be with her. And I get that, I do. But I can't do this. I can't be here, waiting, for you to be done, to decide to come back, to decide you're done being mad, to decide you want to be my husband again." She inhales and straightens her sweater, "No, I am done waiting. I've waited for 10 days. For you to call, to text, to email, to something, and I… I'm done. I will not be this person, I cannot be this person. I cannot be snapping at Zo and Cy and I cannot keep being bitter and angry… I just cannot. It is not who I am, and it is not who I want to become. For anyone… not even for the love of my life. So… if you leave, that's it. We, the two of us are done."
"Liv…" And she can hear the panic in his voice, but this is stronger than her, it has been boiling in her for the past ten days, since the hospital, it has been bubbling to the surface.
"No, Fitz. Every step of the way you have excluded me. You could ask me to come with you. You could ask me to be there, to help. And you're not. And it's not for Karen, because she loves me and you know it, and it's not for Mellie, because God Fitz even she is over it, it's because you do not want me there, you are angry and hurt and scared, and you're blaming me and pushing me away, because you think I can take it and we can take it, but the thing is… I can't… Or maybe, I just don't want to, not anymore. I have our girls to think of, and this baby," he looks up, his eyes cloudy, "and I cannot be doing this. It's not good for me, it's not healthy, it's not… You promised me you would be here. You weren't there for Nur, and you promised you would be here for this baby. And you won't be… but this time, I won't be waiting for you either. If you won't be here, then I need to be 100% here. I need to do this right for me."
"Liv…" He starts walking towards her, but she holds her hand up – why-is-it-shaking-just-still-goddamnit, "this is not permanent, it's just until Karen gets better and until I figure things out, until I figure out how to forgive y-"
"You shouldn't need to go away to be able to forgive me Fitz."
"But I do." He runs his hand through his hair.
"Yeah…" She smiles weakly, "And I wish you didn't."
"So what, if I leave that's it?"
"God, of course not! We're still a family, they're still your kids, I still love Karen and Gerry, I always will, but us – you and I, we're done." She walks towards him and slowly takes his hand in hers, "See, we had a second chance – we got lucky, luckier than most, and we had a pretty great run, with amazing kids and a lifetime worth of love, but all of that, in the end it wasn't enough. You keep leaving me Fitz, and I just… I don't have any more strength to wait."
"I love you, you know that?" He brushes his nose against hers. And she can feel his breath on her neck. Her eyes close instinctually, this, intimacy, with the two of them it's almost like breathing.
"I do." And she kisses him softly. And for a moment everything seems right. Everything snaps back into focus, everything makes sense and the world does not seem like such a scary place. If only a kiss could last forever. She pulls back. "And I love you too, but you keep leaving, and waiting for you to come back just hurts too much. I can't keep putting my life on hold. I need to learn how to live with you gone."
"I will come back."
"I know. But this time, I just can't promise I will still be here."