Episode 6
WAP
"What illusion is your father under? What does he think is going to happen to you without him here?"
"He's a father, Fitz. It never stops."
/
Eli Pope walked with gallant purpose down the busy, sterile hallways of Suburban Hospital, manoeuvring around machinery littering the corridors, until he reached a desk. He was surprised to have received a call about his daughter's being whisked to the hospital. Now he needed to know where she was, and just why she had been brought here.
"Mr. Pope?" A short, cinnamon brown woman near the desk called out.
"I am he," Eli responded, bringing the arm carrying his coat in front of his body.
Reaching out her hand, Jeanette offered "I'm Nurse Thompkins. I was with Olivia when she fainted. Well, we believe she went into shock. I… I didn't want to leave her alone. I tried calling her husband but got a busy signal in return, several times, and then voicemail. You were below him on the list. If I didn't get you, I was going to call her office. But knowing her, that would have to be a last resort. I appreciate how quickly you managed to get here."
Jeanette could see the cool impatience in his stare, and it made her cup her elbows in protection. "She's in room 752."
Eli looked up above Jeanette's head, already plotting a path to his child. "Thank you. Now, excuse me."
"That way," Jeanette pointed back in the direction from which he came.
You were below him on the list. You were below him. Below him. Below. Eli tried to tamp down his irritation. The nurse—he had already forgotten her name—had spoken to him like a consolation prize, and not as the most constant presence in his child's life. Elijah Pope was below nothing and no one. Young people these days did not now how to give proper reverence to their elders.
/
Olivia could hear the beep beep beep of monitors as she struggled to open her eyes. She looked down at the tiny flower pattern on her hospital gown, and over to find the beeping. She found apparatus, some with clear liquid bags dangling with tubes, leading to her arm.
A croaky "What..." was all that escaped before a voice intervened her confoundment.
"Mrs. Grant, I'm Dr. Kashif Farooqi, your attending physician. You lost consciousness while giving blood and were brought to our hospital. Your phlebotomist, Nurse Thompkins, accompanied you, and provided us with a summary of your vitals at the time of collapse. Any type of shock is a serious occurrence—"
"Shock?" Olivia was trying to understand how a routine blood donation could have gone so wrong.
"That is what we believe, at the moment, based on how your body reacted. But we're running some tests on the blood you donated because your body's mimicking of hypovolaemic shock, in reaction to blood loss of barely 10%, is highly unusual. We normally see that kind of shock in patients whose trauma has caused blood loss of 15-20% due to physical wounds. Nevertheless, we've administered a Midodrine Hydrochloride drip to help revive your blood pressure. The concern is the significant drop in your diastolic pressure, which went from slightly elevated—according to Nurse Thompkins—to crashing. And I understand you have had ongoing issues with anemia."
More of a statement than a question, still, Olivia offered, "Yes, since I was a teenager. But it was under control this time. I don't see what that has to do with me being here now."
Ignoring her statement, the doctor continued his line of investigative questioning. "What about food and drink? Had you taken proper precautions before giving blood?"
Olivia looked away before answering. "Half a muffin," she replied weakly.
"I see," the doctor noted, as he jotted something down on his clipboard.
The short interaction had already exhausted her, and she was ready for the doctor to leave so she could be silent and absorb her predicament.
"Nurse Thompkins called your husband and is awaiting his arrival. She must clearly care about you."
"Listen, Mrs. Grant- "
"It's Mrs. Pope-Grant. Ms. Pope is also acceptable."
"Ms. Pope, as I mentioned earlier, we want to be certain about your diagnosis. We are running some tests on your blood work so that we can rule out any other possibilities, contra-indicators, or co-morbidities. I should have those results for you in a few hours."
"Thank you, Dr. Farooqi."
The other bed in Olivia's room was unoccupied. As Dr. Farooqi began pulling back the seafoam green partition, he was immediately met by an imposing figure in an impeccably tailored navy-blue suit with the faintest pinstripes.
"Mrs. Grant, I think your husband has just arrived." He nodded, "Mr. Grant, she's a little tired, but you can go right in."
Eli's nostrils briefly flared at the mistake, but Dr. Farooqi was already making a quick exit toward his other patients.
/
Struggling to absorb what had happened to her in the last few hours, the last thing Olivia expected was her father's need to be reassured, personally by her, that she had plenty of vim and vigor to call upon. That she had not curtailed her own future. She had not the strength nor the patience to placate. Worse, who she needed was not there and showing any indication of such need would make her father's presence intolerable. Not what she wanted or needed from him.
"Must my shortcomings be forever on the tip of your tongue? Can you just be here. With me?" He had been there twenty-two minutes and already Olivia's brain had begun bending to his arc, adopting his cadence. She took a pause to collect her own, still scratchy voice.
"Dad, I'm lying in a hospital bed. Being chastised is not what I need."
"Mm. You need parenting."
"I don't need that either. It all seems to be the same coming from you."
"I am your father, and it is I who am here, witnessing you in this bed, not that boy of yours."
Five years. That is nearly how long he had known about Fitz in her life.
Four years. That is how long she had been practising permanence with Fitz.
All of it too long for her father to think he could insinuate himself into the warm gelatinous bubble of their yolk. She wanted him on the plate as a part of a full meal, but all he knew was to be the star of the dish.
"Why is he not here? What is more important than you right now?"
Though she had wondered the same, coming from her father, these questions were not really about Fitz. They were about her and her judgment. Her failure to choose the man he had road-tested and approved. Someone for whom he would not have to create space. Because, perhaps, if the approved engagement had made it to authorized marriage, that man would have taken better care of her, and Eli would not have to witness his daughter in this weakened state. Alone in a provincial hospital in Maryland. She knew him all too well. Olivia fought not to respond with the lingering acridness of the twelve-year-old girl he had sent away to become independent, but who was, once again, being derided for an autonomous choice.
/
Olivia's mouth was drier than unpicked cotton in a rain-less summer.
"Why don't you call the nurse to bring you something. Isn't someone due to check on you soon? And where is your doctor with your test results!" Eli impatiently wondered aloud.
A mirthless closed-mouth smile briefly patterned Olivia's face. "So, you were listening before Dr. Farooqi pulled the curtain back." She could not muster disappointment, knowing that he felt entitled to know everything in her life. Not in a way that produced intimacy, but rather one that reinforced his Zeus-like status of looking down on everyone- including his Diana—so that he might remind himself of his own power.
"I hadn't realized you had company when I stepped in." Eli patted Olivia's hand as he stood authoritatively over her, worried and paternal. "Besides, if I hadn't been called, due to the negligence of that husband of yours, I doubt you would have deigned to tell me any of this happened to you."
"Dad…"
"Tell me I'm wrong."
Silence.
"You stopped coming to dinner. You return almost none of my calls. Perhaps one in every five."
"Are you keeping a tally? I've just been busy. I'll come soon."
"So, you say."
Instead of the usual rising tide of nebulous annoyance, Olivia felt pricked by something slightly sympathetic. She turned to look at her father, really look at him. Something in his voice was unarmed, almost pliant. So very unlike him. He was always an elegant man, one who commanded every room she had seen him in and probably the ones she had not. When she was ten, and her class took a field trip to the Smithsonian's National Museum of Natural History, she told her classmates that her father made all the dinosaurs they saw. Most had looked at her with curious or blank stares.
She looked up at him now with big, child-like eyes, and the concerned brow of an adult. Had he lost weight? His body seemed to be fighting his double-breasted suit in a decision as to which of them was wearing the other. Before Olivia could speak, there was a knock at the door.
"Mrs. Grant—"
"Dr. Farooqi, it is Mrs. Pope-Grant or Ms. Pope. Those are the options."
"My apologies, Ms. Pope. I have your results."
Eli smiled furtively.
Having reached Olivia's bedside, the doctor began flipping through the papers on his clipboard. His face was unreadable, save for the mask of concentration. Olivia did not want her father as witness. If it was bad news, he would make it worse before she could absorb it herself. She wanted to be alone.
"Dad, will you go find me some water, please? Sparkling?"
"We can call the nurse to re-fill—"
"Dad." She said with finality.
Eli sighed in understanding, starting towards the door. "Very well."
"I thought that was your husband. I thought you would want to share the news," said Dr. Farooqi.
"That's my very overprotective father. What news?"
"Your blood work came back. We can now accurately assess your diagnosis and treatment. Just as I suspected, it was not hypovolaemic shock, but convulsive syncope, which can result in loss of consciousness, pallor, hypotensive crashes, and other things. This is a very rare reaction to whole blood donation but can be triggered by any number of trauma present in the body."
"What trauma?"
"In your case it wasn't trauma, per se but it is now clear what the corroborating factor was in your body's reaction to the blood loss, and our earlier confusion. You are pregnant, Mrs. Grant. Mubarak ho! As we say."
He paused, expecting the typical show of emotion most women would make. Greeted by blank silence instead, he continued delivering the rest of her results. "With your recovering iron levels and the fetus' dependencies on you…"
There was a ringing in Olivia's ear. The doctor's voice was an echo repeating pregnant. Pregnant. Preggggggnaaaaaantt.
"Are you certain?" She finally spoke. "Is there any possibility there's been a mistake? You're definitely reading my results? Olivia Pope-Grant?"
"Forgive me for being presumptuous with the congratulations. I shouldn't have assumed this was welcomed news. I- "
"No, no. It's not that. My husband and I have been trying for 15 months. We were so close to starting the phase two plan. I… I just want to know if- "
"Phase one worked? Yes, I assure you, there is no mistaking the elevation in your hCG levels from the blood work. We also checked it against your urine, which substantiate the results from your blood work. In fact, we need to do a perfunctory ultrasound to check the fetus' heart rate and make sure there's no distress. The ultrasound technician will come for you shortly. For anything more specific to the pregnancy, you will have to see your OBGYN as soon as you can."
So long with nothing and now information was flying at her head.
"I wish I had only that good news to share. I am sure you can understand that giving blood is out of the question for at least the next 12 months. Preferably 15. Your iron deficiency means you will have to discuss, again with your doctor, a plan for maintaining adequate levels during the pregnancy. Perhaps a prenatal nutritionist may be in order. And, of course, your elevated blood pressure before loss of consciousness. It's not distressing, but it is something you should monitor. I'm certain your OB will advise similarly, should it remain at the higher end. In the meantime, and especially over the coming weeks, it is imperative to your recovery that you avoid high stress situations and pay closer attention to proper nutrition."
"I run a crisis management firm," Olivia laughed. "I put out fires for a living. Stress is my métier."
"You do this alone?"
"I have a team."
"Then I suggest delegation."
"For how long exactly?"
"A reduced role for at least a week, especially if you are not able to see your OB in that time. He will have to advise on your health at that point."
As the doctor said these words, a breathless, panicked Fitz burst through room 752. He did not notice the figure approaching from the other end of the hall, cradling a large bottle of San Pellegrino.
"Olivia?" Fitz approached the curtain obstructing his view of the voices behind it.
"…but you should consider a more long-term strategy, at work, because should high stress become a constant as you progress, there could be serious implications for you and—"
"Thank you, doctor. I understand." Olivia said as Fitz threw back the curtain as if it were his worst enemy.
Fitz rushed to Olivia's side. "Liv, what happened? Are you OK? I'm so sorry. I left my phone in the car. I was at one of our satellite campuses. Lauren finally got a message to me through another colleague." He hugged her to him, kissing her forehead, then grabbing her left hand to sandwiched between his palms, knowing instinctively it was in need of warmth.
Olivia let her body respond to Fitz while her face communicated caution to Dr. Farooqi. A quick sideways glance to her enervated husband and then a lingering stare at the doctor relayed that the pregnancy discussion was now tabled.
"Doctor…" Fitz said, extending his hand.
With a curious look on his face, as he tried to comprehend the tableau before him, he finally offered, "Farooqi. Dr. Farooqi."
"Fitzgerald Grant. How is she? What happened? Jeanette's message said you were in shock" he said to Olivia. "But how?" he directed at Dr. Farooqi.
Olivia began to tense in Fitz's arms, not wanting to go down this road again. Something for which they had tried for so long was finally happening, and she had carelessly put in danger the presence whose repeated monthly absence had disappointed them both. She did not know. Now that it was flourishing in her womb, Fitz should not find out this way. Disappointment. Congratulations. Forewarning. Their future would not be served up like a shit sandwich in a pokey Maryland hospital room, by a man who could not, or would not, address her full identity.
"Dr. Farooqi, when am I being discharged?" Olivia interrupted before the doctor could fully explain.
"It depends. It could be as early as tonight if all goes well. We are monitoring your blood pressure levels for a few more hours to make certain you can finish recuperating at home. We also need you to eat something substantial as soon as possible. I'll have your nurse bring you something appropriate."
"I'm a little lost here. What is happening? Fitz tried to ascertain."
"Dr. Farooqi looked at Olivia for permission before he could open his mouth."
"Stress. Stress is happening to my daughter, and it shouldn't be. Why is she so stressed, Grant?"
"Eli, I didn't realize you were here."
"I'm her father. Of course, I am here. And have been for hours now. Pray tell, what collegiate matter did you prioritize over my daughter's hospitalization?" His voice boomed with accusation, the spray of his words showered the room in his festering resentment, until it coated their skin and sealed their mouths in a brief immovable silence.
The doctor spoke first, looking directly at Olivia. "The nurse will be by at any moment with your food. I will return in a few hours with a decision on discharging you, Mrs. Grant. I suggest, "he looked between Fitz and Eli, "you get some quiet rest after you've eaten."
With that, Dr. Farooqi took his leave.
/
"Here's your water." Eli placed it next to her bed, wedging his hand between the lovers to reach its perch. He did not take his eyes off of Fitz.
"Grant, where were you?"
"If I remember correctly, you only have one child, and it isn't me."
"Yes. One that, if she had listened to me, would have married a more suitable boy. One who would have been here for his wife and arrived before her father. One that had some respect."
"Dad!" Olivia was breathing fast and shallow now, her nerve endings stiff with tension. "Stop this! Both of you. This is neither the time nor the place."
"She's right. She's under the doctor's instructions to rest," Fitz said.
Olivia realized she needed to fill Fitz in, unlike her father, who had been eavesdropping on the earlier conversation with the doctor. Thank god he did not hear that she was pregnant. She needed a controlled environment for that conversation.
"Dad, I need a moment."
Eli rose silently and methodically removed his suit jacket, which he folded, lining side out, before draping it gracefully over his black trench coat. A promise of his return. He walked to the door, and before exiting, but refusing to face them said "I'm not leaving this place until she gets discharged." With that Eli closed the door behind him.
/
"What illusion is your father under? What does he think is going to happen to you without him here?"
"He's a father, Fitz. It never stops." She heard herself saying those words and wondered if Fitz would be that same way about their adult daughter or son. Had he not told her, just months ago, that he never relinquished the identity of 'father' even after the premature death of his newborn? A terror implanted itself in her chest and she was no longer present in the room.
"Livvie? Livvie? Where did you go?"
"What?"
"I was trying to apologize for not being here sooner. Had I known, I would have moved mountains to be here. You know that."
"Fitz, it doesn't matter. It's OK. I wasn't alone."
"I know. I just… I wanted it to be me." He kissed her forehead.
Olivia scooched over in the bed, patting it for Fitz to get in. After discarding, in the chair, the very same articles of clothing as Eli, he gingerly got in beside her.
"Hold me."
"Are you sure?"
"Fitz, I'm not hurt. I just need you."
"I actually don't know what to think because I don't know what's happened. The idea of you being in shock has me on edge, but your stress levels are also high?"
Olivia repeated everything she could remember: from having blood drawn to waking up groggy in that hospital bed. The doctor's diagnosis. Not eating enough. Her blood pressure. Her anemia rearing its head. Stress. Rest. Every minutia except the elephant in her womb. She needed certainty and better circumstances for that disclosure. They both deserved that much.
Fitz turned Olivia's face to his lips until they were brushing against each other. "I am going to make sure you are rested, nourished and stress-free for the next week." He squeezed her tighter.
Olivia enjoyed the security of his embrace as her mind returned to her father's dwindling frame. It was not enough to be worrisome, but a change that had not presented itself before. Sure, she went long spells without seeing him. But the weight loss, coupled with the drawn look on his face resolved in her a pledge. She would make more of an effort with him.
/
Rest was like a person who wanted too much from her. She had given Rest her weekend, plus three whole and entire cycles of twenty-four hours. Not that she was counting. Many women idolized the idea of Rest. They contemplated it secretly, or out loud to any audience who would listen. The chance to sit down and excavate one's own mind; Greedily devote one's own time to anything at all. Indulge in a lapsed hobby. Read the books downloaded to Kindle. Finish a languished project. Catch up with those who thought of themselves as long forgotten. Olivia had tried all these things, and more, cleaving to the fingernails of memories of being bone tired and fantasizing of Rest.
On Monday, she had not fought him. She slept in, still feeling the effect of last week's trauma on her body, and enthralled with the idea of new life growing inside her. She did yoga. She considered soft things like which guest room would make the best nursery, and just how she would tell Fitz. She sent one email to Abby. Monday was easy.
Monday's ease turned into Tuesday's minor panic about the world moving without her. One email turned into several this day. So many, Abby had Huck cut off Olivia's access, routing her boss's incoming emails straight to her own inbox. Watchful and pondering, she ravenously consumed the news, scanning scandals to determine which ones she would handle.
Then the check-in calls to Abby began. Casual, of course. First, one on Tuesday. Wednesday it had escalated to three. But she began feeling assuaged. Relaxed, even. The hours spent in sated unconsciousness grew.
It was just before 7 am when Olivia began to stir on Thursday morning. The grey, cloudless sky pressed against the honeycomb blinds to greet her good morning.
Feeling better than rested, she turned on her side to be confronted by the toned expanse of Fitz's back. She traced every plane and ridge with her eyes. His back was the first thing she had noticed when she laid eyes on him at their mutual sports club. Her mind had flashed before her his sinewy back doing dirty things to make it flex and bulge, work, and wince. And it was doing things to her now.
As she reached to touch Fitz's unblemished plane, he deprived her by changing position, offering, instead, the curly brush of his chiseled chest and abs. Her eyes began to take him in from the top of his tousled, curly head, to his tired, but serenely perfect face. Her thoughts were full of admiration and sweetness, secrecy, and gratitude. She was growing fifty percent of him inside of her and he did not even know. Reaching the edge of his cornflower blue, un-tented pajama pants, her gaze turned mischievous. A solipsistic power coursed through her, percolating a need to indulge him inside her mouth.
Feeling like a certified freak, this fourth day of the week, Olivia moved below the edge of Fitz's pajamas, taking his manhood in her hands. Wanting to see him before her, she moved his pants just enough to get her wish. He stirred, still under sleep's spell.
With her body now perpendicular to his, she began running her cheek over his dick, enjoying the sensation of its relaxed softness, not unlike the inside of a rose petal. The low brush of his groin tickled her face as she inhaled his scent. Lime, basil, vetiver, and the unmistakable himness-the remnants of last night's shower-were intoxicating to Olivia's heightening sense of smell. Her mouth, wanting and pining, enveloped him. She had missed the feeling of him there, and the heady sense of control she had over his pleasure. Having not touched her in any intimate way since before the hospital, Olivia felt the need to remind him that she was still fierce and only occasionally fragile.
On her knees, Olivia began to moan as she sucked and twisted and bobbed on that knob. He fought to open his eyes. The harder he became, the deeper his moans. It spurred her on. A river ran through her, leaving the inlets of her cunt saturated.
Fitz was decidedly awake now, his cock firm and formidable. If she was having a morning snack, so would he. He cantilevered her lower body so that what he wanted was right above his face. Her pussy was wet and pristine, inviting him to swipe his nose, like a credit card, up her slit, before taking a dive with his tongue.
They each indulged the other with their mouths, their bodies forming the shape of Fitz's star sign.
"Oh, fuck," Olivia opined, as she twisted Fitz's thick shaft in her hand, no longer able to concentrate on her task for the sake of his intrepid tongue.
"Baby, please let me do this," she said. Somewhere between a plea and a command.
When it was clear that Fitz, stubborn as ever, had no intention to stop his onslaught, Olivia moved off him. Wearing a short, jade green silk chemise, the hem and neckline of which were trimmed in black lace, Olivia lay seductively on her back, determined to finish what she started. She beckoned Fitz with her finger. He quickly rid himself of the pajamas halfway down his muscular thighs, and crawled between Olivia's thighs, holding his dick like a key waiting to unlock a door.
"I want you so much."
But he would have to park that big mac truck in her little garage another time. For now, she wanted to feel him at the back of her throat, so deep her uvula would seek safety in the roof of her mouth.
"No, come up here," Olivia smiled coyly at him. "Kneel behind my head."
He did as he was told. Soon delicate straps fell to the middle of her arms, exposing the bounty of her bosom. Her nipples puckered and preened, both for him and in response to him, needing him to caress them, pinch them, lavish them. His hand reached down, slipping, and sliding through her folds. Olivia manually thrust his shaft as her tongue colonized the rounded flesh behind it, taking its fullness completely in her mouth.
"God…you feel so good," Fitz choked out.
God-like. That is what she felt as her tongue coaxed his cock into the warm caress of her mouth's cavern. Their mutual trust and moaning desire made the difference between her mouth serving as pleasure chest instead of sarcophagus.
She released him just enough to direct him. "Turn around and face me."
Fitz could not move quick enough.
With Fitz's king cobra sliding back inside, Olivia opened and closed her throat to simulate the Kegels she did when she rode him like the stallion he was. Her desire turned savage, enormous in its greed for him. She would swallow him whole.
Grabbing his tight ass, she pushed him further into her. Her middle finger began massaging him from underneath. She would gag. She would choke. Until everything within him broke.
Fitz gripped the padded linen headboard, quickly losing control.
"Livvie," he barely breathed as the intense pursuit of her mouth lured the life force out of him.
Head thrown to the ceiling, his spine curved back, heavy breaths mingling with throaty groans. He came.
Olivia relished the warm sensation of his pleasure sliding down her esophagus. She did that.
/
Olivia sat up in bed, fingering the white Annabelle Hydrangea arrangement from Fitz, as he returned with a cup of steaming hot water for her.
"What?" He was looking at her with that dumb, sappy look in his eyes. The look he always had whenever he had the pleasure of coming in her mouth.
"Are you sure you don't want a little morning romp?"
"I'm sure. I got exactly what I wanted." Her eyes crinkled over the cup's rim.
"I was your toy. I see," he said with a mock pout.
"You haven't touched me in days. I'm surprised you're offering." There was a teasing edge to her words, absent any sense of rejection.
"You needed your rest. Doctor's orders." He tapped the end of her nose.
"After four days of sitting at home—"
"Three. It's been three days, Olivia."
"The point is, I'm more than rested. My team needs me, my clients need me. I'm- "
"You need them, you mean." Fitz looked at Olivia sympathetically as he rubbed her thigh soothingly.
Olivia's mouth hung open, words hiding under her tongue, lest they reveal too much. Fitz moved in to kiss away her unsaid objection.
"Light of my life, fire of my loins?" His face was hovering just in front of hers now.
Would it be merely irksome or truly exasperating? Olivia quickly considered what would follow his bodice-ripper endearment this time.
"Mmmhmmm?" she indulged.
"Will you at least make a better effort of sneaking work into the bedroom?"
Olivia crossed her arms underneath her bosom. "What are you talking about?"
"Fine. I'll pretend I don't see the flashing light of your laptop peeking out of the drawer, and that at least 3-4 folders likely lay beneath it."
"Good. Because I need them."
She was endearingly frustrating. He shook his head at her, a lop-sided grin and knitted brows decorating his face.
"These are looking especially luscious this morning. "Fitz gently pushed her breasts together, amplifying their volume. He kissed the tops of each one, unable to resist.
"It must be approaching that time. Do you need me to pick up more tampons? I can pick up a few boxes on my way home." He began to busy himself about the room, picking out a suit for the day.
"Do you actually buy them yourself, or is this a task poor Lauren must do?"
Feigning offense, Fitz rebutted "Why Mrs. Grant, I never! I'm a very hands-on husband, I'll have you know" He came over to take another gentle squeeze and offer a kiss.
Olivia playfully rolled her eyes knowing she could not live without his antics. "No, I'm good for the foreseeable future."
Fitz's phone rang to interrupt the moment. Grabbing it quickly, he said, "I have to take this" and headed into their walk-in closet, closing the door behind him.
I need to tell him, Olivia thought. Soon.
/
"Liv, everything is fine here. Relax," Abby tried to assure, knowing that to tell Olivia Pope to relax was like telling a politician to never lie, preternaturally unwise.
"'Fine' is not reassuring. Because the Meacham case—"
"Olivia. I have sent Harrison and Quinn to Boston to get the evidence we need."
"What about our conscious un-couplers?"
"I made the changes to the press release you requested yesterday. Those pretentious pricks love it. I sent it out before your call, and I'm monitoring the responses."
"Huck?"
"Holed up in his hovel, waist-deep in background checks for the Marcus Walker hire," Abby reported. She left out Stephen's sudden calls to the office, and the five requests she was fielding as potential clients. She, more than anyone, wanted to speed along Marcus's arrival. Autumn was always their busiest period. But Abby would not give Olivia an ounce's worth of concern.
The elevator dinged, alerting Abby to the visitor she was expecting.
"Incoming. Who is it? What do they need?" Olivia kept pelting questions at Abby to make up for the fact that she was not there. Abiding by the doctor's request, under Fitz's unyielding monitoring, was getting harder and harder. She could not wait for it to be Monday already.
The visitor came straight to Abby's office, offering a small knock before poking his head through the door.
Abby smiled, waiving him in. "Liv, I have to go."
"Fine, but I'll be calling- "
"Yep. Speak to you at 6."
Fitz gave a knowing chuckle as he greeted Abby, offering a chaste kiss on her cheek. "Her mid-day check in?"
"How is she not driving you crazy this past week?"
Fitz looked around the room as he removed his overcoat, laying it on the club chair next to the one in which he sat. "Because I'm not the thing she misses." His right leg hung over his left. "Besides, I've got my hands full making sure she's eating and resting as her doctor requires." Fitz's mind flashed back to the hospital bed, Olivia small and fragile in its center.
"How can I help?"
"You've already been more than accommodating—making sure she eats when she's here. Her iron levels were improving, but she jumped the gun on giving blood again." He shakes his head at himself knowing he should have been more adamant about that appointment.
Reading his guilt, Abby reminded, "Fitz, you know her as well as I do. You can't make her not do something she's dead set on doing."
"That's just what I'm worried about. Being so set on something, she… Abby, she scared the shit out of me. "
Abby rose from behind her desk to sit in the chair next to Fitz, turning to face him.
"Hey, hey. I will become like a hawk. I am annoyingly persistent, and I've known Liv since law school. I've seen first-hand how she treats food as optional when she's overly focused. I have my ways. When she's back on Monday, whatever you need, I'm on it."
"Thank you." Fitz spent the next twenty minutes protectively soliciting Abby's support, whilst being careful not to reveal too much about Olivia's health.
/
November's Friday morning air was crisp in feel and sound. Dried leaves in every hue of the sun crunched beneath Fitz's feet. Those he did not crush, were swept up into the cold encirclement of mini tornadoes. With no humidity to make the air more supple, its frosty severity burned though Fitz's nostrils as he walked, briskly, through Dupont Circle. He was on his way to a late morning coffee meeting with mentor, friend of the family and former boss of Olivia Pope, Cyrus Beene.
Cyrus was sly about getting people to come to him, which is how Fitz ended up at Kramerbooks & Afterwords Café, a short jaunt from his thriving Connecticut Avenue law practice. It was just one of many littered throughout the Dupont neighborhood.
"How is she?"
Fitz took a sip of his cinnamon-infused dark roast before answering. "Liv's great. OPA's great. It's growing, in fact." Practically an uncle to him, Fitz was nevertheless careful what he revealed to Cyrus, because there was no information he would not use to his advantage, should he see fit. He left the hospital visit out of the conversation.
"Good. And you?" Cyrus inquired.
"We're navigating some last-minute funding issues to complete a new building on our satellite campus in Virginia. But other than that, I've never been better."
"How are things at Wanamaker and Beene?" Fitz smirked. He would never say it, but the name of Cyrus' firm always made him think about roasting coffee.
"Could have been Wanamaker, Beene and Pope, but…"
"I'm sorry that your girl fell in love with me." Cyrus never missed an opportunity to bring up the complicated circumstances of Olivia's precipitous departure from his firm. It was one for which Cyrus lay blame on Fitz's carelessness.
"A shame, really. She was my best girl. A true star."
"She's still a star. She's just not shining for you."
A key advisor on Big Gerry's two successful gubernatorial runs in California, and campaign manager for his one successful go in the US Senate, Cyrus was a brilliant legal mind who knew true talent when he saw it. The only trouble was, he was never content to guide and shape. Cyrus wanted to command the firmament, and only for that which he found worthy of celestial light.
Cyrus was thinking how he wanted to change that. It had been over five years since Olivia left him. Later, when she and Fitz popped up in Georgetown, when she had become Thee Olivia Pope—in her own right—he and James had become quite close with them. Close enough to make them godparents to their 6-year-old daughter, Ella. It had changed the dynamic of their relationship, shifting it to more equitable ground. Still, Cyrus missed working with Olivia.
"What are you two doing tonight?"
"We're at home. Why?"
"Come over to ours. We haven't seen you two in ages."
Fitz knew Olivia would jump at the chance to get out of the house, but she would have to settle for having the party brought to her. "You've never been to our new place. Why don't you and James come to us? We'll make an evening of it."
"Way out there?! Why the hell didn't you two move to Dupont or Kalorama? Takoma Park. Pfft."
"Cy, you know why Kalorama was out of the question. We've been over this. You two have plenty of space for Ella. We-"
"So does Woodley Park, Berkley. Hell, Tenleytown. Takoma is barely DC! You could have built a house in Georgetown for your soccer team's worth of kids."
"Liv didn't want the headache of building." Fitz refused to discuss a decision that was firmly made two years ago and was not changing anytime soon. "And it's two now. She's gotten me down to two babies."
Cyrus relented. "How's that going?"
"It's going."
"You have options, you know? And I don't mean adoption."
"I know. A couple more months and we'll be at that point," Fitz said, looking down into his now empty cup.
Cyrus sensed he should change the subject.
"You ever think about joining the family business, Fitz?" Cyrus looked at Fitz's handsome profile like he was a shiny nugget in the Gold Rush. "Continue Big Jerry's legacy?"
"Not since he died three years ago."
Cyrus chuckled "You and Mel were never on the same page. You know she's making a run for the Virginia Senate seat?"
"A pit stop on her way to the presidency."
"Yeah…" Cyrus let the air between them linger, diffusing the tension his line of questioning provoked in Fitz.
"Ok," Cyrus said, surprising Fitz. He did not put up a fight. "James and I will see you tonight.
/
At first, Olivia thought tonight's plans for Fitz would be ruined by the impromptu couple's night with Cyrus and James. She had missed their company and was surprised that the sociable energy of their visit had reinvigorated her. As she dressed herself in teasing attire, she became filled with nervous excitement to tell Fitz they would soon be parents. But, first, she wanted to take command of an entire night of playtime. She was not sure when she would next get the chance to do it this way. Suspended in the secret liminality of Olivia Pope: individual, and Olivia Pope: mother, she opened the door to their playroom. If he liked yesterday morning, he was going to lose his mind tonight.
/
Their playtime was always fun. Always exhausting.
Olivia moved to lay half her body over Fitz's, nestling her face into the side of his sweaty neck. She kissed him there, licking the salt from her lips. Fitz kissed her forehead.
They lay there, sex funky, sated, and happy, until sleep threatened them both.
"I love you, too," Olivia yawned out, snapping Fitz out of his sleepy haze.
"What?"
"I love you, too. I didn't say it back to you earlier. It would have softened the whole dominatrix thing I had going on."
"Which I loved, by the way." He kissed her forehead.
"You wouldn't think so, ya big hunk of insolence." She playfully swatted his chest.
Always amazed at his strength, or maybe just at how petite she truly was—she was after all the formidable Olivia Pope, whose reputation loomed larger than her physical stature—she squealed as Fitz hoisted her above him like he was going to bench press her.
"Come on, you love my insolence. Then you get to punish me. Admit it!"
"I don't know what you're talking about. I only admit to loving you."
"Aww, you're madly in love with me. You wanna have, like, ten thousand of my babies." He smiled that boyishly handsome grin of his, and Olivia melted a little bit.
"Let's just start with this first one, shall we? Now put me down, you brute!" She wiggled to weaken his strength.
Fitz brought her down gently to rest on his chest, his arms cloaking her in his love. What he treasured most was right there in his arms. He would never leave her, nor forsake her.
Suddenly, he realized the weight of what Olivia had just said.
"Livvie, are you saying what I think you're saying?"
He rolled them on their sides so he could look in her eyes.
She had not meant for it to come out that way, but the moment held the intimacy and perfection she sought for his knowing. Now it would be their little secret instead of just hers.
"Well, that would depend on what you think I'm saying," she demurred.
Fitz's excitement took hold of him. Before he knew it, Olivia was on her back and he was straddling her, his large hands cupping her face and searching her clear eyes as they danced with excitement. "We're having a baby?"
"That is the usual outcome of a pregnancy, isn't it?"
"You daft minx" he smiled at her facetiousness. "Say it."
"We're having a baby, Fitz. We did it." The glee radiated off her harmonious face.
Instead of kissing her, as Olivia expected, Fitz began to weep with the relief of a man finally releasing the breath he had been holding in for fifteen months.
Olivia held his naked form tightly in her embrace, for only she could understand the alleviation flowing out of him. "Shhhhh. I love you so much. It's OK." Her eyes began to mist at the corners.
A few moments after indulging his relief, he was golden again. "I'm so happy right now. You are amazing. Truly." His gaze reflected exactly what he said. He poured into their kiss every ounce of hope on to which he had clung for the last fifteen months.
Now regarding her earnestly, he said, "How are you feeling?"
"Relaxed. Relieved that you finally know."
"Wait, how long have you known?"
"A week."
Realization dawned. "Since the hospital. Is that why…"
"Yes, and yes. Your little peanut sized progeny was the x factor compounding all the other symptoms."
He began tickling her. "Just mine, huh?"
"Whenever it causes me pain, it's going to be your child."
"Don't say 'it'."
"But that's what it is. There's no sex yet. It's too early for that."
"What about OJ? For Olivia Junior?"
She guffawed.
"What?"
"It's a no from me. Do you hear yourself? 'OJ'?"
By now Fitz was tracing the flat curve of her abdomen, lost in future possibilities. "Fine. But we are not calling the baby 'it'.
"How far along are you?"
"I don't actually know. I'm assuming anything from 5-8 weeks is possible. We'll find out next week. I've made an appointment with Dr. Wilson. Wednesday at 4PM. Whatever you have to clear in your calendar, do it."
"I wouldn't miss it for the end of the world." The gleaming and perfect teeth he revealed made her think about how their genes, and that of their ancestors would combine in a recipe over which they had no control. It would be one of many things to which Olivia would have to reconcile yielding.
Fitz splayed his hand over Olivia's abdomen as she lay on her back. He imagined her growing fecundity forcing his hand up and up and up. "Can I bathe you?"
"No. I want a shower. Will you join me?"
"If you'll let me wash your hair."
He had washed her hair many times before, after she had finally let him witness the process and the product. She looked over at him, one arm propping up his head, the other still resting on her abdomen. The lopsided grin he wore, as he stared at her belly made her realize what kind of father-to-be she would have to contend with.
"You're going to be extremely annoying over the next 8-9 months, aren't you?"
"I'm going to take such good care of the two of you." He said between butterfly kisses to her flat abdomen.
"I can wash my own hair, Fitz. Besides, it's deep conditioning week."
"Perfect. I have ideas for occupying those 45-minutes."
"By which you mean occupying my vagina…" she deadpanned.
"Like I'm fighting against wealth inequality… you bet."
Olivia covered her face in mock horror, suppressing her rumble of laughter. "Oh my god, what is wrong with you!"
"What?! I just want to show my baby mama how happy I am!"
"Never call me that again! Now, please stop. My chest hurts."
They enjoyed the levity until it died down. A comfortable silence enveloped them as their breathing fell in sync.
"Fitz," Olivia said as she brought his hand up from her abdomen to her lips. "Thank you for never giving up hope." A tear rolled down her face, splashing against her hair.
Fitz tapped her nose, bringing her out of the emotion. "That's what I'm here for," he winked. "Now can I thank you for something?"
"I'll never say no to your gratitude. What?"
"Tonight, was amazing. Between yesterday morning and tonight, I could get used to Mistress."
"You should never get used to Mistress. If you do, she'll go away. Besides, I'm very partial to Mister."
"Do you think Mistress would want to meet Mister?"
"Ha! Their egos would strangle each other"
"But I thought you liked that?" Fitz poked.
"Shut up!" she tittered, whilst pummeling his chest in jest. Fitz grabbed her close and started peppering every inch of skin with quick, playful kisses, delighting Olivia.
/
Maroon Bay Lounge was closed to patrons only on Sundays and Mondays. Kenny had grown up with the notion of Sundays being a transitional day of the week. A time of pause, reflection, family, preparation. It was the rollover day of the week. It was on a Sunday that he had decided he needed to see Olivia sooner rather than later. They needed to meet on Monday, a day he was free of Maroon's duties. He did not want to talk about this at the lounge. He needed help, and Olivia was the best person for the job.
Olivia sauntered into one of U Street's gentrified gastro offerings, The Smith. The exaggerated swagger of her hips only slightly betrayed the economy of her stomp. Hers was a strong, firm gait that communicated she suffered no fools, paid her own bills but still liked a man to put his shoes underneath her bed. Perennially absorbed by the black mirror in her hand, Olivia almost passed by the table at which Kenny awaited her arrival.
"Miss, you need some help?" Kenny called to get her attention.
A brief look of annoyance ghosted across Olivia's face before recognition quickly blossomed into a smile. She played along. "Yes, I have an appointment with a Kenrick Gordon?"
Kenny feigned searching his mental Rolodex. "Kenneth… Kenneth…hmm, any distinguishing details that may help me recall?"
"He's very tall—about 6 foot 3. Extremely yellow. Mid-40s-but-looks-20 years-younger. Bright, honey-colored eyes and a very high booty."
"Ah, yes, that handsome devil. Have a seat, Miss. He'll be right with you." Kenny pantomimed placing a call, just as Olivia sat down. He then made a dramatic show of raising his hands, palm side in front of his face before pulling them apart.
"Aaaaaand scene."
"Are you finished, or are you done?" Olivia mocked.
"Neither. I am infinite, girl. But more importantly, how are you? G already told me what happened. So, let me let you know right now, you are not leaving this eatery without consuming something besides tea. I will not have it! O!"
Olivia rolled her eyes. "Rested and doing much better. It is very annoying that you two have a separate friendship and talk about me behind my back."
Kenny fixed his poly-cotton napkin over his slim, wool-covered thighs. "Girl, our friendship is not about you."
"Well, what is about me? Why do you need my help?" She looked at her watch. "I need to get back to the office after being out most of last week."
Having ordered late breakfast items once the server announced himself, Kenny and Olivia got down to the matter at hand.
"The mother of a Howard student came to me for help last week. She says her 19-year-old son, Jamie, has been missing for three days. That was over a week ago. She went to the police, filed a missing person's report. Ray, ray ray. But Metro PD made little effort to find him. Once they learned he was a little sweet on his feet, and loved the clubs, they tried to make it into a runaway case."
"Is Jamie still missing? What can I do?"
"Jamie's dead. Drug overdose."
Olivia looked horrified. And then confused. Before she could open her mouth, the hyper cheerful server arrived with their order.
"Girl, what in the Alpha Kappa Alpha is going on with your toast? Why is it so light skinned? It's trynna pass a brown paper bag test or something?" Kenny raised his hand trying to get the attention of the server, whose back was now turned in retreat.
"What are you doing?!" Olivia said between gritted teeth, reaching across the table, to pull Kenny's hand down.
"I'm trying to let the server know you asked for toast, not tan."
"Worry about your green smoothie because my toast is darker than you. Thank you very much."
"Whatever."
They both fell into the sounds of consuming their food before Olivia looked, again, at her watch, anxious to get back to setting order at OPA. "Will you be serious, please? I want to help but tell me how I fit into all of this. Why did this land on your doorstep?"
"Ms. Patterson, Jamie's mom, says he was signed up to several sugar daddy websites. Most of these men, with their old ass balls, are looking to keep college age girls in apartments and shopping sprees so they can fuck them whenever they want. But, sometimes, Trade is looking for boys like Jamie: young, cocksure, financially vulnerable, and discreet. The last night his mama saw him, he was headed to Maroon to meet up with his latest prospect. Jamie was not a drug user. He lived at home, in South East. Worked full time to pay for Howard and help out his mom."
"A sugar daddy would really have helped."
"Bingo."
"So, you think there's a connection between the Sugar Daddy and Jamie's death? Did you see Jamie that night at Maroon?"
"I did. It was a Wednesday—because we just started doing drag shows. That queen Ru Paul has the girls gagging for this shit, so I thought it would attract a young crowd. Jamie and a coven of Twinks were there. The straight girls, of course, and a lot of men who are professionally heterosexual, including Mr. Sugar Daddy."
"Is he…"
"A wealthy Aryan predator?" Kenny tilted his head as he took a long, pointed sip of his cucumber and spinach smoothie.
"That's one way of putting it."
"Seems apt for a man I've seen multiple times in my lounge cruising for boys. Sure, they're over 18, but they are still babies. This guy is never with the same boy, but he does have a type and Jamie fit the description."
Olivia sat back in her seat, as she pulled all of Kenny's threads together. Her mind wandered to the blossoming life inside her and then to the mother who, nineteen years ago, had gone through this life-giving process. And now she was left with just the memory of the child she brought into this world. Olivia subconsciously brought a protective hand down to the still-taught expanse of her lower abdomen, her eyes unfocused in thought.
"We're going to help Ms. Patterson get some justice for Jamie."
"She nuh have no money fi your stoosh service, my girl." Kenny hadn't intended for her to take it on as a case but was hoping she could use her extensive connections to bring pressure on the police to investigate Jamie's death as a homicide, not an accidental overdose.
Olivia looked at her watch again and moved to gather her things. "Why do you think I overcharge these politicians who can't keep it in their pants?"
"Reparations, of course." Kenny said earnestly.
Olivia laughed a dark chuckle. "So that I can provide the best resources for cases that truly deserve them."
"Thank you for putting on your Wonder Woman bracelets for us." Kenny looked at her with a soft admiration, holding a knowingness in his eyes. Like the wisdom of a Jamaican grandmother.
"What?" Olivia said, knowing whatever Kenny was thinking was not about their morning conversation.
Before addressing her, he took out a pad and pen from his leather satchel and scribbled down a location. Handing it to her, he said "Since the last time I saw you, I've been having dreams about fish."
Their eyes met each other. Kenny waited for her to say something.
"How did you know? He told you." Olivia declared, the edge of irritation laced in her words. She glanced down at the paper in confusion. "Who's Mr. Bailey?"
"Just go to the shop on the paper and ask for him. You need proper ginger tea now. Mint tea is good for digestion, but you need ginger tea to help with the nausea. And no, Geraldo would never betray you like that."
"You speak as if you know him so well. Should I be jealous?"
"Tuh. Not my type. You know I don't go for them WAPs"
"Excuse me?"
"White Anglo Protestants"
"Then how did you know?"
"The puke. The hospital. The dry-ass 'tan' you ate and the hand on your stomach today. Plus, the dreams? Girl, it all makes sense now. Of course, it was you. I'm happy for y'all. Just don't forget a nigga when it's time to name the godparents," He smiled.
"Mum's the word because no one knows. We haven't even seen my doctor yet for confirmation."
"Who I'm tellin'?"
"Fine. Look, I have to go, but Abby's going to call you because we'll need as much info from you as possible. Are you OK to come in?"
"If I must."
/
Olivia had been back at OPA three days before she raised the case. As her team of avengers assembled in the conference room, Olivia slapped photos onto the aesthetic cracks of the slanted wall of windows.
"Marcus, since this is your first case, you'll shadow me."
Olivia pointed to the first picture on the wall. "Our client, Patricia Patterson. This is her son, Howard student, Jamie Patterson. He was found dead, by the dumpster outside an apartment building in Landover. The coroner says it's an accidental drug overdose, and the police won't investigate. Jamie was not a known drug user. The last person with whom Jamie was seen is this man." Olivia slapped one final picture on the wall.
"Willard Ainsley Pemberton." What do we know about him?
A/N: Hiiii! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. What did you think? Please do post a review. Even a few lines really help :). Tell me your favorite part.
Questions: How many 'WAPs' did you find? lol Olivia waited a whole week to tell Fitz about the pregnancy. Do you think she should have told him sooner? Is Fitz being over-protective? And what about soliciting Abby's help? Is Liv being paranoid about her dad? Why the hell is Cyrus bringing up Fitz being in politics? What do you think really happened to Jamie? :(.
OK, looking forward to what you have to say. I'm very interested to see how Olivia handles being pregnant. Lots in store for her. And, as I have promised, more detailed flashbacks to their early days are coming :). See you in October! Thanks for sticking with me since I can't promise to update faster than once per month :(. Life is life-ing. But I'm happy to keep writing at a glacial pace.