Six weeks
They make the appointment through a series of quiet calls to the White House Medical Unit, and the next day, Liv is sitting on the tissue paper-lined examination table, only three floors down from where she had gotten a positive pregnancy test the day before—being with the President has its perks.
She had agreed to see Dr. Taylor, the White House OB, and despite feeling unsure initially, her first impression is immediately reassuring. She's going to be a good fit—kind, warm, professional.
She welcomes her, talks her through a series of intake questions, reassures her that her treatment here will be discrete and as comfortable as they can manage, and then hands Olivia a scratchy blue paper dress to put on for the exam. Once the door shuts, her hands start to shake—she can hear across the hallway, the scraping and squeaking of wheels which she assumes belong to the ultrasound machine heading to her room.
The ultrasound machine for her. Her nausea has been intense over the last 24 hours, but now it's crippling. All of the sudden, it's incredibly real—where she is, what is happening—and just when the bile threatens to come up, she hears a gentle knock on the door and a soft, deep voice.
"Liv?"
Fitz sneaks into the exam room once she's changed into the gown and immediately senses the anxiety radiating off of her. He's instantly attuned to what she needs, taking her shaky hands in his, murmuring against her ear, holding her body against his.
"It's okay, Livvie. Shhh. You're in control," he whispers into her curls, hugging her tighter. "You can do this—"
His comfort soothes her just enough until another knock alerts them to Dr. Taylor and her PA entering the room, and they jump apart instinctually, like two teenagers getting caught making out behind the bleachers. It surprises her how not surprised Dr. Taylor is to see him. He helped make the appointment, of course, because she couldn't have gotten one here without his assistance, but it's not like they disclosed the nature of their sexual relationship over the phone. It's not like they explicitly said, "Appointment needed: POTUS knocked up a former White House advisor."
"Mr. President, it's a pleasure as always," Dr. Taylor offers, extending a hand. "Miss Pope, this is my PA, Jada. She'll be assisting with your care as well. Why don't you take a seat, and we'll get everything situated to get started."
She gestures to the table, and Liv willingly hops back up, watching them position the big white machine next to her and arrange a series of instruments and accessories. She sees a sizeable wand-thing and observes as Jada puts a condom-looking latex sheath onto it and rubs some sort of lubricant over it. That's going in—
Before her brain takes over, which he can sense is starting to happen, Fitz pulls up a chair and sinks down next to her, less than an arm's length away. He must trust these strangers because he doesn't seem to care that they are in the room with them. His fingers intertwine with hers again and settle against her low ribs, where he can feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest, breathing heavily.
He squeezes her hand and gives her a discrete smile that says so much without him saying anything. You can do this. I'm here. We are about to see our baby.
She tries to return it, hoping she looks more confident than she feels.
The stirrups are raised, and she's told to put her feet up and relax, which is the last fucking thing she thinks she can do, but she tries. Dr. Taylor is reassuring and talks her through every step.
"Okay, Olivia. We are going to get started here… Are you feeling alright? Good. Yep, we're going to do a transvaginal ultrasound today to get a look at what's going on. Sound good? Alright. Knees apart…Great! Just like that. Okay, we'll start with the transducer… Don't worry, only about this much of it will go inside you—" She moves her fingers halfway down the wand. "—you'll feel some pressure along your cervix, and we'll also get a good look at your ovaries and make sure they are looking alright too, okay? If you feel any pain, let us know, alright?"
She nods as she fights the flush rising to her cheeks. She's thirty-eight for fuck's sake, but she feels incredibly vulnerable between her still-married boyfriend holding her hand and her vagina fully exposed in the cool air.
This kind of appointment is new to her, and when she considers it, she's never had a partner with her in any type of exam. It feels intimate, new, like they truly are partners in this.
Which she is equally squeamish about and incredibly thankful for now, because the plastic device is being guided into her, and it's feels nice to have his support—to know that she doesn't have to face this alone.
"You're doing great, Olivia. Little pressure here… Still okay?"
She nods while wincing, feeling the probe bump against her cervix, not hard enough to hurt per say, but firm enough to feel uncomfortable. When the doctor starts to move it around, her face scrunches, and she senses a firm squeeze to her hand.
Her gaze had been so fixated on what was happening between her thighs that she had no idea he was watching her so intently. When she makes eye contact with him, they both soften.
"Alright, dear. Here is your cervix…and there's your uterus. Let's see… yep. Here's that fibroid you mentioned on the lateral uterine wall…subserosal—just meaning that it's situated on the outside of the uterus rather than on the interior lining. Okay, moving up here…ah! There you are. Sometimes they're shy this early on…You can see here…" She points to a blob on the screen, a whitish squiggle surrounded by a dark oblong circle. "You are definitely pregnant! That's baby, right where we want them to be. Let me take a measurement here…awesome."
Olivia's eyes are glued to the little screen. Woah. She can't believe… it's… there's actually… a baby inside of her. Well, it certainly doesn't look like a baby just yet—it looks like a gummy bear or a shrimp or a tiny little alien. But she knows what it is—whose it is.
It's theirs. She glances over at Fitz to make sure he's seeing it too, and she wants to sob. There are tears in his eyes, threatening to spill out, as he stares, gaze fixed on the screen. He's humming and nodding along, listening to every word Dr. Taylor says as though he hasn't heard this before. Like he's getting to experience it for the first time.
And in some ways, he is getting to experience it for the first time. The first time with her. The first time with their babies.
"Based on the date of your last menstrual cycle and baby's size, you're measuring right on six weeks. Our ultrasound is not detecting a fetal heartbeat just yet, but that is very common at this stage, prior to seven weeks, so I have no worries about that. Let me scan over here…" she swirls the transducer to the left. "Sorry just a little deeper… Looks good. This side… okay. Two small cysts on this ovary. Here and here. Let me get this out, and we'll chat."
Her head feels like it's underwater because that was so fast. The instrument is removed from her, and Dr. Taylor encourages her that everything looks great. She tells her that the anomalies in her pelvis are benign and should not compromise the safety and viability of this pregnancy. She tells her that they can't see much about baby yet, but the measurements and position in her uterus are all good signs. She gives her a July due date, and the breath gets knocked out of Olivia at the thought.
A summer baby.
Dr. Taylor wants to see her again soon, jokes that it's free healthcare—compliments of the presidency—and she's happy to take a look whenever Olivia needs or wants.
She tells her to take it easy, get lots of rest, control her nausea as much as she can by eating a good amount—snacks, full meals, lots of water—to which Fitz flashes her a teasing glare, an I told you so. Olivia rolls her eyes playfully at him and agrees to all the demands.
They get a little print-out picture of the jellybean and somehow get sent off to go about the rest of their days, like they hadn't just gotten to literally see the little person inside of her—the concept is mind-boggling to Olivia.
She can't stop staring at it for the rest of the day, more out of fascination and disbelief than excitement. But nonetheless, she can't stop staring.
Seven weeks
She's thrown up every. single. day. For at least 10 days.
She feels miserable and awful and dramatic, though Fitz scolds her every time she tries to say so.
"You're not dramatic, Livvie…You're allowed to be upset that you're sick…You don't have to pretend to be okay…"
She doesn't think she's ever been so sick in her life.
On Wednesday morning, she accepts defeat. She calls Quinn, tells her she can't make it into the office today and that she'll work from home, adding that it might be for the rest of the week, depending on how she feels, depending on if she wants to take the holiday—she never has before, but Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and when she thinks about it, a quiet day with Fitz sounds like just what she needs.
Liv tries not to give too much away—doesn't tell Quinn she's at the White House, passes off her "sickness" as the flu, and hopes she doesn't question her about it anymore, before climbing back in bed with her ginger candies and water bottle in tow.
Fitz has to go into the Oval today—he has some very presidential duties of bestowing names to two turkeys that he will pardon tomorrow—so as soon as he's dressed, he trots over to their bed and leans down to kiss her good-bye.
It's becoming a routine—he'll sit with her when she's sick, help her get cleaned up, fill up her water bottle while she brushes her teeth, get dressed while she snuggles back in bed for a little longer, then kiss her good-bye.
He makes her promise to call him if she gets sick again, and she does, even though she thinks he's making too much of a fuss about the whole thing.
"Tell Cornbread and Stuffing that I said hello, okay?" she chuckles against his lips.
He shakes his head, nose brushing against hers as he laughs. "I can't believe I let you choose the names this year… God, I love you."
Thanksgiving morning finds them intertwined in bed in the wee hours of the morning. The clock says 5:10 and their bodies are naturally awake because this has been the hour of terror the past 11 days, when she jolts awake and rushes into the bathroom. Except this morning… she hasn't.
They wait patiently, lacing their fingers and brushing their legs together, anticipating the coming events. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes pass, sharing kisses that quickly escalate into heavy petting with every moment that she remains in bed with no morning sickness arising.
She's on her back, he's in between her thighs, hard, and they are panting because it feels like years since they've let themselves get this turned on. In reality it's only been less than two weeks, since the night before they found out they're pregnant.
Olivia's panting, gasping for air, and Fitz takes the opportunity to kiss her neck, then her chest, pulling her sleep shirt up and over her head. He teases her nipples, sucking one and then the other into his mouth, swirling his tongue, greedily enjoying her body again.
Her hips cant upward, grinding into his, trying to get pressure on her clit, seeking the firm ridge of his length. She's in his ear, tugging the lobe between her teeth, she's grabbing at his ass, she's whimpering breathy sighs against his temple until she registers his hand dipping into the front of her panties.
He groans, deep and dark and low, when he feels how slippery she already is, and he doesn't wait a second longer before stretching her with two thick fingers. She moans—it's the perfect relief.
Her hips roll, trying to fuck herself more effectively on his hand, and he's not going to deny her. His palm anchors on her mound so she can rock and press against it, stimulating every nerve ending possible as he curls his fingers inside of her.
It's so good, and she's so turned on, she has to slip her own hand into his underwear and stroke him in time with her. It's all happened so quickly this morning that their climaxes catch them by surprise. Fitz works her through dutifully with his fingers, feeling her convulse and clench and gush, her hand tightening around him when it happens.
As soon as she relaxes, her hand leaves his cock, and he fights to not feel disappointed, until he sees what she's doing. Her fingers raise to her mouth, cup at her lips, and she spits, bringing her wet hand back down to him and stroking until he's coming, hips jerking into her smooth hand, cum soaking the inside of his boxers.
It feels filthy and perfect, and they both are laughing by the time they finish, in surprise and awe that that is what they were able to do this morning. A welcome reprieve from past days of sickness.
Truly a thanksgiving.
Several hours later, they've showered and changed and are standing across the South Lawn, Olivia with a band of staffers, executives, and White House aides, Fitz up at the podium behind a mic with Teddy and Karen at either side of him. Two monstrous, white turkeys in front of them.
He gives a speech that's hilarious and kind and generous—of course, she wrote it for him, which makes it perfect by default, she thinks. The speech starts with some classic dad jokes that he selected—what key has legs and can't open a door? A Tur-key… Hey, Kare—what role do green beans play in Thanksgiving dinner? The casse—role—to which Karen beautifully rolls her eyes and chuckles in faux-embarrassment. It ends with a blessing, a dedication, an acknowledgement of the hardship they've all faced in the past year and a word of thankfulness for love and family and friendship.
It's the first holiday with their parents separated, publicly. They had finally released a joint statement—him and Mellie—stating that they were moving on, seeking a divorce. They cited unreconcilable differences, stresses brought about by their titles, and the death of their son as the causes, and remarkably public support had remained in their favor.
Sally Langston was doing her best to sling mud where she could, lighting rumors of long-lasting, torrid affairs and conspiracies to advance the former First Lady's political reputation herself, however thankfully the major networks weren't running with the stories.
Mellie was supposed to have the kids today—she's still vehemently opposed to Olivia playing any sort of step-mommy role for the time being, not that they've told the kids exactly what's going on and not that Mellie even knows exactly what's going on. But she had agreed to the Turkey Pardon…it was always Teddy's favorite part of the holiday anyway, and she could be amiable enough so that he didn't have to miss it this year.
The five-year-old always got a kick out of watching the turkeys waddle around the little mock stage, hearing a group of grown-ups cheer for two birds, and getting to smile for pictures before chasing the helpless fowl across the lawn.
Liv can't help but smile, watching the scene unfold from her comfortable distance away. The way Fitz's eyes light up, watching his kids enjoy themselves. The way he laughs and makes small talk with Charlotte and her husband, Hal's kids, Mike, the WH chef, and his family. He is kind and generous, and she sees the man that she fell in love with all of those years ago.
She's trying to be inconspicuous, but when he catches her eye across the crowd, he knows she's been staring at him, and he can't help himself. He excuses himself from his conversation and makes his way over to her.
"Olivia, it's good to see you," he states, confidently, offering his hand.
"Mr. President. The honor's all mine, of course," she smiles and shakes his hand.
"Could I have a quick word with Miss Pope?" He gestures graciously to the other staffers around her, apologizing and excusing them as he walks her back through the South Portico and nudges her into an adjacent coat closet.
She looks sternly at him, concealing every ounce of the grin that she wishes she could give him. "That was not smart…"
"Just two minutes, Livvie. No one will notice we are gone…"
Then, he's kissing her—warm, open-mouthed kisses. His tongue sweeping along hers. His hands caressing every inch of her body over her knee-length cream sweater dress. His lips trailing across her bare collarbones and shoulders—he loves when she wears stuff like this, garments with sleeves falling off her shoulders, giving him access to her beautiful chest. His erection pressing against her belly.
"Seriously?!" She hisses at him, tugging his head back to make him stop kissing her and squeezing her own thighs together to quell the blossoming arousal. "You need to get that under control!"
Fitz shakes his head, laughing and pulling her back in to whisper against her ear. "Your fault, pretty girl. Standing there all beautiful and tempting…"
Olivia blushes—he's been complimenting her more often these days, and she never been good at taking compliments. "Well, you're a big boy. I think you can control yourself—"
"—and I remembered… You're standing there and you're—god. I couldn't help myself…"
She lets him kiss her once, twice, more, moaning into his mouth and insisting that they can finish what he started later, after the kids leave and the event is over. Of course, he groans and grumbles but agrees before taking a few deep breaths and getting himself back in order. His suit buttons are buttoned back up, just in case, and she delivers a loving tap to his butt as he opens the door.
It's starting to get boring—the small talk, the standing in circles. The party had thankfully moved inside, into the State Dining Room, where there are tables set up to serve a Thanksgiving lunch to the attendees. However, the meal isn't planned to start for another 30 minutes, and this is certainly not her role—schmoozing, mingling, pacifying wealthy donors and their wives.
She's just about to give up and sneak quietly out the door and up the two flights of stairs to the privacy of the Residence, when she feels a tap on her shoulder.
"Oh! Karen… hi—"
The teenager has an interesting expression on her face, one that Olivia can't quite discern. "Hi, Liv. I saw you earlier… on the South Lawn… I—I didn't know you came to these things—"
Her tone is not overtly threatening, but mildly suspicious as they step away from the crowd and into an alcove on the edge of the room.
"Um, well—I typically don't… but I was invited this year—"
"Because my parents are separated?" Karen folds her arms and looks Olivia up and down, assessing.
It's instinctual, the way Olivia can flip her switch. She leans in closely and lowers her voice to an intense whisper. "I'm not sure what you're implying, Karen. But you should know where we are and what kinds of things can happen if people hear you say stuff like that…"
Karen's gaze immediately darts to the floor, folding. "Sorry—I just… I listen. I observe… My mom—she has told me enough about—" Her eyes scan the crowd and land on her dad, meaningfully looking between him and Olivia.
"Oh—Karen… I—"
"—look. It's not that big of a deal… I suspected a long time ago, actually. Like when my dad would take those trips to Camp David without mom… I don't know… I just observe."
"It's—I don't know what your mother has said, but I'm not—this is not—"
"Eh, you don't need to do that—I'm serious… it's okay."
Liv's brow furrows, and she scoffs. "Okay… well, is there something I can do for you?"
"I just—sorry. This is all coming out wrong… Can we—?" Karen gestures toward the door, and Olivia obliges, leading her out of the dining room, down the stairs, and out into the Rose Garden.
As they walk in silence a few paces, Olivia steers them toward a particularly covered, discreet section of the garden where a bench sits behind a tall rose bush, and motions for Karen to sit with her.
"Do you need help, Karen?" Her tone is attempting kindness, but lacking the familiar warmth—still guarded, still careful. "I don't want to…I'm sorry that you—"
"—no. I don't want you to be sorry."
"Excuse me?"
Karen blows a stream of air between her lips. "I—I'm not sorry… about you and my dad. I mean, what does that say about me? Being okay with your own dad fucking a woman that's not your mom—"
"—Karen—"
"—but I am, Liv. You're… good for him. You've helped him, and you've helped me, honestly more than I deserve… It's just been a lot these past few years with the whole presidency and dealing with mom and dad and trying to just live my life and fuck—"
At her exclamation, Olivia's head turns quickly toward Karen to find tears welling up in the young girl's eyes. Oh…
"—I didn't want my parents to get a divorce, of course I didn't, but they were so fucking unhappy and miserable and then Gerry…" She lets out a sob, bringing a hand to her mouth. "…and everything was terrible. Everything is terrible. You know? I hate them both. Mom and Dad… They are both so fucking selfish—you told them to have another baby, right? That was your idea? I mean, I didn't know it at the time, I was eleven… but I could sense they weren't happy, even then. They fought constantly… I always wondered why would they have another baby when they didn't even pretend to like the ones they had? I think boarding school was the only good decision they made together when it came to us kids—get us out of the house so they didn't have to deal with us. I'm so mad, at them…at the world…"
Olivia is shocked, legitimately in a state of shock, not knowing what to do or say. Knowing what she knows, guilt rises in her belly. She offers a soft, whispered, "I'm so sorry—" but Karen just continues.
"Now, they're apart and—I should be happy about it… I think that I am, but I still just want to do all of these reckless things because I'm angry—I want them to suffer like I have had to for their wrong-doings, and those two boys at that party were a mistake, but I keep doing shit like that—I'm just better at hiding it now. Do you think my dad would freak if he knew I made out with girls? That I like hooking up with them more than I like to with guys? I—"
She pauses momentarily, in shock. Like she had just slipped into a feverish state and woke up, realizing what she had just said.
"Oh my god- I'm sorry. That was… a lot. I'm so sorry. I totally shouldn't have—" As she moves to stand, Olivia grabs her wrist, bringing her back down to the bench.
"You don't have to be sorry…" Olivia keeps her gaze, looking fiercely and earnestly at Karen.
And the brunette melts. She throws her arms around Olivia's neck, sobbing loudly, blubbering through tears against her skin. "I'm sorry, I just—I can't talk to anyone about any of this and you're the only person I thought… I'm sorry—you deal with our shit, but you're the only person I know won't talk about any of this. I can't even talk to my friends—they don't understand this stuff, not when it comes to my parents… I just don't know what to do—"
It's intense, the way Karen's body is shaking against hers. It makes Olivia's heart ache for this young girl. She rubs her back, soothingly, and tries the techniques Fitz uses on her when she melts down like this—gentle shushing, pressure between the shoulders, squeezes on her arms.
When Karen finally calms, she retreats away from Olivia, looking uncomfortable and embarrassed, wringing her hands in her lap and fiddling with a loose thread on her plaid patterned trousers.
"Hey—" Liv murmurs, getting her to look back up at her. "I'm—I'm sorry. Truly, for everything that you've gone through—everything that you're still going through. You may not feel like it… but you are really freakin' tough, Karen."
She offers her a little smile. "Yeah, doesn't feel that way, but thanks…"
"I always ask my clients something. Can I ask you?"
Her eyes narrow, confused, but she agrees.
Liv cocks her head to the side before asking, "What is it that you want? If all of this could go your way, what would you want?"
It's almost comical how Karen's mouth gapes open, then shuts, then opens again, considering the question. She wipes the tears from her eyes and sniffles. "No one's ever asked me that… No one—it's never been about what I want."
"Well, I'm asking. What do you want?"
"I want…my parents to stop fighting. I don't want them back together, but I can't keep feeling like I'm in the crossfire."
"What else?"
"I want to get out of boarding school. I want to stop making shitty decisions… I want—normal. I want Teddy to have normal."
Liv sighs, deep and long. "Karen… I can help with some of that, but you," she points meaningfully. "You are not some normal girl, and I'm so sorry for that. I'm so sorry you don't feel like you have control over what's happening, but you kids do not get to be normal. Your father is the President of the most powerful nation in the world, by default you don't get normal."
Letting out an annoyed groan, Karen leans back against the arm of the bench. "Ugh—okay, yeah. I know that I guess."
They let comfortable silence fall again, listening to the sound of music and guests talking in the adjacent building. This was not how she saw today going.
"Karen—I… will try to help you, and I can always listen to you but… I think you should talk to someone—"
"I don't—"
"—just think about it, okay? I can set you up with a therapist. It'll be discrete, confidential. No one has to know—I mean, you're a minor still, so your parents will have to, but they will have no right to any information you share… Just think about it… You wanna stop making poor decisions? You want to learn how to tell other people how you feel, what you need? You want to process and grieve everything that has happened over the past six and a half years? That's what's going to help you…"
As soon as she says it, Olivia is filled with shame and embarrassment and regret, because here she is recommending the exact thing that she has needed for the exact reason she didn't want to do it. She doesn't want to process or grieve or even think about what has happened to her.
But now, she's fucking pregnant—if she is going to get her shit under control, this is the time to do it.
And all of the sudden, it doesn't feel scary for some reason. Her encouraging Karen somehow feels like she's encouraging herself. It feels…good. It feels like hope and light and the promise of getting better.
Grabbing Karen's phone, she puts her personal cellphone number in her contacts under the name "OCP" and promises that if she needs something, she can call, before guiding them back into the dining room just in time for the second course to be served.
When they make it through the door, Fitz catches them, eyeing the pair from across the room. Olivia holds his gaze and offers a tired smile, trying to reassure him—tonight. They sit at their respective tables, and Olivia tries to eat through slightly shaky hands and a now-upset stomach.
What the fuck was that.
Hours later, they are cuddled up next to the fire in the living room of the Residence, and Fitz has finally gotten her talking about her and Karen's impromptu meeting. She tells him the important stuff—how Karen has known about their relationship, how Karen has been dealing with the divorce, how she wants them to get along, how she doesn't want to go to boarding school anymore, how she wants a simpler, easier life.
She begs him to listen, to not get defensive, to hear how much Karen is struggling. It's not about his ego, or Mellie's ego, it about his daughter and how difficult these past few years have been.
"It's not my place to get between you all. It is not my place, Fitz, but if you could have seen—" She stops, remembering the look of devastation on Karen's face. "She's not okay, and she needs… support. And she doesn't feel like she's getting it from you."
Immediately, he winces, feeling the sting of her admission. Fitz bristles at the implication, but she stops him before he tries to defend himself.
"Again, it's not my place. I'm just telling you what she told me… I suggested…I suggested she start therapy… to talk about everything she's been through."
"Oh. Okay…"
"—and as soon as I said it, I realized that I—I don't know…I started considering it for myself…"
"Oh. Livvie—"
He hears the wobble in her voice, the coming sadness. Feeling the tears pricking at her eyes, she retreats from him, pulling her knees into her chest and resting her forehead on them.
"—I just… She was falling apart Fitz and all of the sudden, I realized that that is what I've been doing… Holding everything in until I suffocate. I can't do that anymore… It makes me so fucking anxious and scared and…I don't want to be broken anymore…"
Her confession kills him, hearing her mumble through tears, voice breaking every few words. He knows more that most how deep her struggles run, how even with her tough exterior, the pain inside can be debilitating. He knows how painful it is for her to admit that…even to him.
He pulls at her shoulders, beckoning her into him again and kissing her forehead, right between her eyebrows. "You're not broken, love. You're bruised, maybe, but you're not broken…"
Burrowing into his arms, she sniffles and wipes at the tears falling rapidly from her eyes. She tells him how terrified she still is. How her kidnapping has changed her psyche. How her PTSD comes out in the most random places, how she can't control it. How scared she is to tell the world about them, how she doesn't want her legacy to be attached to what is between her thighs, how she doesn't want her business, her reputation, to be burned. How nervous she is that this baby, this house is going to make her lose herself. How anxious she is of his expectations of her. How in the process of becoming his, she fears she'll lose herself.
And he holds her and listens to her as she confesses why this has been so hard for her. He doesn't think he's ever heard her talk this much, this openly, and he tells her he loves her, how thankful he is that she's talking to him, that he doesn't want to suffocate her, that he wants her to get the help she needs, that he'll do anything he can to help her.
"I'm sorry I'm crying so much these days…" she mutters against his neck when the tears dry up.
His laugh is tender and heartfelt. "Baby, if you keep apologizing for things that are out of your control, I'm gonna—well, I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'll do something…you know, I actually kind of like it…"
She pops her head up, looking at him incredulously. "You like that I've been crying?"
"No! Not like that. I just—I've spent years dreaming of this. Of us getting to just be together and talk. It just feels…right."
Her head falls back against his chest, nodding, agreeing that she feels the same way. It feels like…like a real relationship for once. It's not an affair anymore. She's not his mistress anymore. They're…together.
Later, they circle back to Karen, and he weeps, thinking about how alone she must feel, how alone he has made her feel. They talk about some plans, he promises to talk to Mellie, and she finally succumbs to her exhaustion, blinking her eyes sleepily at him and tugging him down the hallway into the adjacent bedroom.
Curling up against his chest, she sighs and melts into him. She mumbles an all too rare I love you into his skin, and in the next two slow breaths, she's asleep.
A/N: Hello beautiful people! I hope you enjoyed this new update. I felt like Olivia's mental health is a hugeee factor when it comes to her being open and communicative with Fitz, so I wanted to sprinkle in some of that. And also if you've read my work, you know that I love a Karen/ Olivia moment! Expect more of that in coming chapters! :) As always, let me know what you think xx