Ten weeks, cont.
"Wait… So, you realize you're pregnant, and you don't immediately run and hide?"
Abby's feet are tucked under her, back resting up against the wall of the closet as she watches Olivia shuffle through gown after gown, attempting to select the perfect one for the WH Holiday Party tomorrow evening. She's been staying "after hours" every day since they had confided in her, and while she doesn't really have a set working schedule as Press Secretary, Liv can't help but feel honored that she's willing to stay late at the White House, just to hang out with her.
It feels nice to have her friend back.
"I mean, it all happened so quickly. We were in bed together, and the next thing I knew, I was vomiting in his bathroom," she responds, nonchalantly as her eyes survey the deep forest green velvet gown in front of her. "I didn't really have the chance to hide when he found me."
"You were here? In the White House?" Abby asks, incredulously, eyebrows raised to nearly her hairline.
"Oh—" Liv replies, her voice cautious and instantly guarded, knowing she had just unintentionally revealed yet another secret. "Yeah… You know when he kicked Mellie out?"
"Yeah…?"
"Well, um… I started coming by the Residence more frequently…"
"Okay…?"
"—And staying the night… And getting ready for work here… And coming back immediately after work… For a while," Olivia admits, eyes intentionally staying fixed on the dresses, hiding from Abby.
"So, when I asked you if you had seen him, and you said no… You were living here that whole time?" It's a delicate line to walk, toeing between confronting Olivia and not wanting to make her shut down.
"Yeah, I was," she admits simply.
Their conversation halts for a few minutes, the sound of hangers scraping along the rack the only noise filling the air. But something new gnaws at Olivia's gut—this guilt of her betrayal, of her withholding.
She spins around to face Abby. "I'm…I'm sorry that I didn't tell you, that I lied to you. A lot has changed since then, but I'm just sorry. I wasn't ready to tell anyone, I was too scared to, I think, but I could have told you, and—"
"—hey," Abby cuts her off. "It's okay, Liv. You were doing what you thought you needed to do, to protect yourself and him. You could have told me, but I understand why you didn't…"
Liv smiles at her, taking a breath, before holding up a satin emerald gown that looks form-fitting with a swooping neckline and thin, crisscrossing straps in the back. "What do you think about this one?"
"Oh my god—I love it. Gorgeous. Try it on, right now!"
And it truly is. It's gorgeous. It's not a color that she usually goes for, but it feels festive and beautiful, shiny fabric complimenting her glowing skin, tight around her hips, low in the back, all of the features that she knows drive Fitz crazy.
"I love it, right? It's perfect," Liv says, twirling side to side in the mirror to take in every angle.
Abby nods. "It is… He's gonna die when he sees you."
"Yeah, and I have to wear shit like this while I still can," she murmurs as she surveys her still-flat belly in the mirror.
The redhead grins up at her. "I still can't believe that you're pregnant."
"Me neither, sometimes. Well, it's not like I forget, but it just doesn't feel real yet."
"I get what you mean… You're so tiny though, I bet you'll start showing pretty soon."
"I know," Olivia groans, moving to take off the dress and don her lounge pants again. "That's what my OB said too, which I'm excited about, of course, because I'll know that there's actually a baby in there, but also it feels like everything will become much more…serious…when I do. Like I'll have to be more careful about walking around, even here, and going to work, and running errands, and—"
"—and you're not ready for your life to change like that? Your freedom, your anonymity?"
Somehow Abby always knows what she's thinking. It's a blessing and a curse—if she couldn't put words to how Olivia is feeling, then maybe Olivia could convince herself that everything is fine, that everything is okay, that the change will be easy. But she knows better than that, knows that it will be hard, and acknowledges that as much as Fitz has promised her freedom and his protection, it doesn't mean that it will be easy to do so.
"Can I ask you something?" Abby questions softly and Liv hums, encouraging her on. "You're going public, telling the world that you guys are together, but I know you. I know how this is going to impact you, so what's your end goal here?"
"My end goal?" Liv asks, her eyebrows furrowing in genuine confusion.
"Yeah. What do you want out of all of this? The Olivia Pope I know has spent years avoiding this exact scenario, even though the man that she loves offered it time and time again. So, what's changed? What's your end goal?"
Olivia stiffens, walks to the chaise at the side of the clothing racks, and plops down. "I—" She starts and stops again, trying to be brave, trying to maintain eye contact, trying to walk into the fire of truth despite how hard it is for her. "I love him. I love him, and I'm so tired of doing that—of walking away from him. You're right, there's a lot that I'm worried about, but I feel like the difference is that I'm telling him that. I'm telling him that I'm scared, that I don't want to be his trophy wife or First Lady. I want him, and yeah, if I hadn't gotten pregnant, I'm not sure if we'd be on this path right now, but I want him and I'm learning that means that I have to do things, even if I'm scared to do them.
"My end goal? My end goal is us. Whatever that looks like, wherever that takes us…I'm not sure."
As she finishes talking, Abby stands and joins her on the lounger, taking her hand, looking into her eyes sincerely. "I think that's great, Liv. I mean it when I say you deserve to be happy."
Liv thanks her for being there with them, for being willing to walk into and brave the storm with them, and for supporting her and Fitz and this baby. She tells her that she doesn't think they could do this without her support and that she wants to be an open book with her now. No more secrets, no more hiding.
It's something she's willing to try on—see how it fits—this honesty and authenticity.
"Okay, well then, I have one more question," Abby replies with a grin.
Liv chuckles. "Okay, go ahead, then."
"You gave me a three-page breakdown of the plan—appearances, dates, quotes, desired interviews, trusted sources. Three pages—typed, single spaced. But nowhere on there did you mention an engagement or a wedding."
"That's not a question, Abby," Liv comments, shaking her head and looking down at her cuticles.
"Okay, I could ask a million, but I guess just…why? Why isn't that part of the plan?"
"I heard Abby was up here earlier," Fitz comments, voice resonating through the bathroom as they make their way through their own nighttime routines—Liv washing her face, Fitz brushing his teeth.
"Yeah, she was…" She replies quickly with no desire to elaborate, drying her face with a fluffy white hand towel.
"You okay?" He asks, crossing the bathroom and slinking up against her back where he pulls her hips to him and wraps his arms around her midsection. His eyes find hers through the mirror in front of them. "You seem…I feel like you're thinking about something."
"I guess I am…"
She wants to acknowledge that that even feels like a victory, admitting that something is on her mind. It doesn't make her want to talk about it, necessarily, but she feels proud of herself, nonetheless. It's a step in the right direction.
Squeezing her tightly to him, he kisses her temple and then her cheek before whispering for her to meet him in bed—he knows that it's easier for her to talk if the lights are off, and she's comfortable.
Her robe is swapped out for one of his biggest tee shirts, drowning her body in soft cotton fabric like she likes, the hem hitting the tops of her thighs. She pads barefoot through the bedroom, filling up the water glass on her nightstand, bringing him one as well, moving to turn off the light, and finally crawling under the covers with him.
The room is dark and just chilly enough for her to enjoy the heat of his body against hers. She turns over and scoots back into him, letting him spoon her, resting her head against his bicep under her, and drawing his hand to rest on her belly.
She knows that he's waiting for her, she can sense it in his posture and rigidity against her back.
"Abby asked me something tonight…"
"Okay…" He replies hesitantly. "What about?"
"Us getting married." She says it directly, honestly too physically and emotionally exhausted to beat around the bush.
"Oh," he utters, a little breathless. It's a conversation that he's not wanted to have. It's one that he hasn't brought up for the same reason that has kept him from speaking up about anything during this time in their relationship.
"Yeah. She asked me why it wasn't a part of our plan, and honestly? I felt ridiculous."
He didn't expect that. "Ridiculous? Why?"
"Because I hadn't thought about it," she confesses.
"You hadn't thought about getting married?"
"Well, I have, it's just been a while."
"—and what do you think?"
He's putting the ball in her court, and while she knows that he's doing it out of fear, out of his desire to keep her comfortable, she's sort of thankful for it. It does keep her comfortable, allowing her to share her thoughts and feelings without worrying that they might not align with his.
"I think…" She pauses, wiggling her hips back into him, trying to get as close as possible when she says it. "I do want to marry you."
"Oh—"
And she's really surprising him tonight because he wouldn't have guessed in a million years that she would say that. Not like that, at least—so sure, so decisive.
"But I don't think we should get married right now," she adds.
He chuckles gruffly into her hair. "It's always a rollercoaster with you, Livvie."
"Hey!" She giggles, feigning offense at his teasing. "I'm being honest, here!"
He softens immediately as his thumb strokes across her abdomen, reminding himself just how far they've come together. "Okay, okay. Tell me why."
"Well, first of all, I don't want to be pregnant at a wedding—that sounds miserable."
"Got it. I don't blame you on that one…"
"—and second, I want to focus on us right now. I know how I feel about you, and I think I know how you feel about me, and I want to just enjoy that right now. A wedding would be for all these other people, and we don't need that right now."
Fitz hums, considering her argument. "But a wedding would also be for us. To show how much we love each other. How we are ready to spend the rest of our lives together."
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"Yes?"
"I'm here. We are having a child together. Isn't that enough proof that I'm ready to spend the rest of my life with you? What does a ring signify that my love for you doesn't? Other than just showing everyone else that I'm—"
And therein, she realizes the depth of his fear. Of how much her constant running has traumatized him. That he wants, he wishes, for everyone to know that she's his and for her to have a ring on her finger that proves she is. That she will always be his.
The first ring he gave her wasn't for that purpose. It was for him to know that she was out there. That a part of him was with her. That he could see a part of her soul was still with him when she wore it. But that was just it—a part. One foot in, one foot out.
She flips around in his arms and instantly hides her face in his neck, breathing him in, planting kisses at his pulse point to emphasize her words. "I'm not running. I'm not going anywhere. I love you. I'll keep saying it until you believe me, because I know how long I didn't do that. I want to marry you, but I want to do it when we can focus on us."
He holds her and lets her kiss him, trying to soak in her words as much as he can. It takes a conscious effort to try and believe them, but he wants to because what she is saying actually makes sense to him. It doesn't feel like she's trying to put it off or talk her way out of it; it feels like she wants it but only if they do it right.
"I love you," she whispers against his skin, and as she glides her thigh across his body, she pushes him onto his back and crawls on top of him. Her kisses trail up his jaw toward his lips so that she can breathe the words directly against him.
He, of course, murmurs it back, letting her affection wash over him like a beautiful summer's rain, cleansing and revitalizing the parts of him that have withered since she last touched him. His hands skim up her thighs, over her panties to her bare back under his shirt, fingers pressing into her soft skin at either side of her spine.
She moans at the touch. He's noticed the evolution of this—her getting turned on, not just by his touch, but by his love for her—by her love for him. She's loved him for years undoubtably, but the fact that it spurs her on now, the fact that talking about their relationship and love is making her wet, makes him so unbelievably desperate for her.
Her lips coax his open, tongues brushing heatedly together as she grinds her hips down against his.
"I do want to marry you, someday," she murmurs, accentuating her words with another roll of her hips.
"Is that right, pretty girl?" he asks, the tone of his voice deep and erotic, full of his arousal.
"Mm-hmm," her head nods, and he can feel her body already trying to convey the truth of her words. "Wanna be your wife…"
His wife.
There's so much he doesn't know, like if she will take his last name or if she will want to wear a flowing white gown or if she will want a ceremony or if she will want to read vows or have a cake or a first dance. But right now, none of it matters. He hears the clarity, the sincerity in her voice, and he believes her.
Her husband. His wife. Together.
A/N: More talking! We love a healthy, communicative Olitz! Thank you for being patient with me and these chapters! I'm trying hard for weekly updates, but life happens :) I so appreciate all of your lovely comments and thoughts on this story! Let me know what you think about Liv's marriage thoughts!
