She hates bed rest. Well, she understands the point of it- keeping her from trouble, resting, nearly glued to any type of seating material. But for someone who is used to doing so much, it was just that…boring. Not being able to freely move, outside the house that is, was something she had yet to get used to. The first few days made sense; eat better and more under watchful eyes, sleep more which didn't bother her much but she needed something to do, something to keep her mind busy and going, something that didn't involve staying at the house. But then, that was the entire point- stay in, decrease the stress level, make sure everything goes back smoothly. She finally understands the weight of being responsible for another, tiny and unplanned but so wanted, life.

The first night after the hospital, after the doctor had cleared her home, he had put her to bed, kissed her temple almost like it was a ritual- it didn't linger, and when he thought she was sleeping, made his way downstairs, and she could hear the glass clinging as he took a tumbler from its place and put it on the nearby table. She placed bets on scotch. She could count on one hand, save for the holidays, how many times she had seen him head towards the brown liquor to take his burdens away.

He wasn't happy. And she had been expecting it. For once it wasn't something she had actually done. It was something beyond her control. It wasn't something she had deliberately done. She wasn't that crazy. But still, he was upset, almost angry that they couldn't have prevented it, that no one was there to shield her. And he unleashed on one of the workers in charge that day for letting the guard go earlier than usual, granted she didn't have that many people working for her but he knew exactly towards whom he would take his anger onto.

And all she could really think about was the box, the little ballerina, and the soothing song that still played perfectly. The music box had been a gift from her grandmother or her mom, she couldn't remember exactly. But it was still playing, and with it memories of days she spent in the family living room staring in awe as the elegant figurine turned on itself again and again. She can still see herself, little Olivia, kneeling in front of the antique table next to her mom while she knitted hats and socks after work. She could still see the smile on her lips, wide-opened eyes as she thought how graceful she looked. And that was the reason why she pushed for dance classes and ballet rehearsals. She wanted to look like her, to see eyes staring back at her marveling at her grace.

The same music box had taken its place as a book holder when she got older; it was one of those knickknacks she just couldn't part with. It was one of those things she didn't just let go of, as she grew older. After graduating college, after packing some of her life into boxes, she had moved temporarily back with her parents, well mostly her mom since her father was pretty much never in the same room as she. Then, the day she took her mother's antique armoire into her not-so-new office, she had packed her favorites- books, the box and some other things.

Before she knew it, that night, she had fallen asleep humming to her baby girl, a way of saying sorry, I love you, hang in there baby girl.

She had asked, more like pled with, Abby to bring her the box and its contents. And here she is, the box on her lap, staring at her baby socks covered fingers, almost completely lost in her thoughts when she hears the doorbell she was expecting. It was the middle-aged nurse; she could guess she was in her mid-thirties; she was always smiling and reassuring, finding a way to ease up the situation.

"How are we doing today, Olivia?"

"Fine I guess, as long as the little miss stays in there for a few more months."

The nurse laughs, "you look like you're going to die from boredom."

She cracks up a smile, then a small laugh of her own as she lays down on the couch and lifts up her shirt, "not die but it's weird just being home."

"I can relate, but it's just a few more weeks," the nurse says, while examining her, "and you seem to be doing much better," the nurse digs a small Doppler monitor from her bag, "want to listen to her heart?" she nods, eagerly, "steady and strong, and exactly how it should be. Just try and keep stress at bay, everything will be fine. I can't see why you'd have any other scares if you're careful and don't forget your vitamins," she finishes as she makes her way to the door, "It's abnormally nice outside I guess it wouldn't do you any harm," she winks at her.

She pulls in the driveway and exhales loudly when she sees the familiar car already parked in its usual place. She takes a few minutes, gathers herself, reminding herself that he'll hear her out at some point, he'll probably yell, imagine the worse case scenarios but at some point he'll stop and expect her to just say something, because it's been a long day and judging by her dead phone she can already guess its resurrection will bring up a million missed calls and messages. She reaches behind her, taking her purse from the backseat where she had left it and counting to three, makes her way out of the car.

The house is surprisingly calm, and still put together- there are no papers strewn on the ground so he hasn't been working while waiting for her, his phone is not burning from relentless use or shattered against a wall but the empty glass she expected is sitting in the sink, and she makes her way to her favorite loveseat, propping her tired and swollen feet next to the cushion, her hand landing to the side of her stomach. She rests her head against the armrest and before she knows it, she starts humming and her eyelids close, succumbing to the exhaustion she is now familiar with. Walking was indeed amazing, liberating. It's only when she feels fingers gently brushing strands of hair away from her temples that her eyes pop open.

He looks tired, tired but not mad. Seizing the opportunity she sees as a potential white flag, she lifts her feet from their spot, patting the little empty space and he takes the lead.

"Soon we won't be able to fit in here," he says, more like thinking to himself.

"Are you calling me fat?" she tries to sound offended.

"The last thing I can call you is fat, you've barely put any weight on."

"That's what you think, wait until I start taking you shopping with me and you'll see many of those trips we'll make." When he smiles but doesn't answer, she continues, "You look exhausted."

"It's been a long day." It's a fact. He turns his head towards her, and she can see it –he's worried and it's stretching his face, highlighting signs of tiredness.

"I could give you a massage but I was counting on your fingers to ease the damage your daughter is doing to my back."

"So now, it's my daughter?" and he laughs, taking her off guard, it's genuine and lights up his feature like magic.

"When she's like that she's your daughter. She liked our walk," And she takes his hand, putting it beneath hers on her stomach, her thumb going in soothing motions.

"I thought I was the one who had to give massages."

"I'm just preparing your hand," she smiles.

Time just seems to go by, slowly, and their gaze never give up on the other, melting souls and taking away hurdles from the last events, they both relax, tension leaving muscles, tension leaving the room, the house, as their chests rise and fall in one motion. They're one again, the invisible cracks in their bond fading away- because they're that strong.

"I had the inspector on the phone." He starts after a moment.

"I know."

"It was just a kid and Dan isn't scary enough to talk him out of breaking into your shop."

"I know. Actually Dan was emptying the cash register, we were apparently about to close which is why the door was stupidly open. A broke kid wanted money for a night out, as stupid as that."

"I don't like it when you put it like that."

"Fitz, what happened, happened. I really don't want to dwell on that. Life is not risk-free. It wasn't your father, that's a fact."

"Yeah, about that… Rachel called. My father's plane crashed."

"Oh… Is he…?"

"No. Not yet at least. He's pretty much brain dead or something; I didn't want to know more"

"And how are you?"

He snorts, his fingers mindlessly rubbing her stomach, "Relieved. Free. I can finally have a day go by without wondering what his next stupid move will be. He's getting what he deserves- a slow, hopefully painful death. And even with that, for what he did, not just what he said or did to you or us… I'm just that… relieved. You?"

"I really don't care. I mean it's his loss, that's why I never really paid much attention to him or whatever he thought as right or wrong. I just learned that whatever he thought of me didn't matter. He's the one missing out, his loss."

"I don't get it."

"He'll never know what it is to be happy, to be loved, to have what we have. We just need each other and-"

"it's all that matters." He finishes, nodding, "I've never looked at it like this before. It's-" and he stops, dead in his track, "did she just-" and he looks at her bump.

"Kick? Yeah." And she smiles.

"Promise me one thing?"

"Fine."

"No more acrobatics or trying to get stuff without getting help or at least a chair."

"Pinky promise." She kisses him, "I still want my massage."

And he happily obliges.

Hopefully this fixes last chapter !