A/N: So this isn't anything you're expecting me to update and when I sat down to write this morning, I hadn't intended on writing this. Alas, sometimes your muse controls you. This has a definite ending in mind and it won't be long. Matter of fact, all intentions were for this to be a one-shot, but the neighbor down the street decided to knock everyone's power out by doing stupid things and reviews are a nice pick me up.

I feel a lot better and my health is swinging upward. Hopefully I'll have electricity soon and won't have to stow away in Starbucks and can finish the Metanoia update.

"I'm here! I'm here, I'm here!" Olivia Pope shouts as she speeds towards her classroom door. Passerby's lingering in the hallway throw her looks of scorn and incredulity at the volume of her voice. She pays them no mind, though, her thoughts concentrated on the man in front of her with a scowl on his face and his hand on the door.

Professor Grant.

"I'm here!" she shouts once more, as if he hadn't heard. She nearly collides into his broad chest, but manages to skid to a halt on her heels at the last moment. She sighs, relief flooding her petite body; she's made it. Olivia moves to step past him into the full lecture hall, but he stops her-arm jutting out as a makeshift blockade between Olivia and the door.

He glances down at his watch and shakes his head.

"You're late. Again. Class starts at 11:10, not 11:18. Though I suppose I should be lucky you've even graced me with your presence," he bites. "You know the rule. Three strikes, you're out. Try again next week."

Disbelief ripples across Olivia's cheeks. He can't be serious right now. She'd damn near twisted her ankle to get here. She definitely owed that man on the train an apology for dumping coffee on him in her haste.

"By eight minutes! Eight minutes!" She contests, thinking about his final exam in two weeks and her incomplete outline. "Professor, the exam is—"

"Not my problem, Miss Pope, it's yours. Maybe one day you'll learn to get here on time. Hopefully it'll be before I'm forced to fail you for missing class." He shoos her away from the door, shutting it with a finite click.

Olivia's face falls as her eyes meet the solid oak of classroom door. She hears Professor Grant's muffled voice begin to belt out the lesson of the day. Tears swell in her doe eyes and she chokes them back. Dejection sets in and she pivots, feet like lead as she heads back from the way she'd just came.

She pulls out her cell and dials the number she knows by heart.

"Hey, Abs, it's me. Yeah, I didn't make it."

/

Exhaustion seeps into Olivia's bones as she climbs the steps to her one bedroom apartment. From the outside of the door she can hear uninhibited laughter, child-sized giggles of joy. The sound causes Olivia's cheeks to tug upward into a soft smile, her tired eyes raw and puffy from crying crinkling with delight. She's just spent the entirety of the ride from Georgetown back to Navy Yard crying, thankful for the reprieve of an empty metro cart. Now it's time to put on a brave face for the little girl waiting for her on the other side of the door.

She pauses first, standing and listening to the laughter. Her keys are like lead pipes in her hand. Life is a constant uphill climb for her at the moment. Ten steps forward thirty-nine back. She just needs a minute to breathe before the weight of her responsibilities crash down on her petite shoulders. The wood of her apartment door is cool against her throbbing temple as she presses her head against the door. Just one minute. Her eyes glimpse the gold watch on her wrist. The long hands move from the twelve around the face, bypassing one through eleven. As the hands close on the twelve once more, signalling her sixty seconds are up, she slips the key into the lock and slowly swings the door open.

"Momma!" Olivia hears as a flash of chestnut curls and buttery brown skin fly into her arms.

"Hey, baby," Olivia whispers, bending down to press a kiss against the crown of her seven year old daughter's head. Somehow the weight on her shoulders seems simultaneously lighter and heavier with her daughter wrapped around her waist. "Did you have fun with Aunt Abby?"

"I did! We made pancakes, we watched Moana, and colored. And uh, Aunt Abby painted my nails…" Francesca, better known as Frankie, explains, shoving a handful of bright blue nails into her mother's face.

Olivia raises an eyebrow in the direction of her best friend, silently reprimanding the redhead for indulging the seven-year-old. Olivia didn't mind Frankie playing in makeup, etc. but what she did mind was it being done without her permission.

"Momma, I thought you had to go to school? Did you get the day off like me for professional development?" Frankie asks.

Olivia shakes her head. "No baby. I did have school, but I was a bad student. I was late and my professor didn't want me to disrupt his class so he couldn't let me in," she explains, a somber smile falls across her face.

"Well that's just rude! You're not a bad student. Your teacher is just mean! Isiah comes to school late all the time and he still gets to do his times tables!" Frankie declares, angry on her mother's behalf.

Olivia smiles at her daughter's simplistic view of the world and righteous, indignant anger. If only she understood.

"I agree. Grant is a gigantic di—" Abby starts.

"Abby! Frankie!" Olivia quickly interrupts, chin jutting out in the direction of her daughter.

Abby shrugs her shoulders. "You weren't even that late, he just felt like being an a-s-s. Someone needs to put him in check. He can't wield his power like that. He's a professor, not the f-u-c-k-i-n-g Queen of England."

"F-u-c-k…" Frankie tries to string the letters together, counting them out on her tiny fingers. The bright blue nail polish pops against her golden skin. Francesca Pope is like her mother, too smart for her own good and sometimes too intense for her own well-being.

"Frankie, baby, go get your homework so we can do it. You know, what you should've been doing instead of those nails..." Olivia points out with a raise of an eyebrow and a quick glance between Frankie and Abby.

Both Abby and Frankie look away.

"Mhmm, homework."

Frankie pouts before turning on her heels and disappearing down the hall to the bedroom she and her mother share in flurry of curls and light footfalls.

Olivia grimaces as she makes her way to the couch, throwing herself down on the piece of furniture and sighing heavily. Abby follows suit, turning off the long abandoned television.

"Liv, you look like you're about to crumble into a million pieces," Abby says.

Once more Olivia can feel tears swell in her eyes. She is close to crying. Again. After the sobs she'd let out on the metro, it's amazing she has anything left in her.

"What'd Grant say to you?"

A heavy sigh saunters from Olivia's plump lips, the bottom one quivers, a sure sign she's seconds from tears. "He's going to fail me if I keep showing up late and missing class. I can't fail, Abbs. Then I prove everyone right — I become another stereotype."

"Olivia, don't," Abby warns. "You've made it into one of the top law schools in the country while raising a daughter on your own. Yes, you had her young, but look at her and look at yourself. That little girl loves you. Don't let Grant's lack of being laid interfere with your self-perception."

Olivia gives Abby a watery smile, wiping away tears as they fall from her eyes. She just wants to give up, throw in the towel, and let it be. At twenty-four, she's so tired that she feels well-worn beyond her age. While most twenty-four year-old's were partying on the weekend, throwing keggers and trading drugs, Olivia spends her free time trying to raise her seven-year-old in a too cramped apartment while managing her own life. Too many times Olivia's sat up well past midnight finishing her own homework after spending all day showing Frankie how to do hers.

"I can't keep calling you to save my ass, though, Abby. Especially when nothing comes of it."

"Liv, don't. That's my niece in there. I'm more than happy to help. If I'm able to get here, I will get here. Okay? I just wish I would've gotten here sooner." Abby pats Olivia's knee, squeezing it gently.

It's a gesture of comfort Olivia feels she doesn't deserve.

"You're the only person who has been here. I can't believe Jake. She's his daughter too. I didn't climb on top of myself and get myself pregnant. He's such a fu—"

"Here!" Frankie shouts, barreling back into the living quarters with a piece of paper Olivia knows isn't her only homework.

Olivia sighs in frustration, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice, but failing. "Oh, Francesca, I know that's not it. Come on, baby. Make this easy for momma."

Frankie rolls her eyes in a dramatic fashion, sighing heavily as she makes her way back towards the bedroom.

From the other side of the couch, Abby laughs. "She's your twin, I hope you know that. You might not have climbed on top of yourself to make her, but you can tell that you put in all the work."

It's Olivia's turn to roll her eyes now, making a mental note to talk to Frankie about her dramatics later. "How much work can one really put in at sixteen?"

"Clearly enough to get the job done," Abby shoots back as Frankie barrels back into the room, this time carrying most of the items her mother had specified.

/

I'm a horrible mother. I am an awful mother. Someone should take her from me. Olivia curses herself internally as she takes hurried strides towards Professor Grant's classroom.

Two weeks have passed since her last showdown with Grant. Since then Olivia's done everything from cut showers, to beg her parents for help, in a concentrated effort to pass his class and wipe her hands clean of the man.

Today is her final, today is the last day she'll ever have to deal with him in her remaining tenure as a law student. Today is it, and of course everything has gone wrong in the last twenty-four hours.

Her hair is piled sloppily on top of her head, she wears sweats, and carries a sick Frankie on her hip. The little girl coughs pathetically, her warm forehead pressed into the crook of her mother's neck.

"My tummy, mommy," Frankie cries.

"I know baby, I know."

Olivia walks into the barren lecture hall, sliding Frankie into a front seat and opening a bottle of Pedialyte for the child. She slides into the seat next to her baby, her heart tugging at the look of misery etched into her daughter's face.

Frankie has a fever that refuses to break along with a stomach ache. The ER doctor from the night prior promised she'd be okay, that doesn't stop the fear from spreading through Olivia's heart. If anything were to happen to Frankie, Olivia would die. Gently Olivia reaches out to brush back Frankie's frizzy curls.

"Momma's gonna finish this exam quickly and then we're going to go home and get in a cool shower and sleep, okay?"

Frankie nods, dropping her head down onto the wooden desk. Her eyes flutter shut and a knot forms in Olivia's throat.

She looks so sick, what am I doing? Forcing her to sit here while I take this stupid exam.

Tears swell in Olivia's eyes and she wipes at the puffy skin just above her cheeks. "I promise I'll hurry, baby…."

"Miss Pope, who is this?" Professor Grant questions, his deep voice bouncing off the walls of the almost empty lecture hall.

He comes out of nowhere, his brow stern, his arms crossed.

Olivia narrows her eyes at the sight of him, trying to stop herself from a sarcastic retort. "My daughter, Professor," she states dryly.

"And why is she here?" he asks coolly.

Venom fills Olivia's mouth, her stomach coils with rage.

"This isn't a daycare center, Miss—"

She's had it. "I know that, Professor Grant. I pay my too expensive tuition that eventually trickles down to your salary, after all. And my sick child is here because my babysitter cancelled on me; her father is a deadbeat; her aunt is out of town, and getting my parents to help me isn't worth the blood I'd have to spill or the sore knees I'd have from begging. Contrary to popular belief, single motherhood isn't exactly a trip to the damn beach. So either let me take my examine in peace while my daughter minds her own business or kick me out. I'm tired of you threatening to fail me."

She doesn't realise tears are dripping from her eyes until she feels them slide down her cheeks. Nonetheless, she holds strong, chin jutted upwards in defiance and her chest heaving. Her eyes dare him to challenge her fury. But he doesn't.

Professor Grant's facial expression softens, he crosses the room, and bends down in front of where Frankie sits. He searches for the little girl's eyes.

"What's her name?" he asks softly.

The shift in his tone catches Olivia off guard. Her brows crinkle together and she wipes away the tears hanging on her chin with the back of her hand. "Francesca, but she prefers Frankie."

"Hey, Frankie. My name is Fitz. You don't look like you feel too well."

Frankie looks up at her mom with her bright brown eyes, asking for silent permission to speak to this virtual stranger. Olivia nods.

"My head's hot and my belly hurts," Frankie whispers.

"I bet you'd rather be at home sleeping than here, wouldn't you?" His tone is soft and comforting, like warm cotton fresh from the dryer.

Frankie nods against the desktop.

"How about we get your home then, okay?" he suggests before standing and turning to Olivia. "Miss Pope, pack your daughter up and go home. Call me when she feels better and we can reschedule your exam."

Olivia stares at Professor Grant, confusion coloring her face. The word why sits on the end of her tongue, but she doesn't say it.

"Go. I will not fail you, you have my word. She's your priority right now. Go take care of her." Fitz pushes, returning to the wooden desk at the front of the lecture hall.

While he's away, Olivia slowly begins to pack her things, wiping at her raw eyes. She prods an increasingly grumpy Frankie out of the desk and into her arms. Once more Frankie settles into her mother's hold. She's burning up against Olivia's skin. As the duo heads up to the exit, skipping around entering students, Fitz stops them. He holds out a card with numbers hastily scrawled on the back.

"That's my cell. Give me a call at about 4:30 today. Underneath is a number for my friend Stephen, he's a pediatrician. Tell him I sent you. Take care of her. Then we can discuss rescheduling your exam."

Olivia takes the card, her fingers brushing against his as she does. A jolt of electricity shoots up Olivia's arms where their fingers touch.

Professor Grant gives her an apologetic smile.

/

Stephen Finch is a tall man with a slight Scottish accent. He has a welcoming smile and is clearly phenomenal with children. Frankie doesn't protest as he checks her vitals, she doesn't throw a fit when he takes a vial of blood, or prods her puffy stomach; she only winces slightly.

According to Dr. Finch, the ER had been terribly wrong. Frankie does not have a common cold, but rather the onset of appendicitis. He offers Olivia one of two choices for treatment, antibiotics or surgery. Antibiotics, he tells Olivia, is a rather new method of treatment, while surgery is tried and true.

With tears in her eyes, Olivia painfully chooses the surgery route. The thought of someone cutting her daughter open nearly rips her apart. Stephen gives Olivia a sympathetic smile as he admits Frankie to the Children's National Medical Center.

That night Olivia lays scrunched up in a child's hospital bed, rocking her daughter to sleep. Surgery is set for early morning and Olivia isn't certain who's more terrified, she or Frankie. With Abby being away, Olivia's completely alone. She's made an attempt to call Jake, catching his voicemail instead.

Sometimes she wishes she could go back in time, visit her sixteen year old self, and warn the young girl about the boy she thought she loved. She'd let him talk her into bed and without a condom. He'd assured her the pull-out method was full proof. Nine-months, ten hours of labor, and a seventeenth birthday later, she begged to differ. As much as she thought about what it'd be like to do things differently, the young girl curled into her side proves it wouldn't be worth it.

Francesca Ann Pope is the love of her life.

Olivia strokes her daughter's loose braids, watching as Frankie's chest rises and falls. Her own eyelids feel like lead, but each time she closes them the worst case scenario pops into her head. A soft knock tears her from her thoughts. Olivia looks up to find Professor Grant standing in the doorway. He carries a large Teddy Bear and a few balloons that read 'Get Well Soon' on them.

"Professor Grant, what are you doing here?" Olivia asks, uncertain whether or not her eyes are betraying her.

"Please, Miss Pope, call me Fitz. Stephen told me he admitted Frankie so I thought I'd drop this off." He shakes the bear and balloons.

A pang of guilt bounces up Olivia's spine at his kind gesture. She'd been so awful to him earlier. The things she'd said, the venom in her voice, yet….

"Professor, you didn't have to; I mean you're the reason we're even here. Dr. Finch figured this out when the ER told me she was just being difficult."

"Fitz," he corrects, "and I know I didn't have to, but I did."

"Thank you, Prof—" He raises an eyebrow and Olivia corrects herself. "Fitz."

Fitz smiles and an awkward silence falls between them. Olivia's fingers still in Frankie's braids and from across the room Fitz rocks on his heels, treasures still in hand.

"I'll, uhm, I'll just put this down and head out." He hurries into the room, sets the bear down on the window ledge, and then turns to leave, but pauses in front of the bed. "Are you and Frankie alone?" he asks.

It's a simple question, not too invasive, but nonetheless it leaves Olivia in tears. Large droplets roll down her cheeks and hang from her chin as she nods. Gently she extricates herself from Frankie's sleep induced death grip. The little girl rolls over, curls into a ball on her side, tucking her hands beneath her chin.

Olivia makes a beeline for the bathroom, embarrassed by her tears. She presses the tips of fingers into the skin beneath her eyes, trying her hardest to make the tears stop, but the emotion is too raw. She stands in front of the child-sized sink, trying — and failing — to pull herself together.

For the last seven years she's been alone.

Keeping this child is your choice, Olivia. If you keep it, do not expect your mother and I to raise it. How could you become a stereotype? How could you be so common? How can you not want more?

"Miss Pope?"

Olivia turns to find Professor Grant — Fitz — standing behind her. His arms stretch outward and he gently pulls her into a soft embrace. She doesn't fight, doesn't protest as he rubs her back soothingly. He doesn't push her away when snot rolls down her face and she inadvertently uses his shirt as Kleenex.

"I'm just so tired and just so scared," Olivia admits. "Her father won't answer his phone. I haven't even tried my parents yet, but I never know how they feel about Frankie. Sometimes I feel like they see her as a burden — my downfall and their shame." She continues, unsure of why she's telling this to her professor of all people.

"I know how important it is to have a support system in times like this, Olivia," Grant squeezes her shoulders tightly. "When my son had a staph infection, I nearly lost my mind. His mother was too busy for him and all my father could do was berate me about how I'd let it happen. I understand and if you'd like, I am more than happy to stay with you both."

Slowly Olivia begins to pull herself together. She takes a step back, considering his offer. It isn't anywhere near appropriate. Is it? Until she takes his examine, she's still his student. Aren't they crossing some invisible line?

The question remains unanswered as a soft and sleep filled "mommy" sounds from bed. Olivia immediately turns on her toes and makes her way to Frankie, who sits up in bed, tears in her eyes.

"I woke up and you weren't here," Frankie cries, holding her arms out for Olivia. Once more Olivia slides into bed and pulls Frankie into her lap. She begins to rock Frankie to and fro.

Wordlessly, Fitz takes the seat next to the bed.