She called him the morning after their elevator-love-letter moment, to thank him for the popcorn that was, as ordinarily, delivered to her office. She didn't use the card, she already knew the number by heart. They started off slow, quick coffee breaks when she had a moment (his schedule was flexible, one of the perks of being a freelance journalist); the coffee breaks progressed into lunch breaks, and now they were having regular dinner dates. They weren't back to where they left things off, no that was fifteen years ago. They were adults now, all grown up, trying to find what once made them fall in love. She could still make him smile, anytime. And he could make her laugh, using a single line. And they could challenge each other, in a way no one else could, in a way no one else cared enough to. They could talk for hours and not notice the time and they could sit in silence reading each other's mind.

"Tonight was perfect. Thank you." She's sitting on his couch, watching him bring over a bottle of wine and two glasses; her eyes taking in his every step.

"Really? You're not going to comment on that girl sitting next to us who kept screaming O-M-G every time she took a bite?"

"Hey, I'm trying to play nice. Besides, it was a great evening anyway. I was with you so even that hyperactive baboon couldn't ruin it." And she's leaning in and kissing him. Starting off soft, but quickly deepening. Her fingers are in his hair, she's climbing into his lap, his hands travelling down to her ass. And the clothes are coming off, he's reaching under the hem of her skit, and suddenly she freezes. She's panicking, why is this happening, again? And he stops instantly, looking at her, hurt, but mostly just concerned. And she's slipping off his lap, grabbing her shirt off the floor, standing up and walking towards the bathroom door.

"Liv. Are we not going to talk about this?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about." It's a lie, and she's lying to herself. She wants to pretend; pretend it will go away on its own, pretend she can control what's in her head. "I'm just not ready. I can't." And she drops her gaze. He walks over, and slowly lifts her head, "It's OK. Let's just watch a movie." And he makes her smile, weakly, barely, but it's still a smile.

The credits are rolling but she can't get up, no it's too perfect being in his arms.

"Lunch on Saturday?"

"Oh, I can't. My mom is away for the weekend, she can't watch Zoey. And I promised her we'd hang out."

"Zoey could come." And with that she's sitting up; gearing up for a fight.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Liv it's just a lunch. She's the most important person in your life, I just want to meet her."

"You've met her."

"A couple of times, when picking you up. It does not count."

"No." It's resolute. Final. Game over.

"No? What are you afraid of? That she'll hate me? If she does I can fix that, I can work for it, I don't mind working for it."

"She's not going to hate you, she likes you." She's quieter now, putting the ball down. "That's the problem."

"What? Why?"

"She's never met anyone I dated before, aside from Edison. But that was mostly because we were friends forever. And she really didn't like him, so when we broke up it didn't matter. But when we break up…" And she stops, his face making her realize what she just said.

"When we break up?"

"That's not what I meant."

"It's what you said."

"Can we not do this now?"

"No, we are talking about this Olivia!"

"I don't want to have this discussion right now."

"Well that's too bad." And they're both yelling, fire in their eyes, it's battle time.

"Fine! She's nine years old. She's met you twice, and you charmed her just right, she thinks you hang the freaking stars. She likes you and she doesn't even know you. She'll love you Fitz. She will fall in love with you. And then when you walk away it will crush her. I can take it, I'm prepared; but she, she's not. She's nine years old."

And he's just staring at her, defeated. "When I walk away? You're prepared for me to walk away." And there's a quiet break, he lets his mind race, until finally he realizes what it means. "Oh dear God, you're just waiting for me to bolt. That's why you freeze every time we start…" His eyes are suddenly dark, the grey light gone. "It comes back to this every time. You don't trust me. And I keep telling you I'm not going anywhere, I keep telling you, but you don't hear me. I can't do this any more. I can't push you anymore. I need you to see, I need you to believe – I'm not going anywhere. I'm here to stay." He's looking directly into her eyes, and she's looking back, and they stay like that, for what seems like hours, refusing to blink, refusing to be the weak-link. Finally she gives in. She looks down, taking a breath, trying to contemplate. She's trying to phrase how she feels; trying to explain that she wants him to wait, that she needs more time; that it will be fine, that they'll be fine. She wants to say it, but she can't, because somewhere in her mind, somewhere at the back, she's still afraid. Every time his hands slip under her dress and she reaches for his belt; every time she gives into the love, into desire, her guard goes down and the pain she can usually keep at bay; the betrayal she keeps in check; the image of them – it all floods back. She wants to tell him they'll be fine, because it's all in her mind, but the thing is – it's not rational. She can't will her fears away, she can't keep them at bay. She can't hear his love, she needs to feel it; she needs to feel it more than she feels fear. So, instead of a reassurance, a proclamation she offers a justification, an explanation.

"I love you, but I don't trust you, and I want to. More than anything."

"But you can't"

"I should go." And he wants to stop her, to beg her to stay, but he knows that's not the way. No, she needs to want to stay.

"Wait, I just. I have something for you."

"Fitz…"

"I was going to give it to you before you wen home tonight anyway."

"What is it?" He's shoving a large brown envelope in her hands, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

"Just take it. And Liv… I wasn't going to bolt."

And she wants to say – I know, but all that comes out is a quiet "I love you", a whispered goodbye.

She gets home, her mom and Zoey, both asleep. She showers quickly and sits on her bed, takes a deep breath. Her hand hovers above the fold, and then she's opening the envelope.

He hasn't left the house the whole day, instead he sat on the couch and pined over the fact that she didn't stay. This time, she walked away. There's a light knock on the door, but he's ignoring it, it's probably just someone else's delivery. But they're not giving up and he's semi-drunk, so he loses his temper and marches over, swinging the door open. "What?!"

And she's throwing herself in his arms, kissing him desperately, trying to touch every inch of him. And he's pushing her away, barely managing to say, "Liv, what are you…?"

"You found out her mom's favorite ice-cream flavor, and her favorite movies. And you found out about her dad's favorite band. You found out about their first date, and what her mom felt like on her wedding day. You found things about them. Things we don't have. Things that aren't photos and yearbooks, foreign and impersonal. You gave her memories, you gave her memories she can keep. You gave her feelings and moments, a way to know them." She's rushing through her words; the more she says, the more he'll understand just how much this meant. "

How did you even?"

"I'm a journalist Livvy. A fairly good one. I tracked her mom's best friend."

"But why would…?"

"It seemed important to you." And it's as simple as that.

She's kissing him again. Taking their clothes off, trying to find her way. But then he's lifting her, carrying her, guiding her. And as they stumble on the couch he looks at her, making sure, and she just nods her head – "I trust you." And she does. The fear, overcome by love.

They're lying intertwined, a sheer layer of sweat reflecting the moonlight; his hand drawing invisible lines along her arm; she's just taking in his eyes, the way they illuminate the dark.

"I spoke to Zoey. She'd like you to join us for lunch on Saturday." And with that they're falling asleep; they're falling in love.

Thank you so much for the reviews and follows - you guys are such an inspiration.

The next chapter is "the lunch" and Zo's birthday, so really, just quite a bit of fluff.