"Are you sure you know where we're going?" She asks, smiling unconsciously.

A deep sigh. "Yes Olivia." The car in front of her slows down. "Is this making you feel better? Me going 20 miles per hour?"

"No, actually it's not." She answers indignantly, her foot easing off the gas. She glances back, checking that the girl is still asleep. She's wrapped up in his jacket, holding on to the sleeve loosely. "The GPS says we're going in the wrong direction. We should have made a turn half a mile back."

"One, I thought we said you'd follow me and not the GPS; two, the GPS is wrong, this way is quicker; three, you're a control-freak, you know that? Just rela-" And the car in front of her slows down until it comes to a full stop; the voice coming from the speakerphone mixed with a drilling noise, "Shit!"

"You were saying?" She should be annoyed, angry, irritated, but she can't stop laughing. She's imagining his face right now, and his face when they finally arrive, get out of the cars and she gives him an I-told-you-so-grin; she's imagining his face when she re-tells the story to one of his fuck-buddies one morning, and his face when Lynn starts asking why they're stuck in traffic. So no, she's not annoyed; she's just laughing.

"Oh, shut up." But it only makes her laugh, louder, harder.

"I feel like you should apologize."

"For what? This is your fault. You insisted we leave on a Sunday, in the middle of the night. That's when they fix the roads Olivia. I told you that, but no, you know best. And now, you're blaming it on me."

"Would you like me to consult the GPS Fitz?" She's still chuckling, trying to calm down, completely unfazed by his rant. He's quiet. She can imagine him tapping his palms on the steering wheel, biting his lip nervously. "All you have to do is say it."

"Fine." He hisses out.

"Nope, that's not quite right. Remember the deal Fitz. And if you don't say it, I'm telling Lynn, and then she's calling you grumpy-pants for a week."

"You. Were. Right. Olivia." The emphasis on right and her name, and the tone of his voice make him sound like he's in third grade; but really that's too advanced for his mental age.

"Thank you. I was. Now…" And she presses the screen a few times and lets it load, glancing back again, making sure the girl is OK. It took a lot of convincing to get her to come with them and she couldn't sleep the whole night, tossing and turning, afraid she'd have a bad dream – of crashing, the glass flying, the tires screeching. Then once they were actually set to leave, she wouldn't sit inside, terrified. He finally managed to change her mind, giving her his jacket, telling her that it's a shield, that it will protect her against everything. As they were leaving the city she fell asleep. "Got it." And she goes in reverse and then makes a half turn, breaking about 20 different rules. He follows her, impressed – but it's not something he'd ever say.

They get to the house just as the morning sun starts peeking out behind the heavy clouds. She can see her breath float through the frisk winter air as she gets out of the warm comfort of the car. He pulls into the driveway behind her, as she opens the back door, shaking Lyn gently. "We're here." The little girl rubs her eyes sleepily, trying to figure out where 'here' is. Her eyes widen, and her heart starts beating faster when she sees the house; when she realizes that she is home, finally; she is where happiness is.

"You OK Lynn?" He asks bending over Olivia and poking his head in through the car door. She nods her head happily, as she pulls his jacket off and hands it to him. They move, as if on queue, making space for her to jump out of the car and run towards the house. Liv looks at him, exhaling loudly, her eyes glossy. "It's going to be OK." He says instinctively, the conviction in his voice surprising them both. She just smiles weakly and nods her head appreciatively, still not fully sold. She turns around, and starts walking to the door, and he follows her, mesmerized momentarily by the sway of her hips. She reaches into her pocket as they get to the door and takes out a set of keys. She doesn't know which key to use, from the three hanging from the key ring; the keys, the house, everything is foreign. She tries the first one and gets lucky. There's a soft click. He puts an arm around her waist, and whispers, "It's going to be OK." Lynn just looks up, and they nod their heads. She turns the handle and there's a soft creek. The three of them go in.

It's warm. They left the heating on. They left it on, because they were only going to be gone for a week. And it smells like cinnamon and something else, something sweet, welcoming. There's wood in the fireplace, food in the fridge. There's a large Christmas tree, with a few presents underneath it, and homemade decorations hanging from the dark green needles. There are toys on the living room floor. It's a home. A family home. The family gone. Lynn just stands in the doorway, her eyes darting around the familiar space, but now, now it feels strange; no longer safe, no longer perfect; it feels broken.

"Can I?" And she looks up, in the direction of the stairs, not bothering to finish her sentence.

"Yeah." And they follow her, close enough, but staying behind – trying to give her some space – this is the last time. She pauses as she reaches her room, her small hand hovering over the handle. She closes her eyes, shuts them tight and for a moment she pretends she can hear her mom's laugh, her dad's steps – she'd always feel safe when she'd hear them. But she can't. All she hears are hurried breaths, hushed and nervous; on edge. She pushes the door and steps in, her eyes on the floor. When she finally looks up it feels like a dream; it's all too real. Everything is exactly how she remembers it. Her room is exactly the same. They're gone and she still doesn't understand that. They're gone and they're not coming back. And she doesn't quite understand, how, or why. She doesn't understand never, because surely they'll come back one day – to see her school play, to see her dance; they have to come back. Never just means, not yet, not for a while. They're just gone now. She wants to cry. It's already been a while. It's been Christmas and New Year, and there was the funeral and they said goodbye, but now – now it's time. She'd like them to come. She's at home. She's here. They always told her that if she got lost, one of them would wait for her at home. But it's quiet. Then she realizes – it's morning. Maybe, maybe they're asleep. And she knows, she knows they're dead – but she doesn't understand. No, she doesn't understand death – it seems too awful to her, too sad. That, that couldn't have happened. She turns around, and runs to their room, pausing at the door. She knocks. They taught her to always knock. No reply. She knocks again. She feels Liv's breath on her neck, as she kneels down next to her.

"Lynn, they're gone. They're not going to answer."

"I have to knock." She says, getting frustrated. They don't understand. Neither of them. She turns around again, ready to go back to her room, to wait.

"You can go in Lynn."

"No. They must be asleep."

He opens the door and steps inside. "Lynn, they're gone."

"You can't go in. You'll wake them up." She yells at him through tears; moving slowly towards him.

"Baby, they died." Liv says, reaching out. She pushes her. She doesn't want to be touched, to be held, to be hugged. She wants her mom. But Liv, she holds on. And she pulls her in, and wraps her arms around the petite body. She fights it. She fights the body that feels foreign; the unfamiliar scent that tickles her nostrils, the breathing that doesn't match her own, that doesn't calm her down. She fights it. But there is love in the touch, the way she's holding on; there's something sweet, reassuring in the scent that lingers, and the breathing is soft and steady, comforting. She gives in: relaxes into the arms, breathes in the scent; tries to steady her own breaths. The hurried whispers in her hair sound different, everything is different; but somehow, somehow in her arms she feels safe. And she can feel Liv easing her grip, as she brings her hands to her face, to wipe away the angry tears. It's already a routine. This. She pushes, and Liv pulls her in; breaks down her walls, her barriers; pushes thought her fears; she holds her, she makes her feel safe. And so does he. They both; they're there – she pushes, but they're always there. And every time she pushes a little bit less. Every time, it's a little bit more familiar.

"They're not coming back." She whispers in Liv's hair. "Not for a while."

She holds her small face in her hands, her thumbs grazing the freckled cheeks, "No, Lynn."

"I thought they'd be here."

"I know baby." And she does. They told her. Told her countless times. That they're gone; that they're not coming back; not soon, not ever – but she couldn't understand. Somewhere, somewhere in the back of her head she thought, she believed they were waiting, waiting here. And she knows, she knows that the girl still believes, despite everything; that they're still coming back – one day. And she will, for a while she'll believe. And the day she stops, the day she finally lets go, will be the day she'll be a child no more. "Let's go pack up your room?" She just nods her head and takes Liv's hand, leading the way.

He watches the whole exchange from the doorway; ready to step in, but giving them space. It's become a routine. She doesn't need him, she's got it. The girl calms down, relaxes into her arms, as her breathing steadies. She realizes, once again, the harsh reality of death, but then once again, it escapes. Her mind unprepared, unable to grasp the concept; the finality of it too elusive. They go to her room, to pack; they're moving her stuff. They've decided. They're moving in with Liv. She needs to stay put because of work; she has enough space; they have a support system there. It makes sense. They've picked a school, they've made a schedule, they can make it work. It's logistics and planning; being punctual, sticking to a program – it's not spontaneous; no overnight trips to Paris, or speeding down the highway as the sun rises; no this is waking up at the same time, and being there at night, it's being available, being responsible – all the time. It's being a grown up. It's dull. But the thing is – it hasn't been. Being with her, with them – it's been many things, but not boring. She's fascinating. Her strength, her confidence, her fragility. She fascinates him. Everything about her enchants him. Everything. The way she argues with him, the way she calls him out, the way she teases him and the way she can't be charmed. But mostly, how she is with Lynn. How quickly she's learning, how quickly she's stepping up, becoming a mom. He steps into their closet and turns on the light. He needs to pack their stuff. Clothes to be put away, clothes to bring with them; clothes from memories, from stories, the ones they want to keep. He gets the boxes from the car and goes to drop some off in Lynn's room. He pauses at the door, listening – they're laughing. She is laughing, the little girl is actually laughing.

"And then your mom puked – all of the ice cream – all over Aunty Jean's Christmas tree."

"She did not!" And she bursts into a fit of laughter again, running her thumb over the smiling face on the photo in her hand.

She looks up sees him standing in the doorway, holding a stack of cardboard boxes, smiling. She waves him in, and Lynn taps the floor next to where she's sitting. "Liv's telling me about the time mom puked all over the Christmas tree, because of all the ice cream she ate."

"I've heard about that." And he grins at Liv. It wasn't ice cream. It was tequila. Abby told him the story when he was trying to get her to do body shots off of a half naked girl, in a bar in Costa Rica. It was when Teddy and her just started dating. It was the first time she mentioned Liv. "Do you know about the time your dad dared me to put on a carrot mask?" She shakes her head, grinning. "Well, he dared me, said it was really dangerous, and of course I couldn't resist, so I grated some carrots and put them on my face, and kept it there for two hours. I was completely orange for three days after that. I won the bet, but I'm orange on our Christmas cards. You should have seen grandpa's face."

"My dad was really smart, huh?"

"Yeah." He says with a wistful smile. "I'll leave you girls to do this, and I'll go sort out the other stuff."

"Fitz…" She calls him as he gets up, and he looks down, giving her a warm smile, "Can you help us pack?" He looks at Liv, that's not what they decided, It will take them longer this way. She just nods her head, mouthing – "It's OK." She needs this. And he sits back down, unfolding a box from the stack, as Liv carries on, telling stories, giving the little girl more memories, more time.

It takes them a few hours to pack up all of her stuff. By the time they're done the room is completely devoid of personality; the only things remaining the white furniture and the soft-pink walls. She doesn't realize when she closes the door that it's the last time; she doesn't commit it to memory; but then there's nothing to commit, it's empty. The room, the way it is right then – it's death; she remembers vignettes of live, and that, that is enough. She joins them in her parents' room and helps pack up the photos; she helps Liv with her mom's jewelry. She lets her try it on – five necklaces at a time; the long string of pearls reaching her belly. Liv lets her try on a couple of pairs of heels, and lets her pick the one that she wants to keep. She lets her touch things, smell things, hold them. She lets her say goodbye to them. Even unconsciously, she lets her do it her own way. She falls asleep on their bed, wrapped up in her dad's jacket. The two of them settle in the closet – emptying shelves and drawers.

"Oh, my god! What an ass!" Instantly, Liv turns around to look at him, quizzically. "He has pot in here! And he told me, the last time I was here, he told me he didn't have any!"

"Seriously, Fitz? You asked him if he had pot. What are you 15 years old?"

"He had it!" He says, pointing at the thick joint, defensively. "Do you have a lighter?" And she just gives him a look instead of answering. "Right." He looks around, shuffling stuff around on the shelf where he found it, but comes up empty. "I'll get one from downstairs."

"You can't smoke pot in their closet!"

"It's not like they'll get mad." She just looks at him, and for a moment she looks like she might start crying, and he internally chastises himself for being a dick, but then, then she starts laughing, uncontrollably – her whole body shaking. The reality of it; the reality of what she's been saying, what she's been trying to explain finally settles in – they're gone and they're not coming back. Not now, not in a while. And it's the most ridiculous thing on the planet. It can't be right. They were young, bright, successful and in love; it can't be right. And she just laughs, because she can no longer cry; her tears have run dry. He lets her, waits for her to calm down; then grabs her hand and takes her downstairs. He grabs a lighter from the kitchen counter and then they go outside into the backyard. He lights it up, then inhales a few times, making sure it's burning just right. He hands it to her, and she inhales. The smoke burns her throat and she coughs, her eyes tear up and her voice gets raspy.

"I feel like I'm in college." She says as she hands him the joint, blowing hot air into her shivering hands.

"You smoked pot in college?" He says, eyeing her as he exhales.

"Nope." She laughs, "I smoked cigarettes a few times. The few times that I felt like I needed to prove that I was cool. And I hated it every single time, I was always freezing, I could never draw it in properly, I was always coughing and it never calmed me."

He crosses over to where she's standing and gives her the joint. He takes her hands in his, rubbing them, blowing the hot air. "The way you draw in properly, you suck the smoke in, and then you breathe it in, you literally breathe the smoke in." He takes it from her hand and brings it to her lips, "OK, now draw in." And she fills her mouth with smoke, before parting her lips, letting him move the joint. "Now, inhale, breathe in, deeply." And she does. It burns her throat, and she can feel the tickling in her lungs, but she doesn't cough. She fights the instinct as she looks at him, his eyes drawing her in; calming. "You don't need to prove anything Liv, you're amazing. And whoever can't, couldn't see that, is an idiot." She just smiles and takes the joint from his hand, inhaling again.

As she exhales she looks at him, tilting her head, smiling. "I don't know what it is. But with you, with you I can be me. I can just be Liv. And I don't know how, or why, because you drive me crazy most of the time, but with you, I'm just me. With you I feel free… I feel free to be me. Is that stupid?"

"No." He tilts his head too, and looks at her – his eyes filled with something resembling – affection? He smiles, but the smile it's the content kind, the unconscious kind, the kind that sneaks up and surprises us. "It's exactly how I feel. It's not stupid." She just looks at him, and she can't look away, she can't blink – there's something in his eyes, something so honest and raw, something that feels like a reflection of her own soul. He's looking at her, her eyes, the specks of gold glimmering in the moonlight; they pull him in, like gravity – he can't look away, there's something so soothing in them, so warm; so familiar – it feels like he's looking into his future, his past, his entire life. She feels herself leaning towards him, and she can see him getting closer, she can feel him closer; his eyes are too close to look into now; his nose touching hers. And she closes her eyes; actively not thinking about anything, anything but his lips, approaching.

Her cellphone rings.

She instantly steps away. All of her reason flooding back. She slides her finger across the screen and brings it to her ear, "Hey, Stephen." And with that she walks back into the house, and heads up. He stays down for another moment, breathing in the chilly air, trying to suppress the twinge of jealousy he felt when she said - Stephen. He presses the joint on the concrete and watches the light get squashed. He, too, heads inside. He finds her in the closet, and it's awkward for a moment; but then she pulls out a drawer and makes a face. He looks down and yells, "A little warning Liv."

"I can't believe we found their stash!"

"I can't believe they had a stash."

"A drawer of porn. Joint porn. And tools. And books. Oh god, things that I never wanted to know."

"Wait, is that Fifty Shades?" She just nods her head, pulling it out, opening it on a random page. She starts reading it in a seductive voice, bursting into laughter on the second word. And he can't help himself, but laugh as well. They think it's the pot, kicking in; but really, it's the company.

By the time they're done it's already the middle of the night. They carry the last of the boxes down; completely sober by now. He picks Lynn up from the bed and carries her to the car, strapping her in to the back seat. She turns off the lights, and closes the door, putting the key in the lock. But her hand just lingers, frozen. She feels him, his warmth, his breath on her neck; he puts his hand over hers and turns. There's a click, finality in it. She turns around and sees a tear rolling down his cheek. It finally hit him – the finality. The ending. The meaning of never. Of never seeing them again; never talking to his brother; never being stupid with him, never being challenged by him; never. He finally understands that never is not abstract, never is a lifetime, and that – that is too much. She kisses his cheek, kissing away the tear. And then the other one; her hands around his neck, her thumbs on his jaw. She kisses the corner of his lips, a lone tear clinging to it. She kisses the other one. The tears are gone. She closes her eyes; his long shut, and she kisses his lips, softly. She lingers for a moment, and then pulls away. She takes his hand, "Let's go, " and leads him towards the cars, "We're listening to the GPS on the way back."

"No way! I know how to get back."

"Not a discussion, Fitzgerald!" She says before she closes the door, straps in her phone, and calls him.

"Hi."

"Hi." And they turn on the engines, and drive – away from the house, from their lives; from the future that wasn't, from the past.

The cars speed by them, like comets in the darkness; signs of good luck. The sound of his voice, his breathing, keeping her company. "I really think you should re-consider."

"No! It's a good school."

"It's all girls."

"It's a good school." She says, grinning wildly.

"She won't have any boy friends."

"She's six. She'll deal. She'll meet them elsewhere. She needs to do extracurricular stuff anyway."

"She needs to play."

"She needs to get into a good college. Great college."

"With boys, or does it have to be all girls again."

"Oh, my god! Would you drop it! I went to an all girls' school and I turned out just fine."

"Well now…" He manages to utter between laughs.

"Oh, shut up!"

They both laugh.

Again, thank you all so much for reading this story and being so incredibly supportive. I LoveLoveLove reading your reviews, so let me know what you think. Next up - trying to live together, and a bit of jealous Olitz.