So after the fairly vocal upset over the last chapter, I figured I better update this sooner, rather than later.

Her trembling fingers play with the zipper. She is nervous. He makes her nervous. She sits on the bed, her feet dangling off the edge, as the heels of her palms dig in to the softness of the covers. She bites her lip. She should change. She should. She gets up, but then changes her mind again, her fingers resting on the cool metal. Maybe he'd want to take it off. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror – and chuckles softly. She is fifteen again, in love and unsure; of herself, of him; afraid, of how much she cares. He won't care, she knows he won't – he'll see her, and there'll be that glint in his eye, the hunger; and it will make her forget her inhibitions, her fears and uncertainties; it will let her disappear in him.

His NAVY t-shirt. She should wear his NAVY t-shirt. He'd like that. It's simple, and intimate, and them. And easy to take off. And she blushes… at the memory, at the prospect that what she felt, the sensations that coursed through her body were only a beginning. But then, there's a soft click – the sound of door being closed. And instantly – her stomach is a bottomless pit.

She shouldn't have left him alone with that man.

She should have known better.

She runs her hands down the soft fabric of the dress, ironing the invisible wrinkles as she inhales. She squares her shoulders, lifts her chin up, defiance and resoluteness gleaming in her eyes. Her steps are strong, determined, sure. She knows where she's going and what she's doing. She kneels next to the sofa and hisses in an icy tone, "What did you say to him?" The man just stirs, but she knows he's heard; she knows he's heard and he's a coward. "What. Did. You. Say. To. Him?" She asks again, hostility seeping from her every word. Finally he turns around, slowly, lazily, as if she is a petulant child who dared to disturb him.

"I told him the truth." He says defiantly. His cold eyes challenging hers.

"I made a fascinating discovery recently," she says coyly, as she lowers to his eye level again. "I thought there was something strange about Teddy's will. I mean he left everything to Lynn, everything, but the most valuable thing he owned." And she pauses to look at him, as all color drains from his face; the change apparent even in the semi-darkness. "So I had a friend look into it-"

"You had no right to-" He hisses, his face suddenly turning red, as he lifts himself up to a sitting position on the couch.

"To what? Read the part of the will that your lawyers conveniently forgot to fax over?"

"Whatever you did, however you did it – was illegal." He is rising now, and so is she.

"Yes it was. But unlike me, you can't prove a thing." And she tilts her head with a small smile. "I will ask you again, and this time, I'd like you to keep in mind that as Lynn's trustees, Fitz and I also control her shares. And well, Fitz' shares and Teddy's shares… you do the math." He opens his mouth, then closes it again, huffing. "Alright then – what did you say to him Gerry?"

He just stares at her – he's taller, and bigger, and towers over her petite frame, but all she sees is a petty man, a mean man, a broken man. She pities him and he knows it; he resents it.

"I told him I wished it was him." He says it quietly, his eyes no longer on hers, they're on the floor, and there is something akin to regret in his voice. She takes a step back, shaking her head, her face contorted in disgust. He takes a step towards her, but she lifts her arm up, and instantly, he stills. "I was drunk."

"And that makes it OK? You told your only living son you wished he were dead." She spits out.

"I miss him." He says quietly.

"You need to leave." And he looks up at her, shock evident on his face. He's taken aback; surprised.

"Liv-"

"No. He will come back. And when he does he will be upset. And this, this is his home, our home, this is a safe place, place of love and understanding. And you are no longer welcome here. He will come back." And they both know that now, she's saying it for herself. "Pack your things and I will call you a cab. I will drop Lynn off by your hotel tomorrow, so that you can say goodbye." He just nods his head, and walks away. She calls him a cab, and makes a reservation; he walks, his steps soft, his broad shoulder hunched. He pauses at the door, "He'll hurt you, you know." And she just looks at him, determined to fight back the tears. "He's just like me, and nothing like Teddy." And with that he leaves.

The door clicks and the quiet settles in. She's standing alone in the empty room. There are still confetti on the floor, the remains of the piñata hanging from a string in the ceiling; toys scattered, photos decorating the walls. It's no longer impersonal, it's no longer just a place she sleeps in – it's a home, it's memories. The couch where he held her after the funeral; the chair in which Lynn sat the first time she let her brush her hair; the pillows they fought with, that one time, on a foggy January morning – it's a place full of stories, promises, dreams. Of remnants of them, of him. She collapses on to the couch and pulls her knees to her chest, lowering her forehead to rest on them. Her heart is beating loudly, ringing in her ears. She stood up to him. She threatened him. She stood up to him. The realization washes over her as the adrenaline retreats.

A tear rolls down her cheek. Slowly. The first one, tender and unsure, gliding down her heated skin. The next one follows in its trail, faster. It doesn't cling to her lips, it rolls all the way down to her jaw, down her neck, until all that's left is a faint silver trail. And then she's sobbing, uncontrollably, the sounds muffled by her flesh. He will come back. He'll come back, and she'll let him. Because she loves him. Because, despite all the caution, and all her better judgment, she is in love with him. She sent a broken man away for him, and she hates herself for it; for knowing that she'd do it again without blinking.

He'll come back and she'll give away a little piece of herself to let him. And as much as she loves him, she'll hate herself for it. She hates herself for it.

And she can't breathe, the air is no longer reaching her lungs. And she doesn't know if it's the cries, the sobs that echo from deep in her gut, or the heat of her skin, or the tears freely falling down her cheeks. She throws her head back, leans it against the back of the couch, and inhales. Once. Twice. Three times. And she can feel her heartbeat slowing down. She collapses on her side, curls up in a tight ball, resting her head on her elbow, as the tears change their direction. She drifts off to sleep, clutching her phone tightly – just in case – he calls, or someone calls saying they found him.

"Livvie…" And she feels the familiar fingers brush her cheekbone. She smiles against the touch and stirs lightly. "Livvie…" It's a little bit louder this time, a little bit less distant. And she can feel his thumb running along her closed eyelids. "Liv…" And there's a tone of concern in his voice, a tone that alerts her that this, this isn't a dream, he's back, he's really here. She opens her eyes. It's still dark, it takes her a while to adjust.

"You left me all alone." She says in a broken voice.

"I'm sorry…" He says, looking at the floor. He's kneeling before her, his hand cupping her face gently.

"I know." She says tenderly, as she places her hand over his. "But you can't keep doing it. You can't keep running away, you can't keep hiding from me."

"I'm sorry." She lifts his hand from her cheek, and he looks up, panicking. She kisses the inside of his palm, her fingers interlaced with his.

"Where did you go?"

"The White Horse."

"Oh." And she doesn't say anything else, afraid that her voice will betray the weakness, the vulnerability that she feels.

"Just for a few drinks." And he's looking at her, trying to read her expression, trying to decipher what it is she needs to hear. "I ran into Melanie." She looks at him quizzically, "Amber's dad's girlfriend." And she nods her head. And she knows he's seen it, the flash of panic in her eyes; she knows, because there's a flash of pain in his. "Nothing happened. I bought her a drink. We talked. I walked her home. Then I walked back to clear my head."

"I didn't…" She protests weakly.

"Yes you did. And I get it." He says as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "But you need to start trusting me. I know I fucked up with Mellie, I know that, but we're together now, and I… I'd never hurt you like that again. I'd never to anything to risk losing you. I can't lose you." And his voice cracks, and the pain in it, the desperation, the plea, crumbles all her defenses.

"Hey… I'm not going anywhere." And she whispers it like a prayer, as she pulls his head into her chest and runs her fingers through his hair. "I trust you." The truth is, she wants to; so desperately wants to.

He finally moves, and looks up at her, smiling. "Let's go to bed." And she needs space, to think, to breathe, to process this; but instead she just nods her head and takes his hand. He guides her to her bedroom, their fingers lazily interwoven.

"Unzip me." And she turns her back to him. He runs his hands along her shoulders, down her arms, then up her side, until he reaches the zipper. And he pulls it down, slowly, as the soft fabric falls open, exposing her velvety skin. His fingertips brush against it and she shivers, her shoulders instinctually rising into his chest. He lays a tender kiss on her neck, and she turns her head to the side, until it's resting just below his shoulder. He pulls the straps off, and the chiffon pools at her feet, leaving her almost completely bare before him. He kisses her shoulder, letting his jaw rest on her collarbone for a moment, letting himself inhale her scent.

"We should go to bed." He whispers in her ear, and she just nods her head with a small smile. She would have done anything, everything with him; and they both know it. But too much has happened in a single night; too many emotions to be rational. He hands her his NAVY t-shirt from the bed and she pulls it on, over her head.

She heads into the bathroom, and he follows her, his hand resting on the small of her back. She turns the light on and, "You've been crying." And she looks into the mirror, and a pair of blood-shut eyes stare back at her, and behind them, cerulean filled with guilt, concern.

"I…" But she doesn't know what to say, what excuse to make. He turns her around and leans his forehead against hers. He kisses the tip of her nose, each of her cheekbones, then her eyelids.

"I won't hurt you again."

"Promise?" And the vulnerability in her voice, the utter openness, the rawness breaks his heart, but also steadies it, grounds it – lets him find the simplest of truths.

"I promise." And she just nods her head. He lifts her chin up with his finger, and her eyes meet his, the fragments of tears reminders of his sins, "I love you Livvie. And I am in this. All in. No more running. And no more hiding. Tell you every dull thought that crosses my mind, and every amazing one; everything."

"Everything." She repeats with a small smile. She props herself on her toes and kisses him. Softly. Her lips barely touching his. They just stay like that, barely moving, barely breathing; existing only in the heat of skin, the scent, the shallow breaths. He steps away, and grabs her toothbrush from the sink behind her back. She takes it with a smile and hands him the toothpaste. They brush in silence, their eyes suddenly alive under the harsh bathroom light.

She settles under the covers as he slips his clothes off. She watches his form, his muscular physique illuminated by the fading city lights. He lies next to her, and for a moment, it's awkward. But then he reaches for her hand, brushing his thumb along her knuckles. She smiles and scoots over to him, laying her head on his chest. She moves her legs closer to his, gingerly, until they're touching, and he just pulls her in closer, so she hooks her leg over his, their limbs intertwined completely. He runs soothing circles on her back, absentmindedly, as their breathing falls in sync.

"So her name is Melanie?" She asks with a soft chuckle.

And he smiles, it's her way of letting him know they're OK. "Yeah, and she's pretty smart actually." She looks up at him, quizzically. "She told me I'd be the biggest dickhead moron if I ever let you go."

"She did not." She laughs into his chest.

"She did. Right before telling me, and I quote, I mean with those genes, you'd have the cutest kids."

"You'd make a great dad." She says softly, the atmosphere instantly changing. "You are a great dad. To Lynn, for all intents and purposes." She pauses and runs her hand thought his wiry chest hair. "You're nothing like him Fitz. He does things for power; and you, you do them out of love."

"Thank you… For saying whatever it is you said to him that got him to leave."

She smiles against his chest, "I do things out of love too."

He just kisses her temple, and wraps his hands around her a little bit tighter. And they drift off into peaceful slumber.

I've got to say, I loved Liv in fixer mode. And he told her he loved her, and she sort of said it back, kinda. But really, clearly she's so far gone. I was super nervous about this chapter after the last one, so let me know what you thought, am I off the hit lists yet?

A/N: just to avoid confusion, the girl who brought Amber over for the sleepover (in ch.6) was her nanny, not the girlfriend.