Like I have no excuse for not updating this... except - the closer I get to the end the less my brain seems willing to cooperate. But it's still some way away. And this is mostly fluff and smut so I hope you'll enjoy that.

We'll run away together
We'll spend some time forever
We'll never feel bad anymore
Weezer, Island in the Sun

"Livvie…" He whispers in her hair, gently tapping her shoulder, "We're about to land." She stirs slightly, and lets out an annoyed groan, nuzzling closer to him, until she can feel the pulse in his neck against her forehead. Steady. Soothing. She feels the laugh that escapes his lungs, she feels it travel up, out of his throat, until she can hear it leaving his mouth. "You need to wake up." She just shakes her head against his shoulder, a faint smile growing on her face. He kisses her temple, and she can feel herself melting again, drifting off to sleep. But then his hands are around her waist – tickling. She shoots up, instantly awake, and gives him a death glare. He stops, and smiles, the Grant smile, the one that's filled with charm; the charm that usually makes her knees go weak, and her reason disappear, but not now – now she's sleepy and irrationally angry. "Oh, come on Livvie…" And he tries to kiss her, but she turns her head away as she buckles her seatbelt.

"Well excuse me, for being tired. I didn't get a whole lot of rest last night." She says pointedly, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

He smirks and leans to whisper in her ear, "Well I don't recall you complaining last night. Actually, I have fairly vivid memories of you asking me not to stop-"

"Oh, shut up." She slaps his arm lightly and looks at him, finally smiling. "I hate you."

"I hate you too." And he lays a soft kiss on her lips.

They land mere minutes later, with a loud screech of tires against the runway and flap of breaks against the wind. They're the first ones off the plane, the first ones through the passport check and the first ones to grab their oversized and over-stuffed bags. They step outside, the bright sunlight blinding them momentarily, the soft breeze ticking their skin, the smell of sea salt filling their nostrils. Before she can take in her surroundings, he's pulling her towards a small cab. The driver gives them a half-hearted smile and lazily puts his papers down. He walks over to the trunk, wobbling slightly, and they avoid each other's eyes for the fear of bursting into uncontrollable laughter. He opens the trunk and steps aside, clearly content to leave the heavy lifting to Fitz. With each bag the car gets weighed down closer to the ground and she wonders if they'll be able to move, but decides to just get in when the driver seems utterly unconcerned. Fitz slips in next to her and smiles politely to the driver as he turns on the meter and turns around, all wide-eyes and high-eyebrows.

"To the Marina please." Fitz says in a soft tone that she doesn't think she's ever heard him use before, and she chuckles lightly, making the driver turn around, while driving. "Watch out!" Fitz exclaims, loudly, making the driver step on the break, and them fly forward and then jerk back. An old lady walks in front of the car, pushing her walker, clearly unfazed. The driver just grunts something under his breath, shooting Fitz an angry look before honking loudly and shouting something, as he pushes his upper half through the window. The old lady shouts back, gives him a finger, and then proceeds to cross the street at snail's pace. The driver just keeps on honking, and what they can only assume is cursing, then as soon as the old lady is close to the side of the car, he hits the gas, swerves around, missing her frail hips by a mere inch, and barely avoiding a road sign. They drive through the narrow streets, making sharp turns at warp speed. She's firmly clutching his shirt, and he's holding on to the grab handle for dear life; his other arm firmly wrapped around her waist. The car speeds down a steep hill, and suddenly they can see the sapphire blue sea; the calm water looks like the perfect sanctuary. The white dots grow into lavish yachts and the death-cab finally pulls to a halt. She steps outside, her legs shaky, and not in the good way; she sees stars, but again, not in a good way. She lets out a breath that she hadn't realized she was holding, as she tries to find her balance on a pair of unsteady feet. Fitz steps out as well and he looks green; she'd laugh if she had the energy. He walks over to the trunk and gets the bags out, breathing heavily. He gives the driver a scrunched up note and for the first time the man offers them a genuine smile.

"You need me to pick you up, sir?"

"Oh…um… that's OK. We'll manage." And with that he grabs the bags quickly, clearly abuzz with a new wave of energy, and heads to the pier. He stops in front of a small speedboat, then turns around to look at her, grinning, "What do you think?"

She gives him a polite smile, unsure of what her reaction to the boat should be. It's pretty enough, but she's never been into boats, and she knows nothing about them, so her appreciation of it can only go so far. Seeing her confused expression he points to the letters. "You named a boat after me," she utters in a soft tone, her polite smile stretching into a sheepish grin.

He just nods his head and crosses over to where she's standing. "Well I think Livvy is a lot more fitting than Gertrude, don't you?"

She wraps her arms around his midsection, her hands resting comfortably on his ass. "It was called Gertrude before?" She says, chuckling against his lips.

"Yeah." He utters between feather-light kisses. "After my grandmother."

"Oh, did she like boats?"

"She died on the Titanic." He stutters out, a soft crack in his voice.

"Oh, god I'm so sorry." She says panicking, looking up at him.

He just laughs heartily. "I'm messing with you! Seriously, how old would my parents have to be if one of their mothers died in 1912?" She turns red, then turns away and jumps on the boat gracefully. "Oh, come on Livvy! That was funny." He says, pleading, as he throws the bags onboard.

She turns around, her eyes teary, her voice shaky, when she finally speaks. "It's just that…" He jumps on as well, running to where she's standing, pulling her into a tight embrace, "It's just that… I was in this boating accident when I was five and I… just…" Her voice is broken up by quiet sobs.

"Oh, god Livvy. I'm so sorry. I was a dick."

She steps out of his embrace quickly, grinning triumphantly as she wipes off the fake tears. "Yes, you were." She just chuckles at his dumbfounded face and exclaims happily, "got you!" before proceeding to one of the seats.

He just shakes his head silently, as he unmoors the boat, then heads to the controls.

"You know what you're doing, right?" She asks grinning.

"We'll find out." And with that he's turning the boat and speeding away from the shore. She closes her eyes, listening to the soft hum of the engine interrupted rhythmically by crashing waves; enjoying the feel of warm spring sun on her skin. She hears him humming, and she opens her eyes. His curls are dancing in the wind, as his shirt flies behind him, the sun hitting his chest, the brightness of the light accentuating his abs. She tries to commit the image to memory, to remember every single detail, for later, for some day; for a day when he's away, and she's be missing him, or for a day when they fight and she needs to forgive him; or just a night when she needs a happy memory to fight the blood she sees on her hands when she closes her eyes. She tries to remember how the aviators rest just under his furrowed brows; how he mouths the words, but doesn't sing them; how he taps his fingers on the flat surface. How he looks at her, and instantly smiles; how the smile is crooked, almost embarrassed, bashful even.

"What?" He asks.

He raises his eyebrows when he's trying to figure me out – she thinks to herself, another thing to commit to memory. "Nothing." She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then tilts her head. "It's just… You're singing Wannabe." And she laughs, bringing her hand to her mouth.

"Hey. That's because you dragged me to that god-awful party!"

"Yeah, because that's how you remembered the lyrics." And she gets up and walks over to him, wrapping her arms around him, resting her cheek on his back. He smells like cool air, like pine trees and a fresh mint; like old books and espresso. He smells like home. She tries to remember it, commit it to memory; the smell of him; the smell of her feeling happy. The smell of feeling of belonging; of loving, unconditionally, unreservedly.

"There it is." She follows his outstretched arm and sees a small island appearing on the horizon.

"It's tiny."

"Yeah, it is." He says, pulling her to his side, and kissing her head softly. "Just for us Livvy."

"You didn't tell me it's a private island!"

"You would have said it's too much."

"It is too much." She protests, looking at him disapprovingly, but the corners of her lips betray her, yet again.

He bends down and kisses her quickly, letting his forehead linger on hers for a moment. "We have to cram when we get back, and it will be library all-day every-day. It'll be food out of vending machines, endless supply of god-awful coffee, overwhelming stress and hysterical laughter fits at 3am. So, we need some downtime before the insanity, and I wanted it to be just us. Just you and me, Livvy." His voice, his voice when he says – Livvy – it's the warm feeling in her stomach, it's butterflies doing a dance, it's her knees going weak and her forehead pressed against his. Remember this. It's love in a tone, in the softness of his voice. It's him giving Livvy a whole new meaning, a lightness that she loves, unburdened by the scars of the past.

"OK." She replies softly, her warm breath tickling his lips. "You should probably focus on the boat now, don't you think." She says with a coy wink, then turns around and walks back to where she was sitting.

As they pull up to the pier she can't help but let out a, "wow," it's quiet, almost lost in the wind, but he hears it, and the awe in her voice, the glimmer in her eyes, the way her lips are slightly parted, her child-like glee; it makes him happy. It fills him up, makes his lungs expand, his heart beat fast. It makes him want to kiss her until they're out of breath and seeing stars; until their lips are swollen and their tongues tender; until every sensation feels like it's too much, like it might be the last one, because what they're feeling is too good, too great; they might burst.

He stops the boat and throws the ropes onto the pier, trying to lasso the noose around the wooden pillar. He turns around, once he gets it, doing a little victory dance. She laughs, throwing her head back slightly, closing her eyes. He just looks at her, an unconscious smile stretching across his lips. Remember it. He wants to remember this. The sound of the laugh that makes him feel so alive; the way it rings, like crystal bells chiming; how it comes from the very pit of her stomach. Remember, how happy she is. How she wipes the little drops from the corners of her eyes with her index finger. Remember, for a rainy afternoon when she's away and he's missing her. Remember, for a morning when he wakes up and she's gone on a run. Remember, for a night when they say their goodbyes over the phone. Remember, for that moment at the airport when he'll have to let her go.

"This house is amazing," she says as they walk in through the glass doors. She spins in the middle of the room, looking up at the high ceiling, at the patters that the light is making on it. There are shards of glass hanging along the windowed wall, and as they twirl on the thin threads small pieces of rainbows dance along the walls. There's something so magical about it, the way their damage is their beauty; the way their sharp edges reflect the light so softly.

"Come on." He calls from the stairs, and she runs after him. She stops as they reach the gallery and takes another look at the ceiling. It's closer now, the rainbows seem bigger, the colors softer – they change so seamlessly – she can't tell where one ends and the other one begins.

She stands in the doorway and watches him drop the bags and open the curtains. As the bright light floods the room, he turns around and looks at her, a soft smile playing on his lips. He walks over to where she's standing and wraps his arms loosely around her waist letting his hands rest on low on her hips.

"Hi."

She props herself on her toes and kisses him softly, smiling against the familiar lips. "Hi." He tightens his hold on her slightly, pulling her closer and she wraps her arms around his neck, letting her fingers play with his hair. "This place is beautiful. Thank you." And she looks up at him, her eyes speaking volumes, saying all the things that are on her mind, in her heart.

"I'm glad you like it." And he kisses her neck. "It used to be my favorite place."

"Oh, yeah?" She asks, tilting her head slightly to the other side, so he can lay another kiss. He just smiles, and obliges, moving his hands to her ass.

"Yeah. We used to come here all the time. My parents and I." And he can feel her stiffen momentarily; he never talks about it; anything involving his parents, or his childhood. She knows snippets, things she's heard; things he's said, mentioned in passing; but she never got the whole story, or even an outline of it.

She opens her dazed eyes, and leans back in his arms, trying to get a better look at him. "You want to tell me about it." He just shakes his head, then steps away, grabbing her hand. He kicks his shoes off and jumps onto the bed, and pulls her up, provoking a loud, "What are you doing?" He just grins and throws his arms up in the air, before jumping. She just stares at him, her expression a mix of shock and joy, as she nervously bites her lower lip.

"Jump with me Liv." And he keeps on jumping, pulling his knees up higher and higher, each time. "Come on! You know you want to!" She kicks her shoes off tenderly, then jumps, her feet barely leaving the mattress; her hands hanging by her sides. "Oh, come on!" And he gives her a daring look, the one he knows she can't resist; she's too competitive. Suddenly, she's jumping with him, reaching for his hand as her other arm travels through the warm air.

"This… is… amazing." She says breathily. She collapses onto the bed, her eyes closed, as she pulls him down as well. He lies on his beck and she nuzzles into his side, her head resting on his chest; listening to the thumping of his heart. She runs her hand up his bare abs, and then back down, lifting it slightly up, until its only the very tips of her fingers that are touching his warm skin.

"Livvy…" He utters in that baritone that makes her shiver. He opens his eyes slowly, and they're dark, that familiar shade that makes her muscles clench; that glimmer that makes her thighs quiver. He slowly runs his hand up her leg, sneaking it under the hem of her skirt. He runs his thumb on the inside of her thigh, pausing at her center, as his index finger plays with the rim of her panties. She turns on her back and pulls him by the collar, kissing his jaw, before letting her lips crash on his. He pulls down on her skirt and she lifts her back slightly, grinding against him. He moans in her mouth and she sneaks her hands under the waistband of his shorts, squeezing his ass, as she presses her thigh against his growing erection. He pulls her camisole over her head, exposing her bare breasts. He peppers soft kisses down the side of her face, nibbling on her neck, biting her collarbone lightly. She arches her back as he sucks on her nipple; her hands feverishly unbuckling his belt and finding their way inside his underwear. She wraps her hand around his length, and smears the pre-cum on his tip with her thumb, before tugging. He lets out a growl against the soft skin of her stomach and she smirks, looking down at him. He reaches for her hand, and puts it behind her head, "Now keep it there. No distracting me Livvy."

"But what if I want to-" but before she can finish his thumb is pressing her clit, and her eyes are falling shut, as he grazes the skin over her hipbone with his teeth, blowing hot air over her wet slit. His tongue is playing with her swollen bundle of nerves, sucking and flicking and she lets out a thready "oh god," as he slides two of his fingers in, curving them up. She pulls on his hair as he picks up the pace, his teeth gently scraping her clit. She feels her orgasm building, low in her stomach, the sensation spreading to her toes, as she pushes her head back into the mattress. And then it's rippling through her, her mouth agape, her hands in his hair; her body quivering in the rhythm he set. Once she stills he pulls out his fingers and licks them, relishing her essence. She pulls him up, blindly guiding him to her lips. She can taste herself on his tongue, and it makes her moan in his mouth. His throbbing erection is rubbing against her thigh. "I need you inside. Now."

And she reaches between their bodies, guiding his member to her opening. He slides in slowly and it takes her a moment to adjust, to accommodate him. As he pulls out and slides back in, she wraps her legs around his waist, adjusting the angle – she needs more of him, all of him. As he pulls out again, she clenches her muscles and he growls, his sweaty forehead falling on her shoulder. She runs her hands down his back, digging her nails into the heated flesh as he slides in again. She can't breathe. There are too many sensations in her body – her skin feels on fire, and her insides are in a tight knot; her lungs constricted – his every touch, every move inside her brings her closer to the edge; makes it impossible to think, to speak, to breathe; to do anything but feel him. Her hips match the rhythm of his; their intertwined fingers pressed into the mattress; their lips feverishly seeking out burning flesh. Instinct. They're like one – their limbs entangled their bodies perfectly in sync.

"Look at me Livvy." And she opens her heavy eyelids, her eyes meeting his. And she doesn't know if it's the baritone, the dark desire and the soft glimmer; his thumb caressing the back of her hand; or him sliding in – harder, deeper, faster – but she's calling out his name, as her body shudders, as her muscles clench around him. And she can feel him spilling inside her, the warm liquid tricking down her thighs as he collapses on his forearms. He rolls on his back, lazily, and they try to catch their breaths, their fingers still interlaced.

"That was…"

"Amazing." He finishes the sentence for her, kissing her shoulder softly. He turns to his side and lays his head just above her breast. She runs her hand though his hair, as he puts his arm on her waist. They lie like that for a while, in a comfortable silence, the sound of their steady breaths mixed with the distant hum of waves. But then he speaks, and she lets him. She knows that this, this isn't about her, not really; it's about him saying it; out loud; for the very first time.

"He doesn't know how to love." She runs her fingers from the nape of his neck, along his hairline, playing with his ear. He kisses her breast tenderly before continuing. "My father, he, he just doesn't know how to love. My mother, she, she loved him. In her own way, she loved him. But he… he never loved her. And there… there were always girls. His secretaries and my nannies; pretty girls; young girls; girls who found him impressive, who saw him as Big Gerry. And she knew. She always knew. And it was fine. Because he'd sleep with them, he'd fuck them in his office and then he'd leave them; he'd fire them; throw them away. And he'd come back to her. And she loved it; that part she loved; she took pride in it. She was always the chosen one. She interpreted it as love. She needed him to love her, so much. She just wanted to be loved.

"But then, two years ago, he started screwing his assistant. But this time, this time it was different. He fell for her. He didn't love her. He doesn't know how. But he liked her, and for Big Gerry… that's as close to love as he can get. He took her places, he introduced her to people. She wasn't a dirty little secret. And my mother, my mother couldn't handle it. She begged him, she begged him to leave her, she threatened to leave him, but he, he didn't care. So she, she did the only thing she thought could hurt him, she tried to destroy the only thing he cared about. She told a Chronicle journalist that my father's company had a tax evasion scheme. She said that it was run through the company set up on this island. The journalist tipped Big Gerry off and he discredited her, saying she was bitter, old and insane; and he gave the reporter an exclusive on her mental breakdown. She didn't have one. Not at the time. But after, after the story came out. She lost it. She cut her hair off, she locked herself in her room and she stopped talking. We had her committed. She's gone now. I mean she's… she's still there, but not really; my mom… she's gone. And I thought… I thought that she had lied. He told me she had lied and I believed him. I needed to believe him. Then last summer, I found some documents in his desk drawer. She was right. She told the truth. They do have a scheme. My whole life, my happiest memories – they were all lies. He used us; he used his own family as a front, a way to save money. It wasn't about being rich; it was about him wanting to win; cheat the system and win."

She can feel a tear on her skin and she pulls his face up gently. She kisses his jaw. Then his cheek. Then his other cheek. Then under his eyes, then his eyelids. He nuzzles his head in the crook of her neck and breathes out, the cool air filled with her intoxicating scent filling his lungs. "It wasn't all lies." She says softly. She massages his scalp, before continuing. "The memories. If they're happy; if you were happy – that's not a lie; that, that was a real feeling. You were happy. You and your mom, you had fun, you laughed, you played in the water and built castles in the sand. That, those aren't lies. His life is a lie, not yours. You, Fitzgerald Grant, are the most honest man I know."

"I love you." He murmurs into her skin, not wanting to lift his head up, to lose contact. He needs her, all of her. They don't leave the bed for the rest of the day. They lie there; the thin white sheets crumbled beneath their bodies. Their hands caress the exposed skin. They memorize the smiles, the laughs; the eyelashes that flutter and the white teeth that peek behind the swollen lips. They memorize the shades of bruised skin, and the indulgent pain that sears through the body as it falls over the edge, filled to the brim; the rhythm of chests heaving; the content smiles. They memorize the feeling of floating, weightless, content. Of their fingers interlaced.

As they sit on the beach, the next day, watching the sun set, as the water turns a deep purple; he nibbles on her neck, his hand cupping her breast.

"We're not having sex on the beach." She says chucking, tilting her head to give him better access.

"Why not." He asks as he reaches for her bikini strap.

"Because..." and she runs her hand through his hair, "it's a terrible idea. It seems great. In movies, it seems amazing. But really, it'll be sweaty bodies, and sand sticking to our skin, and reaching parts that sand should never reach." He laughs against her skin and she uses the opportunity to wiggle out of his embrace. She runs to the water, standing at the edge, watching the waves hit her feet and then retreat. He wraps his arms around her and rests his jaw on her shoulder.

"Thank you." She just looks up at him, quizzically. "For being you. For seeing me and loving me. I just… I'm happy. You make me so happy." He doesn't tell her that he can hear their kids' laughter echoing through the house, that he can imagine their small feet in the sand; that he can imagine their smiles and their eyes. No, that, that would be too much.

She smiles, looking into the fading sun, then closes her eyes. "I'm happy too. For the first time in my life, I feel like I'm utterly happy. It's no longer bittersweet. It's no longer happiness interrupted by moments of brokenness. I feel complete. And I feel happy." She doesn't look at him. She keeps her eyes shut. She's terrified. Because, for the first time in her life she feels like she has too much to lose; she feels like she's reached the point of no return. She can't imagine a life without him; a life in which she isn't this happy. And that, that is terrifying. And she can't let him see the fear, it's too much; she can't let him see how much she needs him. So she closes her eyes and lets the waning sun color her mind.

To the guest reviewers how asked me to update, and those of you who messaged me - it's what got me writing so thanks - A LOT! Honestly, all your reviews, for all my stories, even the completed ones - they just make me so happy. I love reading what you think and how you interpret things. Anyways, I just wanted to take a sentimental moment to say that I REALLY, REALLY appreciate it :)