A/N: With this post, I finish this story. Admittedly, I'm not really happy with this chapter, but, after losing half of it once, and then starting to rewrite it, and, finally, have a craptastic day, I'm sick of it. So, take it as it is and deal. I know I am. Oy with the poodles already!


Reinventing a Quartermaine

Chapter Eight
The Law of Gravity - What Goes Up, Inevitably, Must Come Back Down

Upon reflection, Elizabeth realized that she was a bad mother.

Not in the conventional sense, though, for she loved her child, she provided her with anything and everything she might need, and she encouraged her in all aspects of her little life, but she was also overly indulgent with her seven year old, treating her more as a best friend than a kid, and, unlike some parents, she always told her the truth... no matter what. While her own fatherand his family had practiced that same belief, they had been blunt with her out of a lack of love and affection; Elizabeth's honesty with her only child sprang forth from a need to both prepare and protect her from the world, to ensure that she didn't grow up with her head in the clouds where reality didn't exist, and she knew that, because she was the little girl's only parent, trust could not be an issue between them. Esmée needed to know that she could always count on her mother, and, if that meant sometimes being forced into telling her things Elizabeth felt slightly uncomfortable with, then so be it. After all, she was only human, and, due to losing her own mother at such a young age, she really didn't have a role model for when it came to raising and nurturing a child.

But they seemed to get along quite nicely. With just the two of them, they fit together well. They knew each other's personality quirks and could differentiate between their various shades of moods without trouble or breaking a sweat. Their life was very routine. They got up in the morning, got ready for their day, left the house to go to their respective jobs, Elizabeth's as Sonny's accountant at the island's hotel and casino and Esmée at the island's only school, a school completely paid for by the island's owner and provided for the children of his employees. When their days were over, Elizabeth picked up her only child from the school, and they went back to the hotel to spend a few hours in the art gallery located on the top floor there and to eat dinner before driving back to their beach side cottage where they lived in complete solitude. While her daughter would do her homework or play, Elizabeth would work on her own personal artwork. It was just the two of them, occasionally interrupted by the twice a year visiting Corinthos brood, and the two women could not imagine it any other way.

Sitting at the island in their kitchen, an island that was used for eating meals and finger painting instead of preparing and serving food, the Webbers shared breakfast, going about their morning routine without interruption or deviation. While conversation was optional, productivity was not. Sometimes, the two of them would finish up tasks from the night before that they had either forgotten about or set aside for a later date. At other times, Elizabeth would take advantage of the lull in their life to tell her little girl about her namesakes - her grandmother and her grandmother's favorite artist. And, though rare, the few spare minutes they had together before being forced to leave their little hideaway and enter the real world were broken by Esmée asking questions - questions about the past, questions about the present, and even questions about the future, encompassing every single area of her life except one - herfather.

Like mother, like daughter, Elizabeth's relationship with her little girl's father had been brief. Though, unlike her own Mom, the accountant had not been in love with the man who had given her Esmée, she had accidentally gotten pregnant with the child after only spending a few nights with the man who, in the long run, really was nothing more than a veritable stranger to her. He came to the island on vacation, spent two weeks, and, by the time he left, Elizabeth had been ready to see him leave. Up until that point, she had avoided dating, but a woman could only last so long on her own without needing something or someone to hold her at night... even if they were just a substitute, poor at that, for someone else. Eight years without Jason had made the brunette slightly desperate, so, when the first attractive, attentive man came along, she jumped in feet first. While nothing had come of the relationship, it had managed to give her the one truly good thing she had managed to do in her life: her daughter, and, for that, Elizabeth could never regret those two weeks.

Upon learning of her pregnancy, she had contacted the man. Using some rather shady tactics of locating him, she informed him of his impending fatherhood and was relieved when he declined any role in their future child, be it boy or girl's, life. Esmée Degas Webber was born exactly eight months after the stranger had flown away from the island, slightly early but still healthy, and, from the moment the six pound, one ounce, perfect, tiny, beautiful little girl was placed in her arms, Elizabeth was never far from her side. Sometimes she thought that she knew her daughter better than she knew herself, and, with that much insight into the seven year old, she could read her only child pretty well, so she knew that something was on the precocious second grader's mind. When she was ready, she would bring the subject up with her mother, and the accountant had her suspicions that the much thought about question that morning would be concerning her little girl's parentage. After all, it was time to broach that particular subject.

Perched confidently in her stool, she watched as her daughter studiously ate her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Just like her, Esmée was not a fan of traditional breakfast food, but, because neither of them had any kitchen skills whatsoever, they resorted mainly to sandwiches for breakfast. However, Elizabeth did make sure that her only child took a vitamin every morning, drank her fair share of orange juice and milk, and, thanks to the chefs at the hotel, the little girl took a well balanced meal to school everyday and ate a proper dinner every night. That didn't mean, though, that the mother of one didn't allow her daughter some vices, and, as she watched her consume her breakfast, she witnessed one of them, one of the two traits Esmée had apparently inherited from her absentee father.

For some reason beyond the single mother's understanding, her only child liked coffee. While she still couldn't really stomach the strong, acrid beverage, Esmée would drink it every day, with every meal, and even right before bed, the caffeine having absolutely no effect upon her body. Now, Elizabeth wasn't that indulgent with her. She took her little girl's pediatrician's advice into serious consideration, limiting the seven year old to one cup of joe every morning, but, as she sipped from her own coffee mug, filled to the brim with hot chocolate, she had to smile in amusement. If nothing else, her child was unique, and, no matter what the doctor said, she wasn't about to wipe her daughter clean of every one of her bad habits. In Elizabeth's opinion, perhaps because of her own upbringing, bad habits bred character, made a person interesting, and her daughter was going to need both a strong and captivating personality. The second trait her little girl possessed that did not come Elizabeth's gene pool was also fully on display as the second grader took another drink of her plain, black coffee. She was left handed.


And, like she was prepared for, the questions were arriving. "Yes, baby?"

Instead of meeting her mother's gaze, Esmée stared down into her cup, the swirling depths of java seemingly too interesting for her to look away from. "Can I ask you something?"

"May I," Elizabeth corrected her gently. "But, yes. You know that you can ask me anything." Reiterating her statement, the painter waited for her daughter to glance up, for their identical indigo orbs to meet and lock upon one another. "Anything. Always."

"So," the nervous seven year old hedged, biting her lip. It was one of the many traits she had either inherited or picked up from her only present parent. "About my Dad... I do have one, right?"

Very seriously, the brunette adult replied, "well, most earthlings do. Unless you're an alien, which, let me tell you, the doctor's forget to mention when they removed you from my body..."

"Mama," her only child giggled, the mood surrounding them instantly lightening just as Elizabeth had wanted it to. "Be serious."

"Alright," she easily agreed. "Of course, you have a father, Esmée."

"Then where is he? Who is he? What does he do?" It seemed as if once the flood of questions broke through the dam restraining them, the inquiring words simply spilled forth from her little girl's lips, and the single mother knew that only answers would be able to curb her second grader's curiosity. "Does he know about me? Does he want to see me? Will I ever see him? Are we alike at all? He likes going to museums, too, doesn't he? What about his family? Does he have any other kids? Would they like..."

"Alright, stop right there, missy," the accountant playfully ordered her daughter, holding up her hand as if she were directing traffic. "Right there's enough questions to last us the entire drive to the hotel. Climb down off your stool," she instructed the seven year old. "I'll put our coffee cups in the dishwasher while you run and grab your book bag and my briefcase, okay?"

"Sure, Mama."

It only took them two minutes to become ready to leave for the day. Living on a tropical island meant that they never had the hassle of adding layers and ridiculous looking winter gear to combat the snow, ice, and unreasonably chilly weather that usually came in most other climates, and even rain was an oddity, meaning they didn't have to worry about umbrellas or rain galoshes, matching yellow, rubber coats or leaving the house five minutes earlier than normal just in case a storm managed to flood a road. By the time they were both buckled into the car, Esmée was practically bouncing in her seat due to excitement, and Elizabeth could only grin wistfully. While her daughter deserved to have the father of every little girl's dreams, with the man who had given the painter her only child, it just had not been possible, but that didn't mean that Elizabeth didn't ever wonder what it would be like to be that perfect, tripartite, nauseatingly happy family. However, it just wasn't feasible, and she was confident that, despite some initial disappointment, her only child would be able to accept and even see the good points of it perpetually being only her and her mother.

"So, your Dad, huh," she initiated as they pulled out of the driveway and turned onto the one main road of the island that would take them towards town, the hotel, and, eventually, Esmée's school. "Well, I met him over eight years ago when he came to the island for a vacation. We dated, he left, I had you, but he doesn't live around here, and his life and his job, which, by the way, since you asked, is a bodyguard for Uncle Sonny, make it so that he can't live here with us. Plus, although he loves you in his own way, he wasn't ready to be a father, and that was okay, because I was more than ready to be a Mommy. He lives his own life far away from here, and, you and I, we live our life here together, just the two of us. As far as I know," Elizabeth mentally went through her daughter's list of questions as she answered them, knowing she would forget one or two but, consciously, not trying to, "he doesn't have any other children, he's not married, and most, if not all, of his family have already passed away, but, no matter what, if they're alive or dead, missing you from afar or watching you from above, I know that they love you. I mean," the single mother scoffed, rolling her eyes and making her second grader laugh, "how could they not? You're exactly like me... and EVERYONE loves me."

"Nuh uh, Mama," Esmée argued, still smiling. "Kate didn't like you."

"Well, Kate was a big dork," the accountant stated without hesitation or doubt. "Did I tell you that I fired her?"


"I know," Elizabeth agreed with her only child. "The only bad thing is that now I have to find someone new to manage the art gallery. In fact, I'm interviewing someone this afternoon, and you know how much I loveconducting interviews."

"It'll be okay, Mama," her seven year old assured her. "I think you'll like this one, that you'll hire them."

"Oh, and why do you think that?"

"I don't know," Esmée admitted, her little brow furrowing in thought just like her mother's did. "I just have this feeling right here, you know," she asked, pointing towards her little belly before smiling. "I hope it's a girl," her daughter continued, suddenly swept away in her own little world. "And, then, we can be friends with her. She can come over for sleep overs and go to the beach with us. What do you think, Mama?"

"We'll see," the painter commented, slightly distracted herself by her little girl's remarks. "Well see."

She should have known.

Everything was just perfect, too perfect. She was a recent graduate, twenty-two, and had no previous work experience, but, yet, she still managed to land an interview with a respectable art gallery. When thousands of college students went months, years even, without finding a job in their desired field, she had an interview, thanks to her uncle, lined up before the diploma was even placed in her hand. And it wasn't as if she was overly intelligent or had that certain something special, the ability to find a future Renoir in a rubbage can or a another Pollack in a pile of potato peels. While she might have loved art, so did all the other hundreds of recent graduates from the around the country who weren't getting interviews at the Carribean island art gallery. Not only would she have a wonderful job if she was hired, but she'd also be living in paradise. And that was why everything, the sheer flawlessness of the job offer, reeked of one very powerful, very stubborn, very sneaky Sonny Corinthos.

Growing up, she knew that her Uncle Sonny owned his own island, one frequented only by those truly wealthy and in his inner circle of friends. No one went to the Oceanside paradise without a Black AmEx and his permission, and, when they were there, her father's employer offered them any single luxury amenity they could crave - swimming, golfing, shopping, horse racing, gambling, yachting, antiquing, and even the perusal of a well rounded, well stocked art gallery that housed both famous pieces of sculpture and world renowned paintings and the work of local artists. It was the best of both worlds for art enthusiasts. If she got the job, she'd be able to help develop new clients and also continue to support those already established.

Sitting in the lavish office she was shown into ten minutes prior to wait for the person who was to be interviewing her, Sid Morgan realized she was on the much often discussed but never visited private island her uncle used for both business and pleasure. Why she and her father had never traveled there, she wasn't sure. Whenever she had mentioned it growing up, Sonny had always shrugged off the idea, instead suggesting that her father take her to various vacation spots in Europe, Africa, Australia, and Asia. In fact, the only place she had not been allowed to go to was the private island her Dad's employer owned, but, after years of being denied, she stopped asking, and, until that very moment, the island's actual existence had been pushed to the back of her mind.

But, now, here she was, at Sonny's instance. He was the one who had found her the job article, he was the one who insisted that she send her resume in for consideration despite the fact that the ad had requested more experience that she possessed, and he had been the one who had volunteered his private jet for her trip, insisting that she take him up on his offer because, quite simply, with a dimpled grin to boot, he had a good feeling about her upcoming interview. He thought that it was the one, that magical, amazing, perfect job college graduates only dreamt about but knew they'd never find or land. And it was because of his insistence that she knew he had played a hand in getting her the interview in the first place. However, she was there, and it was, technically, her opportunity to blow, so she was going to make the most of it, even if she did get the job because of her uncle and not because of the credentials she brought to the table. The only thing she was wondering about was just why he wanted her to have this particular job so much.

He had always been protective towards her, treating her practically like he did his own children. She had gone to the best schools, been given every opportunity in the world because he had insisted that she not suffer because of her parents' inability to come to a mutual agreement, and he had always tried to keep her as close to him and the rest of her family as he couldeven when she was going to school. Yes, he had practically bribed her into going to NYU which was just a subway ride away from her home in the Bronx, the home she and her father had occupied since she was seven and they had escaped from her mother, changed their names, and opened a free clinic with the financial backing of her uncle, and a couple hours outside of Port Charles, but who was she to turn down a free scholarship and an apartment in Manhattan. So, why was he suddenly pushing her to move thousands of miles away from New York? It didn't make sense, the job was too perfect, and he was up to something, but it shouldn't have surprised her, because Sonny Corinthos did nothing without an ulterior motive. All she had to do was figure out what exactly that motive was.

Startling her from her silent thoughts, the office door behind her opened, admitting the person she assumed would be interviewing her. The strange thing was that she had no clue who that person would be. Man or woman? Mid 30's or early 60's? Blonde, brunette, or redhead? Friendly or cower-in-her-sensible-yet-still-attractive-heels scary? There was no name for her to look up, not even a set of initials or a title she could address the interviewer by, and the sense of mystery surrounding the anonymous person reeked of her uncle's doing. Sid just wasn't sure if it was for security reasons that he kept the identity of his employees so secretive or if it was a part of his mysterious master plan for sending her to the island, getting her a job interview there, and setting her up. Whatever the reason, she just hoped that nothing would happen that she wouldn't be prepared for.

"I'm sorry I'm late," the person - a woman - apologized. Although she didn't turn around, the twenty-two year old could hear the tardy lady moving around the spacious office, presumably getting herself settled in. "My daughter and I ended up running late this morning, and, when that happens, my whole schedule gets thrown off. You haven't been waiting long, have you?"

"A few minutes," the blonde haired, blue eyed recent college graduate hedged, not wanting to outright lie to the woman who might become her future employer but also not wanting to make her feel guiltier. "It was good though - gave me an opportunity to clear my head and get everything organized."

"Well, good then. I'm glad one of us is ready for this interview." Finally taking her seat, the accountant smiled kindly and held out her hand for greeting. "I'm Elizabeth Webber."

"Sid Morgan."

She was surprised that she was capable of words at that point, but, luckily, it didn't seem to matter, because, once she started, her potential employer didn't seem to know how to stop. Apparently, many things, beside the fact that she now had a child, had changed about the brunette. The woman before her had entered her life fifteen years before on a whirlwind and disappeared in a similar fashion, forever altering her childhood, and, although their association was brief, a mere few months, the twenty-two year old knew she would never forget the woman sitting before her. Not only had she made quite the impression upon her, helping a then seven year old little girl find a love for art, but she had also made a drastic impression upon Sid's father, eventually urging him to change his entire lifestyle starting with leaving Sid's mother. It was the best, if not the messiest decision, her Dad had ever made, but she wasn't sure the woman before her had any idea it had even happened.

It was obvious that she didn't recognize her in return, which wasn't a surprise seeing as how she no longer wore her hair in pigtails or skipped everywhere that she went, but she would have known the forty-something year old in front of her anywhere. Not only had she physically not changed that much, but her voice was still the same, and her eyes, those one of a kind deep blue eyes, still occasionally popped up in her dreams or her memory at the oddest of times.

Seeing Elizabeth again, Sid was immediately filled with a multitude of questions she had practically no hope of getting the answers to. Had she been living on the island the entire time? Was that why her uncle had been so adamant that they not visit, and was that why, all of a sudden, he had suggested that she apply for a job and then interview for one that was located on the island? Did she have any idea what her Dad had been through after she simply ran away from Port Charles without a note or a word to let him know that she was alright or where she was going? And what did she mean about her daughter? How old was the little girl, who was her father, and was she married to the man?

In fact, there was only one thing that Sid Morgan knew for sure. Sonny Corinthos was good - good at keeping secrets, good at manipulation, and even better at sending her into impossible situations that had the potential to shatter and then completely rebuild her entire life into something better, but, obviously, even he had his limits. While it might have taken him fifteen years to break his promise of silence, he had finally caved, revealing the location of a woman her Dad had been quietly searching for since the moment she had left him in the first place. Why Sonny had changed his mind and what made him do so, she had no idea, but she would definitely have to thank him for it... after she got the job she was currently applying for and after she told her Dad about the very interesting discovery she had made while on her uncle's island.

And, naively, she had thought her life would calm down, become more stable, after she graduated from college. Apparently, she still had a few things left to learn.

There was something off about Sid Morgan, but Elizabeth just could not figure out what it was. The girl was certainly smart, had a good eye, and was personable, and, despite the fact that she had no previous experience, the mother of one recognized a little of herself in the twenty-two year old and had decided to go with her for the job. Still, even though the interview had ended hours before, and even though she was supposed to be sitting down, relaxing, and watching television with her daughter, she couldn't get her mind to stop. It was almost as if she already knew her from somewhere.

The only problem was that, since she had given birth to Esmée, she had rarely traveled away from the island. Already having seen the world, vacationing, especially when she lived on a tropical paradise, didn't appeal to her, and she was waiting to travel again when her daughter was old enough to enjoy it with her. That meant, though, that there was little to no opportunity for her to have met Sid, but, despite her rationality, Elizabeth couldn't shake the feeling that, at one point, the newly hired gallery manager had been important to her.

Giving her a respite from the perpetual loop of thoughts running through her mind, the doorbell rang. While her seven year old stayed planted on the sofa in the living room, she got up to answer the door, wondering who it was coming over so late but not worried about it. The island was secure, and, although she was Sonny's accountant, her life had been relatively safe over the years... even when she insisted upon carrying around a semi-automatic handgun. Swinging open the front door, the painter rolled her eyes at her own ideas, convincing herself that the visitor was probably there to borrow a cup of sugar or to exchange a piece of mail that had accidentally been delivered to the wrong house - any and all options very suburban and very boring.

Unfortunately, she had never been that much of a clairvoyant.

"That stinking rat bastard!"

At the same time that she spoke, the tall, muscular, blue eyed, still very handsome man despite his fifty year old age yelled as well. "What the hell did you mean when you said you had a daughter, and, as for me being a rat bastard," he addressed her comment, seeing as how she finished speaking first, granting him the floor even if only by default, "I wasn't the one who skipped down without saying anything. One minute, we're together and I'm planning on leaving my wife, and, the next thing I know, you're gone, and Sonny won't tell me a damn thing."

"Well, obviously he changed his mind, because you're here!"

"Sonny didn't tell me anything," Jason contradicted her, narrowing his gaze. "Sid did."

"Wait," the single mother demanded. "Sid stands for Sydney, doesn't it... as if Riegel Sydney Quartermaine?"

He scoffed. "You're deduction skills amaze me. If the island ever needs a detective, Sonny needs to look no further than his accountant. But, yes, they are one in the same. With Sonny's help, we completely changed our identities when I left Sarah. Divorce by abandonment, and, because she couldn't find us, she couldn't get her hands on my daughter."

Exasperated and slightly annoyed not to mention shocked, Elizabeth demanded, "what are you doing here; what do you want from me?"

"I want some answers."

"I'm afraid my life is none of your business, and it hasn't been for fifteen years now, so just turn around, go back to the hotel to pack your bags, and leave me alone. And, for that matter, tell your daughter to do the same thing, too. I'm sorry, because she seems like a really nice and talented young woman, but I can't have her working for me. It would be too awkward."

"You mean too much of a constant reminder," the doctor taunted, making the younger woman narrow her gaze in frustration. "Look, Elizabeth," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I didn't come here to fight with you, and, although I didn't want this to seem like an interrogation..."

"Which if does," she insisted, interrupting him.

"... Before we can really talk, I need some answers."


"Why," the fifty year old parroted. "Why? Maybe because I still miss you after all these years."

His admission sobered her quickly, making the ire and the animosity she had been feeling disappear. Astonishing herself, the mother of one found herself admitted, "I miss you, too."

"Then talk to me," he pleaded. "Tell me about yourself."

"What, here?"

"No, let's go somewhere," Jason suggested. Suddenly smiling, he watched her for a moment before nodding towards her driveway. Although it was dark, she could clearly see the seductively powerful, leather and chrome, sleek motorcycle parked there. She hadn't been on a bike since her very last ride with the man standing before her, and, in that moment, she realized just how much she missed it, how much she missed the rush and the excitement, the sheer strength and deceptiveness of the wind. "Let's go for a ride."

"I'd really like to," the artist confessed, the longing written plainly on her still very beautiful face. "But I can't. Esmée, my daughter, my seven year old daughter, is inside, and I can't leave her here by herself, and she certainly couldn't fit on the bike with us, and I don't see a sidecar."

"And her Dad..."

"Very smooth," Elizabeth quipped, unable to not smirk at his obvious ploy for information. "But, to answer your question, he's not here. He's never here. We're not together, she doesn't know him, and it's very unlikely that she ever will."

"Alright," the physician stated, mulling over her words. "Well, what would you say if I told you that I had a babysitter who could stay with her while we went out? Would you say yes then?"

"Jason that's impossible. I live on a small, private island which means that there are very few teenagers of the right age and mind set who can watch my daughter, not to mention the fact that they all have their own very busy lives to lead. They can't just come over at the drop of a hat when I snap my fingers."

"She's not a teenager; she's twenty-two."

"How long have you been here," the brunette asked rhetorically. "I can't believe you had enough time to scrounge up someone that old who has no life."

"Hey," a third person admonished, joining there group from off to the side. "I resent that. I've only been here for less than twenty-four hours. I haven't had a chance to make myself a life here, but, give me a couple of weeks, and you will have to start pre-booking my babysitting services," Sid teased, waving slightly towards Elizabeth. "Hi. My Dad thought you might need my help tonight, and I'll admit that I'm kind of looking forward to meeting your little girl." Before the single mother could find a chance to respond, the younger woman just pressed on. "And, don't worry. I do have some experience with children. Lola and I used to watch her younger siblings and the guards' kids when we were in high school. As long as your daughter doesn't wear a diaper still, I should be fine."

"She's been potty trained now for five years."

"Whew," the twenty-two year old mockingly sighed, wiping non-existent perspiration from her forehead. "That's a relief. "Now," she changed the topic, pushing on her father's shoulders, "get out of here. I don't want to see either of you again until at least midnight, preferably later, and, if you don't insist upon calling off from work tomorrow," she threatened Elizabeth with a pointed stare, "well, I'll just be forced to call your boss."

Before the accountant knew what was happening, her front door had been closed in her face... and locked... and she was standing beside Jason and his rented bike while he handed her a helmet. The man she had loved and left fifteen years before was there, in her life, again. He was taking her for a ride, he was waiting to hear everything and anything she would be willing to tell him about her life, and she knew he was prepared to return the favor. When she left Port Charles, she had been scared, too scared to even give Jason a chance to choose her. After constant disappointment in life from the people who were supposed to be the ones to care about her the most, she had simply given up instead of fighting for what she wanted, and, although she was, once again, scared beyond belief, there would be no running this second time. She liked her life on the island, Esmée didn't deserve to be uprooted and taken somewhere else simply because her mother couldn't hack even the possibility of a healthy, adult relationship, and, perhaps most importantly, Elizabeth realized that she wanted to see where talking to Jason could lead her... even if it went nowhere further than a friendship with her former lover.

But then his hand brushed her chin as he gently pushed her shaking hands aside to fasten her helmet for her, and then she wrapped her arms around him as she climbed on the bike, and then she felt him relax into her embrace, and she knew. Despite the years, despite the lack of communication and the practically insurmountable distance separating them, and despite her own fears, the attraction between them was just as strong as it had always been. Suddenly, it didn't matter what he was doing back in her life, or how it had happened, or even why Sonny had waited fifteen years to orchestrate their reunion; all that mattered was that he wasn't Jason Quartermaine anymore, respected pediatrician, her sister's husband, society's golden boy. Instead, he was Jason Morgan - just a doctor, just a father, and just exactly the kind of man she and her daughter needed in their lives.

Symbolically, even if he was the only one who had changed his name, they both had reinvented themselves over the years, but, underneath everything, they were still just Jason and Elizabeth - an illogical, impossible, insanely perfect match, and who was she to argue with that, with them? With that thought in mind, she held onto him as tightly as she could, the bike accelerating underneath them, the wind whipping through their hair.

He was finally home, with her, where he belonged.