Part Four - Everything Must Change

A/N: No, it's not the end. There are probably two more parts.

Jon grabbed her hands as the third test came up positive, beaming as she shook. 

“Sel, this is golden,” he declared vehemently. 

“I...I know. At least I think I know. There are just so many changes.” Giselle croaked. 

"Everything must change. You, of all people, know that,” he said, beginning to pack a bag for himself. They were in their master bedroom and they’d finally spent the night in their bed without memories smothering them. 

“Jon, what are you doing?” 

“Isn’t it obvious, my dear? I’m packing. We’re going on a trip.” He didn’t turn towards her, but merely continued. 

“Where the hell to?” she asked, coming to stand in front of him with a hand on her hip. 

“I don’t know. Let’s just drive, Sel.” 

Jon was excited. The sparkling eyes were a dead giveaway. 

“You’re packed. I’m packed. Baby, let’s go!” he nearly shouted. 

“Jon, can you just leave like this? What about the boys?” Giselle sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Jon’s normally ever present logic to kick in. 

“Dorothea took them until I could ‘get myself together’,” he said with a sad smile. “And I think we both need this to get ourselves together. Too many memories right here.” 

Jon was like a little boy with a secret. He flung himself onto the bed, hooking his arm around Giselle’s waist that he could already imagine growing. She flopped back onto the mattress and was immediately reeled in. 

“You know I love you, right?” he asked close to her ear. 

“Yes,” she answered, not sure where he was going. 

“And I promise to protect you from everything including myself, right?” Jon continued. She sighed before repeating her last reply. “Then trust me on this...If you’re not happy, we can come home, but I think it’ll be good to get away. Just be.” His hand rubbed along her sides, the touch unconscious and soothing.

His left hand wound into her copper strands as he traced her lips with a fingertip on his right. Giselle's pale, sea glass green eyes blinked up at him, refusing to cross at his proximity. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Jon murmured reverently. A blush suffused her cheeks and she turned her head to the side. “I’m serious. You really are.” He traced her high, rounded cheekbones and kissed the side of her freckled nose. “I want you without all of the distractions. I want it to truly be us reconnecting.” 

She nodded her assent wordlessly, but he still brushed her hair back from her forehead. The touch was familiar, but the hesitance was not. 

“You’re allowed to kiss me, you know...” Giselle whispered, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. Jon hadn’t initiated anything more intimate than little touches for fear of ruining what they were building. 

He tentatively brushed his lips against hers, his stubble scraping against her creamy skin. 

“Kiss me like you used to,” she whispered. Her left hand slid underneath his shirt, encountering the smooth skin of his back. Jon was shocked to feel a cold press against his muscles, and his eyes flew open. 

“You’re wearing them again?” She smiled and nodded, still rubbing circles on his back. 

He pressed his lips to hers and settled in, her mouth opening to his. The kiss grew in intensity, and he swallowed her whimpers. Her nails raked down his back as she arched up into him. 

“Easy, baby.” 

His ragged breathing matched hers as he lowered himself onto his back. She straddled him gracefully, watching lust and apprehension flicker in his eyes. Butterflies engaged in a pas de deux, unknown to the partners. 

Brushing the tip of her nose over his, her hands slid over his shoulders, gripping softly. Fusing their mouths together slowly, Jon's lips parted with an uncharacteristic gasp. Their tongues flicked against each other as the ragged ache grew. It was fraught and worn, but there were new elements every time. 

It was like looking through a photo album and details that had been forgotten suddenly returning with potency. The cliché of the world falling away was true. It had always been this way. It was hands gliding over a smooth back, fingers tangling in hair, the press of undone bodies, lips brushing together in a fine frenzy. Them.

Suddenly his hands that were constantly roaming, cupping her buttocks then wandering up her back, fell away. 

“Do you want me?” Jon murmured. 

She nodded carefully, but hurriedly, aware of close their faces were before returning to his mouth. 

“No, I mean really want me. Now. Like this. Before we’ve gotten all our shit together...?” he asked, all alarmingly blue eyes, scruff, and a sort of warm unease. 

She held back her hair, her back arching and breasts jutting forward with the motion as she thought. Her hands fell to knead his shoulders as she weighed the pros and cons of the situation, Giselle’s mind flashed through all of the possibilities. 

“I want...us...but I want us to be okay. And I think you’re right. This, whatever this is, probably just my desperation, could undermine it all,” Giselle said slowly, measuring as she went. 

Jon nodded before he flipped her onto her back. “Let’s go,” he breathed zealously. Following him as he grabbed bags and closed things up, she was relieved to see a man of spirit return. They’d really needed each other all along. Putting a leather coat on her, he surveyed his handiwork. “It’ll do.” He pecked her lips before shrugging his jacket on. September weather was unpredictable, but there was a warm breeze blowing outside.

 Tossing bags in the trunk of the first car he encountered in the garage, Jon helped Giselle in then peeled out. The gates automatically closed behind him, and they drove off into the night. Her hair fanned out against the headrest, her bewitching eyes were closed, and even under the harsh highway lights, he’d never seen her so beautiful. North, south...he didn’t care. As long as he had her and time, he felt nearly invincible.

 It was a heady sensation, closer to the one her mere proximity gave him when they’d first met, and better than a number one album. Smiling triumphantly, he watched the highway signs and suddenly knew their destination. They hadn’t had a chance to make memories there. Their hands intertwined on the console in Giselle’s sleep as Jon lost track of the miles, pieces of the puzzle fitting back into place while other unfamiliar ones shifted.

A wounded heart will heal,

Oh, but never much too soon.

No one, and nothing, goes unchanged.