Some weeks pass since the day of the abduction. Sometimes Lizzie wonders who was really taken away. She spends all this time in silence and solitude, she doesn't watch TV, there is no internet in this huge abandoned mansion, god bless Raymond Reddington and his dislike of modern technologies. Instead of it she spends all the day strolling through the mansion, same old as everything in it, watches paintings on the walls, touches the lines of white sculptures with the tips of her fingers. Red once told her that all these beautiful smooth bodies, carved from marble, shimmering in the dim light of the fireplace, cool like the water were colorful before. But time washed away the gilding and paint; time cleaned them and left only true self. Lizzie touches her face, wondering whether the mask left her face too.

Red never happens to be at home during the day, and all the time Lizzie spends in his office, she curls with the legs in his leather chair, it`s dark red, it smells like him, she smells his sweat, she sits in it and reads a book, sometimes she turns on an old record player and chooses a random disc. Music of any choice, she thinks, dancing with Sinatra and his soft melodious words L is for the way you look at me, the choice of music discs is infinite, modern music is here too, and for the first time at this very moment Lizzie asks herself if Red somehow was able to get out of his time and live in eternity, enjoying everything, but not attached to it with grief and misery.

Sometimes she takes a bath and lays there for hours, eyes closed, until the water becomes cold, then furiously scrubs the skin with a sponge, sometimes she thinks that her reflection in the mirror is changing with every day. Old skin is always peeling off so ugly.

Red makes her learn the lists of the most famous crime bosses by heart; he gives her piles of paper folders, files of people, and 80 percent of them she did not even know. He forces her to make psychological portraits, and every evening she spends with him, writing endlessly and recording things that may be useful in the future.

In the future? Red mentions once that he and Sam made a trust fund in case if Lizzie had to leave the Bureau (and that`s happened in the end) and she can use the money. The sum of the money is much more than that one she would have earned during the whole life, and she doesn't know what to do with it. She does not need anything here, now. Yet.

Lizzie is certain that the world turned into chaos now. Ressler is trying to find them. Perhaps Aram and Samar too. Dembe visits them a couple of times and tells about the process of Cooper`s justification. The second time he brings a hefty cell with her dog. Red ironically raises an eyebrow: "I'm not going to walk him. No way."

"Don`t and you`ll become lazy and get fat." Lizzie teases him, and it takes her a few seconds to get not the meaning of the words, but the tone of them. Homely. Habitual. Too intimate. She blushes and tries to hide the embarrassment by hugging Dembe loudly, too much noisy, to be honest, the bodyguard is also embarrassed, but, thank God, understands her retreat maneuver. She doesn't want to meet Red`s eyes.

Several times Lizzie falls asleep in his office next to him with her feet on Red`s knees, buried with files, half-dead from all these endless data, numbers, dates, and the fine print of the footnotes. She wakes up in her bedroom already, covered with blankets, and understands that every time he took her in his arms and brought here, she wonders what it would be – in his arms, but being conscious. But doesn't take a chance. It is too early.

She no longer thinks about Tom. Until she finds at old photograph in her things, they are smiling together, it`s Christmas, they wear couple`s sweaters, her hair is long. Like it is now. The next morning she stands in front of a mirror cutting the locks carefully, to the exact level they were when she ran with Red. It's silly, but she needs some constant, and she chooses that point – the moment in the car, the pressure of her cheek to Red's shoulder and the first time for six months when she allowed herself to fall into quiet sleep. She adds the photograph to the strands of hair, and with deep satisfaction she drops a match and watches it all burns in the sink. With a terrible smell.

The first question Red asks returning home is:

"Did you burned and buried the dog, because he ruined my favorite rug?"

Then he looks at Lizzie, leant against the doorjamb with a small smile and a twinkle in the corner of her eyes, he looks surprised and tsks, shaking his head.

The next day, the first time for more than 6 months the house is invaded by strangers. There is an army of hairdressers, stylists, seamstresses, they make her hair, body, manicure and pedicure in excellent condition, full the wardrobes with new clothes, underwear, shoes, big bags with makeup supplies she could not afford earlier are everywhere in the room. The bottles of perfume. Jewellery.

"I'll kill you, Raymond Red Reddington!" She pokes his chest with forefinger hard and gives an accusing glance:

"Tell me all this was paid with MY money."

"Of course," - Red bows his head, and there is a shade of mixed offence, satisfaction, challenge and approval in his eyes. It's amazing how it all coexists in one man in this moment. "How could you think otherwise, my dear? Although I have allowed myself to bring a modest gift in honor of the anniversary. "

He hands her a small box, a box tied with red ribbon and Lizzie cannot not help but chuckle. Red always stays true to himself. There is little women watch inside, simple and elegant, matching her hand, matching her true self, not pretentious, not luxurious, but certainly expensive for its simple, smooth, laconic lines. The watch.

"Time is precious." - Says Lizzie and reaches out her hand for him to fasten the watch. He takes the watch and puts on gently, then caresses the back of her palm and leaves a kiss, and she hears a soft whisper behind them. The same whisper do people that had got in the center of the storm, but now it is over and they can make a move, breathe and realize that they`re alive. Lizzie thinks Red makes such an impression on everyone and she can finally breathe out too.

Stylists and hairdressers laugh quietly when Red turns to them with a wink and says, shaking his head:

"She is always so jealous of what belongs to her."

Sometimes you can rip old skin with one move. Now it`s the moment.

"Oh yeah, my dear." – she takes him by his arm for the first time and presses herself to his shoulder playfully, wondering whether she plays this performance for the audience, or for herself, or maybe that is not a performance at all. "I am indeed." - And leads him to the dining room. No matter she wears a simple home t-shirt and jeans, not an evening dress, the watch at her hand is worth it all.

If Red is surprised, he doesn`t show it. At the moment, that is just what she needs.

They are going to have the first meeting in a week. It's like the first promo ball, and Lizzie is looking for an appropriate dress meticulously. Her wardrobes are full of expensive, flawless and beautiful dresses, so the point is to get something suitable for the mood. The head bursts with myriads of phrases from the file she has been learning by heart for eternity, it's not just an entertaining trip, this is the very first ball, where she will be officially presented, but she is high-spirited.

She learns to dance. The music is modern, fast, initially she dances with Dembe, because Red is sitting near buried in his papers, they laugh, stepping on each other's feet, sometimes on purpose. Red finally looks up from his file, sadly shaking his head, sets the papers aside, remove studs and unbuttons cuffs, rolling to the elbows, and gets up, replacing Dembe:

"You break my heart with your so 'called dancing."

Dembe snorts, grins, and walks to the dining room to pour himself whiskey. Cat cuddles up to him, stuck to his legs and purring like a motor vehicle. Cats love Dembe. Cats are never wrong, she thinks and returns to the reality.

Red is an excellent dancer. The music flowing from an old record player is totally modern, sharp and trenchant, beating like a heart, but still Red can handle it. Is there anything at all he cannot control? He dances perfectly, feeling the rhythm, but controlling everything, every movement, every moment. Time, Lizzie thinks, glancing at the watch on her wrist, that's the point, you have to be out of it to appreciate the time. Has she become the part of endless and immortal world of his own?

They stand in the middle of the crowded hall. There are rich, very rich, and simply indecent rich people around them. They could feed the starving children in Africa for the whole year for the jewelry on the necks of the women here. She holds Red's arm, he smells of sandalwood and leather and confidence, his scent mixes with her, Lizzie is nervous, enough to keep her head high and look confident. She wears black-and-white pantsuit, her thoughts are tangled into a knot of contradictions - black and white, good and evil - the scarf on her shoulder is embroidered with bright red pomegranate grains, the pattern repeats Red's tie exactly, she cannot divide their images in her mind, somehow they seem to merge into a new one, unified, solid and new.

Red brings her to another couple, this one is for sure from the major league ruling the world from a dark corner, and introduces her:

"Good evening, Gordon. Eve. This is my ..."

Lizzie hears the sounds of the music, the same one they were dancing to, strong, like a heartbeat, and Lizzie reaches out first:

"Elizabeth Keene. His partner. "- She interrupts Red. "Nice to meet you. Gordon. Eve."

Everything falls into place now. It is as it should be.

The singer's voice from behind merges with a quiet whisper in her head:

«Make me a bird, I`ll fly with you ...» - and Lizzie smiles. Wide. Dazzling. Sincerely.