"I love you."

Lizzie's words echo loudly in Red's mind, the image of her eyes, wide and honest, and a faint smile of wonder lighting up her face, is still flashing before his eyes. He had stood there, speechless, staring blankly, his mouth hanging open in complete and utter shock.

"That's what I wanted to say."

She could have said anything, anything at all, and he would have been less surprised than he was to hear those words. He's dreamt it, of course, seeing her gorgeous lips form those three words, all for him, but dreams are one thing.

Reality is quite another.

Red had stood there and gazed at her in disbelief and, for once, Lizzie had just stared back, content to be silent, her eyes so blue and watery, and that same faint smile that felt like sunshine itself upon his face.

"That's what I wanted you to hear."

It was only after this shared moment of interminable length that Lizzie's eyes had suddenly and without warning brimmed over and two tears rolled down her beautiful face, startling him.

(And the little helpless shrug she had given, that nonchalant of course she conveyed to him through her sadness, the inevitability of it all, pierced right through him. Because, by all rights, he's the last person she should love.)

Red, physically unable to bear her tears, had taken one step forward, not completely sure what he intended to do, perhaps tenderly wipe her tears away, wrap her up in his arms, just comfort her, but he never got the chance to find out.

Because at that moment, they arrived to take him away, take him away from life and love and Lizzie and how unfair was it, that the moment he thought he was ready to die, he was given a reason to live?

(Then again, Lizzie's been his reason to live for a long time now.)

But he's going now, going to be injected with cold and sleep and death, lethal and damning.

(Although her love already feels like a drug, coursing through his veins and making him feel as light as air.)

But now they're taking him through the hallways and corridors, the endless maze leading to the chamber where it will all be over, and he's scared. He didn't think he would be, but he supposes it's natural. Everyone fears death, even the Concierge of Crime.

But if there's anything he's learned to do over the years, it's how to master his fear.

(With one notable exception, of course, and Lizzie is the reason for that too.)

So, he tamps down his fear, that useless clawing feeling, and shoves it in a deep dark hole somewhere inside him, where it belongs, and strides forward to meet to his fate. He knew his luck would run out someday.

He just didn't expect it to spur Lizzie into a confession he thought he'd only hear in his dreams.

(But then again, she has a habit of surprising him.)

They enter the chamber, the cold, sterile room in which he will die, and they begin the tedious process of preparing him for death. He goes along willingly, laying down on the clinical table and letting them strap him down, even while the fear licks upward at his insides, escaping its prison inside of him.

Irritation then joins the fear that he's struggling to get rid of. He's murdered more people than he can count and now it's time to face the consequences. There couldn't be anything more right or just, and he shouldn't be anything but accepting.

(But logic doesn't help much in the face of this kind of fear. And he's never felt less logical in his life.)

And then, as he lays there alone with only his fear for company, the curtain in front of him suddenly shutters open and there they are, the two most cherished people in his whole world.

(He's not alone anymore.)

Dembe, his son, his brother, is sitting solemn and stoic as ever. They've said their goodbyes, several times before, in fact, and they are at peace with one another. Dembe believes that he will see Red again at some point and, while that's a comforting thought, Red rather hopes not.

(Where he's headed is the one place he doesn't want Dembe to follow. Dembe's pure soul doesn't belong anywhere near Red's, even in the afterlife.)

Now Red can see Dembe's lips moving slightly and Red knows he's praying for him, and that action alone means more to him than anything could.

(Dembe will be just fine without him.)

Red turns his gaze with something like peace settling in his soul and –

There she is. Elizabeth. Lizzie. She's here with him and, as much as he'd like to spare her this experience, he can't help but feel relief at seeing her beautiful face again.

(He never fails to be stunned by her pale skin, her luminous eyes, her dark hair. Lizzie is easily the most gorgeous woman he's ever seen.)

All at once, he feels the fear start to drain out of him, resignation taking its place. She's here with him and she's looking right back at him and she loves him.

His heart thrills in his chest as he recalls her words once more and his throat tightens. He certainly won't allow himself to cry, not here, not now, and not when Lizzie is crying enough for the both of them. But, if he had any time left, he could easily spend the rest of his life weeping out of sheer amazement and thankfulness.

(She gave him the greatest gift he's ever received.)

And that knowledge is enough, that she somehow doesn't despise him, that she'll be provided for and looked after, and that she'll be all right. She might be crying now, but she won't be for long. She'll forget him soon enough and move on with her life and that's the way he wants it.

(He doesn't want her to hurt over him.)

Red feels annoyance prickle through him as he's interrupted from his last act of staring at Lizzie. The man in charge, the one with the sympathetic gaze, is trying to ask him something and Red carelessly assents to whatever he's saying.

It doesn't matter now, he's here, they're doing it, and he's happy to just look at Lizzie while he waits for his eyes to drift close for the last time.

(And this is what he wished for the last time he was close to death and all he had then was her beautiful name on his lips with a gun to his head and his knees on the floor. Now he has her here to gaze at and nothing could be better. She's everything he needs.)

He's ready.

I love you, too.

And then the phone rings.

Liz doesn't know where she finds the strength to walk, numb and cold, to the observation room and join Dembe. Not after the way Red looked at her when she told him the most basic fact, the one permanent thing that remains ingrained into who she is.

Of course, she lives, of course, she breathes, of course, she loves him. As reluctant as she may have been to recognize it in the past, Red has always been a part of her and how she truly feels about him has never been clearer than it is in this moment.

She loves him.

But the way he'd stared, the sheer shock and disbelief on his face, had torn a hole right through her and she was left with only one questioning thought.

How long has it been since someone told him that?

And it was the most likely answer to that question, the loathing idea of himself that he must carry deep inside as a result, the sheer lack of humanity he feels he deserves, all those things have the tears spilling down her face, unable to hold them in.

(This dear, broken, damaged man. She wants nothing more than to put him back together again. But she's out of time.)

And then they took him away and she wasn't ready but there was nothing she could do, not with her badge or her gun or her love.

(And she has a funny feeling that, all of a sudden, even forever wouldn't be long enough, she would never be ready, and god she wishes she never met Jennifer.)

So, she followed him, drawn to him like she's always been, to that something inside of him that calls out to her, and she ended up here in the observation room, crying next to Dembe, who is holding her hand and praying.

(And as much as she appreciates his resolute presence beside her, the fact that she's not alone in this, all she can think about is how his hand is not Red's, and, oh, what she would give to just burst through the door and stop all this –)

And now she can't seem to stop rubbing her scar while she cries, not taking her running eyes off of Red, who seems content to lay there and stare, strapped to a table looking at her, while the pinch and pull of the skin at her wrist feels good, almost like the needle that's going to pierce the delicate skin at the crease of his arm, because if they're going to inject him, they might as well kill her too –

And then the phone rings.

Thank you, Harold.

It's the only three words that Red can think as suddenly everything stops, that unstoppable march towards death ceases without a second thought, and they start unstrapping him, letting him get up and walk away.

(The only thing better than his light head and weak knees, a result of the sheer shock coursing through his body, is Lizzie's face, shining with the most beautiful mixture of surprise and relief and happiness.)

They're leading him back to his cell, the guards now whispering among themselves, so unlike the silent march of moments ago, because surely, surely this has never happened before, surely no one has ever been this lucky.

They put him back in the room where he shared his last meal with Lizzie – oh, not his last after all, he thinks deliriously – and they're taking his handcuffs off, thank god.

Red rubs his wrists absently, peering blankly around the room, feeling oddly as though he's never seen it before. Then the man from before strides in, the one in charge, looking just as surprised as Red feels, blinking owlishly at him. Red glances down at the ID around his neck. Johnson. He supposes it's worth learning his name, now that he's not going to die.

(And god, his head is still reeling.)

"You're...you're a very lucky man, Mr. Reddington," Mr. Johnson says bluntly, though not unkindly.

(Yes, it seems he hasn't run out of lives just yet.)

Before he can answer him, Red hears a slight commotion in the hall. He looks around Johnson and out of the cell window just as Lizzie suddenly bursts into view.

(And, oh, he was hoping she would come.)

"I know," Red answers Johnson, his gaze on Lizzie and nothing else.

Red watches her as she snaps at the guard, every other word - most of them impolite - floating into the cell through the propped open door, as she repeatedly yanks her arm out of the grasp of the guard trying to hold her back.

(Red feels a flash of irritation at the sight. No one touches Lizzie.)

"It's all right, Sergeant," Johnson calls. "She can come in."

He turns back to Red but Red doesn't have eyes for him, he can only stare at Lizzie, feeling amused and decidedly in love as she shakes off the guard for the final time, giving him a warning look that Red's been on the receiving end of many times before.

(It still gives him a thrill.)

The guard flinches back a little from the fierceness in her gaze and Lizzie sniffs at him before turning away, making a point to flip her hair a little before striding confidently into his cell.

Red can't hold back a fond chuckle.

It's only after that that Red notices Johnson looking at him curiously, eyeing the look of undisguised adoration Red can't bother to conceal, and then glancing at Lizzie too, her tear-stained face and sparkling eyes not hiding much either.

(Red hopes he won't have to worry about Johnson.)

"I'll give you two a few moments."

(It seems he doesn't. Good.)

Red simply nods gratefully and Lizzie murmurs a quiet "thank you" as Johnson moves past her and out of the room, signaling curtly to the other guards to follow, and one at a time they all file out, leaving him and Lizzie blessedly, wonderfully alone.

(There's nothing Red wants more right now.)

Once the door shuts and his would-be killers disappear behind it, he turns, expecting and hoping for an armful of Lizzie. And that's exactly what he gets, with her wet eyes wild and frantic as she throws herself at him. But then he gets more than he bargained for and certainly more than he knows what to do with because all of a sudden, she's not only in his arms but her lips are pressing against his and her tears are wetting his face and oh.

And Liz truly doesn't know what's happening to her, it's as if she's been injected with some strange emotion, desperation and urgency pulsing through her as her hands grasp and pull him closer, unable to stop running over him, his face and arms and sides, making sure he's real and warm and here because that was too fucking close –

And Red is nothing other than completely shocked, taken aback in the best way by the feeling of Lizzie in his arms, against his body, something he thought he'd never experience like this.

(And this is certainly a day of firsts, isn't it? A declaration of love, his closest brush with death yet, and being kissed by Lizzie. This simply doesn't feel real.)

Red's mind is still frozen when Lizzie lets out a small whimper against his lips, the prelude to a full-fledged sob, and the ingrained urge to soothe her has him throwing his arms around her without a second thought.

She gasps in response to being pressed against the length of his body and pushes back with renewed vigor, the sheer force of her driving Red back a few steps until his back hits the brick wall of the cell.

And it's as if he's been injected with heat instead of deadly ice, gasoline scorching through his body, the feeling of her lips on his acting as an accelerant that is lighting him up inside.

Red brings a hand up to cup the back of her head, winding his fingers into her hair – it's so soft - and dedicates himself to kissing her back, only just tasting her before she's wrenching her mouth from his. She barely gives him time to miss the warmth of her mouth before she's nuzzling her face into his neck, pressing more kisses there and wetting his skin with the tears still falling down her face. His breath stutters in his chest at the feeling. She presses a final loving kiss to the underside of his jaw before wrapping her arms tight around his waist and stilling against him, inhaling shakily against his neck.

Red can only blink in shock, his gaze blank over her shoulder, shock and tenderness coursing through him all at once, his hands mindlessly drifting down to gently rub her back.

They're standing here, pressed together and leaning against the wall of his prison cell, hearts racing as they come down from the high of desperate, lovesick kissing.

(And Red isn't completely sure he didn't die on that table after all.)

"Lizzie," he murmurs softly, unable to resist pressing a soft kiss to her head and rubbing his cheek against her hair, all without even thinking, it's so natural. "Not that I wasn't thoroughly enjoying what we were doing but...uh, what was that for?"

Lizzie huffs a laugh into his shoulder, taking another steadying breath against him – she's inhaling his scent – before withdrawing her face and pulling back a little to look him in the eye.

(He's struck dumb for a moment by the sight of her eyes, the brightest blue he's ever seen them, and her lips, swollen and red from his kisses, and stretching up into the most wonderful smile, all for him.)

"I told you before, Red," she whispers to him, her voice hoarse from crying, but full of emotion nonetheless, a powerful undercurrent he can feel in his bones. "I love you."

And she's giving him that same helpless shrug, the one that wrecked him before he was saved from death, and now it does its job once again. The strength of the love he feels for her has him gently drawing her face back to his for a series of delicate, sipping kisses.

(And the feeling of finally acting on the urges he's been tamping down for years makes him faint with relief.)

Red pulls back to rub his nose tenderly against Lizzie's, swipe a thumb over her cheek, and close his eyes to whisper the four words he almost didn't get to say before he was injected, dead, and gone from her forever.

"I love you too."