Lizzie was sitting in the second row of a magnificent theatre. In front of her sat a group of people. She could tell that it consisted of two little girls and two men. The only face she could see clearly was that of the little brunette girl sitting directly in front of her. She was squirming excitedly, turning around and waving at Lizzie, her brown curls bouncing with every move. The lights dimmed, and the performance began. A beautiful ballerina danced onto the stage, but Lizzie couldn't make out the dancer's face. The little girl leaned over to one of the men and exclaimed, "LOOK! It's mommy!" The man tried to calm her, his voice was distorted, and all Lizzie could make out was "Sweetheart". Suddenly there was a loud *POP* and a spark of light. Lizzie jumped, covering her head with her hands. When she looked up again, she was surrounded by debris and flames, but couldn't feel the heat. She looked around desperately and the theatre was in total shambles around her. She heard an ear piercing scream, and saw the brunette girl kneeling next to one of the men, whose back looked like it was on fire. The girl was begging for help. Lizzie tried to grab the girl but couldn't reach her. The man groaned and struggled to his feet, somehow managing to pick up the little girl and stumble through an opening in the wall, despite the apparent damage to his back ...

Elizabeth Milhoan woke up, screaming, drenched in sweat and unconsciously massaging the scar on the inside of her right wrist. It had been years since she'd had nightmares about the fire. She had never really known where the dream had come from in the first place, but it had started when she was very young. It had resurfaced again in the last few weeks and was occurring more and more lately. Each time, the events were slightly different, but the one constant was the little brunette girl. Lizzie could always see her clearly, and the same man saved her every time, the man whose back was on fire, his face always hidden from Lizzie's view. On this particular morning, she woke with a strong desire to know more about that man, someone who would surely have scars on his back, if he were in fact real.

Lizzie had gone through a great deal of therapy after the abuse from Tom. She had asked the doctor about the dream, and been told her that dreams like that were usually a result of a trauma as a child. She couldn't remember any fire, and memories of her early childhood were spotty at best. The earliest memory she could recall was going to a cabin with her father, Sam Milhoan, the summer she turned eight. It was a summer she would never forget. He taught her how to fish and swim in the lake nearby. She could vaguely remember the other people that were present, but the memories that she had of her and Sam were crystal clear.

Raymond Reddington came tearing through her bedroom door in just his undershirt and boxers, pale as a ghost. "Lizzie! what's wrong? Are you okay?" He paused and then came and sat down next to her on the bed.

"I'm okay, Red. It's just that stupid dream again. I don't know where it's coming from or why I'm having it so much lately. It's driving me nuts. Maybe it's just stress?" She shook her head, throwing the blankets back and crossing her arms like a pouting child. He placed his hand on her thigh; this was his subtle way of trying to calm her after the nightmares. He had learned over the last few months not to try and coddle her after one of these episodes. She had told him about the dream and he always appeared to be uncomfortable when she mentioned it. Over the last few weeks she just referred to it as 'the dream' and left it at that. He patted her leg, before getting back up.

"Would you like to shower first? Or shall I take the honor?" he said, smiling grandly.

"Go ahead. It's all yours this morning. I think I want to go for a run before we have breakfast and head out. I need to get rid of some of this anxiety." She hopped out of bed and began to gather her running clothes together.

"Sounds good. Do you want Dembe to go with you?" he asked.

He had been very protective after Tom had destroyed her apartment six months ago. She'd been very lucky that she was with Red that night, or she would have surely ended up severely injured or even dead. Unbeknownst to Red, she'd found out that Tom had cost the owners of the apartment building over a half of million dollars in damages. Her apartment was not the only place he'd caused chaos to that night; he did major damage to the back of the building with his car as well. Red had taken care of the costs, despite her protests when she eventually discovered what had happened.

"I'm good, thanks though. I won't be long. I promise." She smiled. She knew he was going to have Dembe Zuma follow her from a distance anyway. He did every time, and there was just no getting around that.

Before leaving the room, he walked over to her and placed a kiss on the top of her head saying, "As you wish, my dear."

She changed quickly, grabbed her iPod and headed out for her run through Central Park. The specific route that she'd mapped out, allowed her to enjoy the perfect weather, the sight of cherry blossom trees and rose bushes; her vintage playlist blaring in her ears, granted her the opportunity to completely clear her mind from the night's frustrating dreams, despite still having that nagging urge to know who the mysterious man was.

Days like today made her miss her father, Sam Milhoan, even more. He'd died five years ago, in October, from aggressive lung cancer. It was difficult for her to process; he'd been the only family that he'd ever known. She was unsure of all the details or, indeed, the timeline, but she knew that Sam had adopted her after her birth parents died in an accident when she was five years old. Some of her favorite memories were when Sam told stories of being in the theatre. He would tell her about the shows that he'd done, the actors he had the pleasure of working with, and how he loved working with his best friend 'Ray' She would have loved to have the opportunity to meet his friend, and learn all she could about her father. Between Sam's stories and seeing My Fair Lady on Broadway, she fell in love with the theatre; it was like it was in her blood, like it was meant to be. She wished that Sam could see her now; a rising actress in a fantastic theatre, playing opposite the famous Raymond Reddington. She was pretty sure, that Sam wouldn't approve of her growing relationship with Red though. She could hear him now. Liz this man is old enough to be your father. He's almost as old as I am. What could you possibly see in him? As far as Sam was concerned, there was no man good enough for her. Up until now, Sam had been the only man in her life that ever showed her what it meant to be loved.

There were so many unknown factors in her life, her childhood being the main one. Since his death, she felt that the answers to the burning questions she had, perished with him. The day Sam died, he'd called to talk, she could tell there was something he wanted to say, but he never did. That last phone call came back to haunt her.

"Listen butterball, this twelve year old oncologist, when she's done with her martini, wants to run more tests. It's under control. I'm fine."

"You're gonna be fine, daddy. I know that. I love you."

"I love you, too, butterball."

She loved his little nicknames for her, butterball being her favorite. She tried to shake the memories and set her thoughts determinedly on the day ahead. Today was the day that Red would announce the new production for the Kershaw Theatre, ending their six-month hiatus. Red had decided, with the theatre's newfound success, it was time for a facelift, updating the entire interior and upgrading the lighting, audio and security systems. She felt that by living with Red, it would allow for certain privileges, but as much to her dismay he was being infuriatingly tight lipped. No matter how much she continued to probe him for any breadcrumbs, he refused. She knew there was a method to his madness, but she was beginning to get antsy.

Her run felt off today. She'd been down this path countless times in the past, but lately she'd noticed that there were three men that appeared to be on the same benches every time she was out. Hmm, I swear I saw that guy when I first started today. Am I being followed? she wondered. After everything that she'd been through with Tom, she knew she should be more cautious and observant, but she put so much trust in the fact that she knew that Dembe was behind her. He could, and would, spring into action at a moments notice if she needed him to.

It was Dembe's large, strong hand on her shoulder that made her scream. She knew that he followed her at a distance, but he'd never been that close to her, at least not on the run itself.

"Elizabeth, we need to go home, now." he said with worry in his face and voice.

"Why Dembe? I'm not even half way done?" she protested.

"Now, Elizabeth. It's not safe!" It was practically a command now.

She sighed and they headed home.

As they got to their floor Dembe gave her a message for Red. "Tell Raymond that there were 'complications' and I will be by as soon as I clean up."

She walked through the door, slamming it behind her and kicked off her shoes before heading to the kitchen. "I hope the rest of the day gets better than the morning has been." she muttered to herself.