A/N: Very first attempt at multi-chapter with actual plot. Beta'd by the lovely thefirstfewchapters, without whom I would have just thrown poetic phrases around and called it a story. As usual, I own none of this.

"Get in the car, Lizzie"

She never saw him come up behind her, just felt the bulk and warmth of him against her back, but she would know that voice anywhere. One of his hands gripped her arm as he began to steer her across the parking lot to the waiting Mercedes.

"Red, stop it. Stop manhandling me, damn it!" She twisted in his grip, trying to dislodge his hold to no avail. His arm was an iron band around her back, in his other hand, she saw his Colt .45, with the safety off. He held it down at his side, but his finger was on the trigger.

Something was wrong.

Red isn't looking at her, he isn't speaking. She can feel the tension in his body where it is pressed against her, as though he we shielding her. She recognizes the behavior, straight out of law enforcement 101, "protecting your witness".

Lizzie gets in the car.

Dembe barely waited for the door to close before his foot was on the gas and gravel sprayed as the car accelerated out of the small lot behind the Post Office. Red still had the gun in his hand, though his finger was no longer on the trigger. He still isn't talking. He looked like he hadn't slept for days. The creases around his eyes were more pronounced and his eyes were shadowed. The man was a stone wall. The more Lizzie looked at Red, the less she liked what she saw.

"Red, what's the matter? What's going on?"

"Not right now, Lizzie, let's get to a safe spot and then I'll try to explain."

"Try to explain? Would that be one of those explanations where you tell me about five percent of what you know and keep the rest a secret? Because I don't like those explanations, Red." Lizzie was tired, it had been a long week and all she wanted was a hot shower and some Chinese takeout. Red's idea of giving her information, or rather not giving her information, was a sore spot still between them after the Tom Keen incident and, even if she had forgiven, she had not forgotten. They had had a long conversation him about keeping her in the dark.

He slanted a look at her to say her comment was noted, and a twist of his lips, which she had the unfortunate habit of staring at, let her know he was fully aware of shots fired. He remained silent though and after some mutual glaring, Lizzie retreated to her neutral corner and closed her eyes. Red would talk when he wanted to talk, and not a moment before.

She catnapped during the rest of ride as Dembe drove to the outskirts of Alexandria, a modest suburban neighborhood. He pulled the car into the garage in the back of a grey and white Cape Cod house. Lizzie started to open the door, but Red put a hand on her arm.

"Wait. Dembe will check out the house first."

He didn't say anything else and Lizzie's mind began to spin like a top. Red was usually cautious, that was part of having a running price on his head, but this seemed…different. Her nerves were already shot after everything she had been through for the last month, but she could feel the tension set into her shoulders and neck again. They waited in silence until Dembe reappeared in the doorway and motioned them inside.

Once they were in, Dembe began to unload cases from the car and stack them in the mudroom off the kitchen. Red shrugged off his overcoat and suit jacket, draping them over kitchen chairs. He was wearing a shoulder holster over his vest and dress shirt, that was a new thing, and there were pistols on both sides, so he could draw with either hand. Lizzie pursed her lips, trying to decide if the holster made him appear more or less attractive. She was still pondering a minute later, when he glanced up from what he was doing to catch her staring at him. Again. He gave her the tiniest smirk, his "I see what you're doing there" eyebrow raise. Lizzie rolled her eyes and tried very hard not to blush.

"You can relax now, Lizzie. We are quite safe for now," Red began to methodically check all the window locks and close the curtains. Lizzie shrugged off her suit jacket but kept her shoulder holster on. Red seemed more at ease now, and she hoped that meant that he would be explaining this situation soon.

Dembe had unpacked the computers and Lizzie watched, astonished, as Red, who never so much as indicated he knew how to turn on a computer, began to plug in all the wires and run the power supply to the outlet. She couldn't conceal the surprise, least of all from the man who read her like a picture book. The smirk became a full grin with an accompanying chuckle.

"What, Lizzie? I can't have hidden talents? Not everything about me was in Donald's files."

Lizzie just rolled her eyes and went to the kitchen to make some coffee. This was obviously going to take a while.

She sat and studied the two men while the coffee brewed on the counter. Dembe was on the laptop, Red was alternating between paper files and the larger screen of the desktop unit. Neither one seemed particularly in a hurry to explain what was going on. They conversed amongst themselves in low voices. Clearly not including her. Besides being a little rude, it was beginning to get on her nerves. Why the big scene in the parking lot? Was that to convince her to come with them without fussing? She had been patient quite long enough. Time for conversation.

"Red, I need some answers, and then I'm going to need a ride home. I have work tomorrow."

He looked up from the papers he was studying, as if he had forgotten she was there. She could see the wheels turning in his brain as he debated his approach, his strategy for telling her what he wanted her to know.

"You won't be going to work, Lizzie. Not for the rest of the week." She opens her mouth to protest but closes it again as she observes his expression. His face is completely closed. No little smirks or winks or twitches. All of his tells are gone. He was deadly serious about her staying here. And she suspected that he wasn't above cuffing her to a chair. So, let's apply some logic, she thought as she offered him a small smile.

"Red, I am a federal agent; I have to be at work. Otherwise I will be fired. I'm on thin ice as it is after the harbor master incident."

Her voice rose slightly in pitch and volume though she tried hard to keep it steady.

"Sorry, Lizzie, I'm not sending you in there until I find out who is the cat among the pigeons. I called Samar, she'll make your excuses for a few days."

So it was safe enough for Samar, or Aram or Ressler to be at work, but not Lizzie. She could feel the beginnings of a tension headache and she tried to stay calm and rational. Yelling at Red rarely resulted in getting answers.

"Why can't I go to work, Reddington?"

"Because there is something wrong at the Post Office. Something involving people much higher up the food chain than Harold Cooper. Until I know what it is, you aren't safe and neither am I. As of now, we are a package deal, Lizzie."