She was his way home.
As they stood there, looking up at the stars with the boat rocking gently beneath them, she could hardly believe what she was hearing. Had he all but made a declaration of love? She had suspected throughout their time together the past three years that he had more than a platonic attachment to her. More recently, this had been solidified by his reaction to her transformation to a blonde. It had thrilled her a little to see such appreciation, scared her even—she had never elicited a reaction like that from anyone before. He had been like an infatuated school boy: flustered beyond words and only able to stammer out an appreciative noise before turning away in embarrassment. She had rendered the great Raymond Reddington speechless.
He had tried to continue on like nothing had occurred, eating up the silence with words about the Troll Farmer and busying his hands uselessly. Liz had known better, though. His rambling and inability to meet her gaze had told her everything she had needed to know, and then some. Of course, then she had been an idiot and diffused the situation by entreating him about looking like her mother. It wasn't about her mother, she knew—but still, she had to know. Had to know for certain that he didn't have a lingering attachment to her mother that would cause it all to go down the drain. It had ultimately been a selfish move, one that she regretted when she saw the look on his face. It had been a mix of disgust, confusion and incredulity twisted into a mask of hesitation. He had not granted such a question with a response, and in that moment she had her answer.
He had not said the words, but she could imagine him saying them to her softly in that deep, rumbling voice of his: No, Lizzie...it's you. It's always been you.
Watching him as he looked up at the sky, he was totally at ease standing beside her with his wine and hand slipped into his pocket. He looked content, and for him that was rare. There was a softness to his face, and an openness there that she had previously never been exposed to. The ease between them was such a change from the past several months after the memory retrieval. It was startling how much she welcomed it, embraced it even. He was centering her, and slowly she was settling into the upheaval that was her life. It was clear now that he would not let her drown. He would anchor her in this world and keep her afloat.
She shifted closer to him, lightly wrapping her hand around his elbow and slipping it down until it rested on his forearm. It wasn't a hesitant move on her part; she did it in an assured manner that until recently she hadn't known she possessed. She was sure of herself and her actions in this moment. He looked down and met her entreating gaze, a smile slowly spreading across his face and wonder shining in his eyes. Reaching his free hand toward her, he caught her tangled hair and tucked it behind her ear, taking a moment to feel its softness. His head bobbed once in a nod as if he had decided something, and brushed a finger along her jaw, lifting it toward him.
Liz knew what he was doing before he even leaned down to brush his lips with hers, and she smiled as he retracted briefly in surprise when she met him halfway. It was gentle, but powerful. The connection between them only heightened in that moment, and when he broke it and rested his forehead against hers, her eyes slipped closed and a contented sigh escaped her lips.
She was home.