a/n: I had to do a little something after last night's glorious finale! Liz and Red riding off into the sunset? I think I'll take some of that, thank you very much!

Please R&R and remember that our ship sailed grandly last night!

I own nothing. Literally nothing. Except this flash drive. I own this flash drive.

Her head is on his shoulder.

The world is falling down around them and her head rests on his shoulder like it belongs there. He feels the pressure through layers of clothing as keenly as if he wears nothing, and he is finally able to weigh his failure.

Approximately 115 pounds.

She sighs against him and he bites his tongue. Hard.

They board the private jet with a lack of urgency that stuns him. Somehow the fact that the dogs are closing in on them, almost nipping at their heels, is not as important. What is important is that they are leaving together and Red is not prepared.

"I don't have a passport," Liz mumbles into his shoulder, her fingers fisting into the edge of his jacket as they have been since they exited the car.

She is obviously in shock.

"That's alright. I'm friends with the guy that owns the plane," Red reassures, going for a smile…a laugh… anything to break the ice that has crawled up his spine and spread to every vital part of his body. The corners of her lips turn up slightly, but the smile does not reach her eyes and he has failed again.

Lizzie turns to observe the interior of the jet while Red observes her. She is thinner than she was when they first officially met, and her skin has morphed from fair to pale. He takes the blame for it.

He takes the blame for everything.

She moves slightly away from him, but loops her finger through a button hole in his jacket pocket. Her clothes are wrinkled and dirty and her hair smells of salt and sea, reminding Red of where she has been…what she has almost done. He longs to wash the sea from her hair and strip her of the clothing that cannot possibly belong to her, but he is unprepared. There is nothing on this jet for her, and he cannot afford to let his mind consider all of the possibilities where she would not require clothing. Now is not the time.

"This is not the plane you usually use," Lizzie remarks casually. Red is shocked that she notices. Most of their time spent on his plane has been silent and awkward and she has gone out of her way not to familiarize herself with his lifestyle.

"There's a reason for that." Red removes his hat and tosses it onto a seat and is tempted to do the same with his jacket, but Lizzie's finger is firmly lodged in his pocket and for this reason alone he will suffocate under the heavy material.

"Of course."

There is a rustling from the cockpit and the pilot sticks his head out to greet his passengers. "If you're ready, Mr. Reddington, we need to leave now."

Red nods his head. It won't do to delay this any further.

"Yes. Thank you. Come, Lizzie. Let's have a seat."

There are plenty of seats in the empty jet, even places to lie down, but when Red takes his usual window seat Lizzie is right there beside him, settling in the seat next to his, so close that their arms and shoulders are molded together and her knee rests against his, a far cry from their usual distance of him in his seat and her on the other side of the plane. He can feel her eyes boring into him but chooses to avoid her gaze and focus on the window instead.

"You must have questions," he starts, anxious to get this conversation behind them.

There is movement in his peripheral vision and her fingers are tugging on the sleeve of his jacket. "Get this off. It's hot."

It is hot… stifling, even.

Red removes the jacket obediently, letting her take it and settle it on her lap, even though she claims to be hot.

"Please, Lizzie," he begs, looking at her now. "I know you. You have questions and I'm finally willing to give you answers. Ask."

Lizzie shakes her head and takes his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles, a soothing gesture that he finds ironic. "I know everything I need to know. Everything that matters."

He wishes that were true. He wishes that the past no longer matters. But it matters. It matters so much.

"There's more…"

"It can wait." Lizzie cuts Red off with a finality that he cannot argue with.

He's too tired to argue.

The plane starts to move and for the first time in years Red feels the nerves and nausea that come along with motion sickness. He settles back into his seat, resting on the headrest, trying to block out the feel of her fingers on his skin. Another failure.

"Where are we going?" Lizzie's breath is on his neck and she lets go of his hand to thread her arm through his. This time his hand is palm up on the armrest, ready for her to take it. He is getting greedy, but he figures there will be time to be selfless once they arrive at their destination.

"Away."

She accepts the uncertainty with a resigned grace he never knew she possessed. There is pressure on his shoulder again and he welcomes it, welcoming every opportunity to offer comfort and a small amount of stability. It's all she has ever wanted.

And he will always give her everything she wants.