When Red breaks into Lizzie's apartment, it's not because he wants to take her by surprise or frighten her or intimidate her.

It's because he just wants someplace to sit down.

She hadn't been at the Post Office when he stopped by earlier, newly released from jail, to thank the team for all their hard work in saving his life. He'd looked around in what he thought was a tactful way, casting repeated glances to the dark window of the office she shares with Ressler, when he happened to catch the eye of the man himself.

Ressler had looked at him for a moment in a way that instantly made Red wary – and reminded him that Ressler may now know more than is good for him – before he simply shook his head. A tiny motion, left to right, but the message was clear: Lizzie wasn't there. Red nodded briefly in thanks and soon after made his excuses.

Red wasted no time after that, asking Dembe to drive him to Lizzie's apartment – earning him a raised eyebrow in response – and here he sits, on a couch he didn't buy in Lizzie's new apartment, waiting for her to return home from wherever she is.

(It's a long ending to a long day.)

Red had sent Dembe on his way some time ago, much to Dembe's irritation. He had protested, citing Lizzie's most recent betrayal but Red had simply sighed and gave him a level look.

"Dembe, after everything she did to free me, do you really think she's going to hurt me tonight?"

Dembe had pursed his lips, not satisfied, but obviously not distrustful enough to haul him forcibly from the apartment.

"Call me when you're ready, Raymond, I'll be outside," he'd said quietly. "You should get some rest. It has been a…stressful few weeks."

Red had simply barked a rueful laugh. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

Dembe had chuckled, shook his head, hugged him tightly, and left.

(Red was sad to see him go. He had missed him greatly in prison. But he'll see him again soon enough.)

Alone in the apartment now, Red can see Dembe was right, at least in one aspect. He's struggling to stay awake, his head propped up on his hand, and his eyelids drooping. He hadn't bothered turning on any lights on his way in, quite happy to sit in the dark and feel invisible after the past few weeks of a spotlight in a courtroom.

(It's not often he gets socially exhausted this way.)

Blinking repeatedly, his eyes burning, Red tries to wake himself up a little by looking around the apartment, seeing the sparse decorations and few personal belongings. Naturally, his thoughts turn to Lizzie.

(They did little else while he was in prison.)

When Dembe had finally told him the truth, that Lizzie did in fact betray him, he was upset, angry and frustrated as to why she would do such a thing. He had managed to hold onto that anger until the next time she came to see him. He had waited impatiently for her to arrive, fireworks popping in his veins, anger coursing through him at the woman he trusted, the one who put him there in a scratchy orange jumpsuit, awaiting a sentence.

But when she finally came hurrying in, lugging a bag full of files, collected evidence of his innocence, with dark circles under her eyes and her hair astray, Red's anger had waned. That frantic, wild look he'd been seeing in her eyes since he got captured had started to make sense. He had assumed it was genuine up to then simply because…well, it looked genuine. And that spoke volumes to him. She looked truly afraid for him and, as far as he could tell, was working hard to free him.

(And if she was looking for her precious answers at the same time, well, he'd expect nothing less of her.)

Dembe had also told him she'd been working with Jennifer and that his faux-daughter is the one who paid the homeless woman to call in and report him. Although Dembe has since been keeping an eye on Lizzie and the company she keeps, and he has confirmed that Jennifer is no longer around.

(Small favors.)

Though it may be foolishly optimistic of him, as Dembe certainly believes, Red thinks he can see the truth of the situation. As far as he can tell, Lizzie was working with and being pressured by Jennifer to turn him in, so they could freely look for answers without his hovering and meddling. And once Jennifer got scared and decided to run, Lizzie was left on her own to try and free him.

(Regret and guilt are the only things that explain the feverish, jerky movements of her body, that constant shininess in her eyes. God, he hopes that's what he's been seeing there.)

So, he's here to talk to her, really talk, something that's obviously long overdue. They need to discuss everything she's learned over the past few weeks of his imprisonment, which is just about everything.

(He doesn't have any more secrets. He told her everything when he thought he would be killed and, while it's not how he wanted to do it, he can't find it in himself to regret it. It feels glorious to be unburdened from twenty years' worth of secrets, however it happens.)

And Red now wants nothing more than to make sure they are on the same page, nothing else hidden from each other. He wants to try and repair their damaged relationship, begin to mend the shattered trust between them, and perhaps create something more withstanding.

Start over.

(And all he sees when he closes his exhausted eyes is her smile. He missed her desperately in prison, got so sick of the bars between them, and he wants to be close to her again, feel the softness of her hair if she'll let h—)

Red jerks in his seat as the lock rattles.

(Finally.)

He watches quietly, now very alert, as the door opens slowly and, with no pomp or circumstance, Lizzie shuffles in, her head hanging, her shoulders slumped.

(She looks as tired as he feels.)

Lizzie turns halfway back, struggling to get her key out of the lock, muttering a colorful curse under her breath. Red smothers a chuckle. She manages after a moment and kicks the door shut, taking a moment to lean against it with her back to Red, her forehead resting dejectedly on the door.

(That special portion of Red's heart that remained untouched by her betrayal, larger than it probably should be, aches for her. She's been so beaten down by the world.)

With a huge sigh he can hear across the room, Lizzie pushes off the door and shuffles to the small table she has in the entrance hall, dumping her bag unceremoniously underneath and tossing her badge and gun on top. She lifts her head to look into the small mirror hanging above, gazing defeatedly at her reflection.

Still out of view in the shadows of the living room, Red watches, a little entranced, as she frowns at her own face. He wonders idly what she could possibly find wrong with it. Her hair is pulled back into a bun, much like how she wore it when she testified for him. He had loved it then, the older, more commanding presence it gave her, the unobstructed view of her eyes. Now, unruly strands of hair are escaping their confines, hanging haphazardly around her face after a long day.

(He falls unexpectedly in love with the sight, that captivating mix of loose hair and professional updo, such a contradiction, just like Lizzie herself sometimes. And if he ever thought he could be less in love with her, even with the sting of betrayal still bruising his heart, he was wrong.)

Lizzie brings the moment to an end by moving away from the mirror, still appearing inexplicably dissatisfied with what she sees there, and heading towards the kitchen, remaining completely oblivious to his presence. She hasn't turned any lights on and he doesn't want to frighten her. So, as quietly and gently as he can, he breaks the silence.

"Hello, Lizzie."

Despite his efforts, she still startles violently, hitting her elbow on the wall as she whirls around halfway to the kitchen, her eyes suddenly wide and piercing, frantically searching the darkness of her living room for the source of the voice.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," he murmurs gently.

He watches her take him in, her eyes squinting a little to make out his shape in the darkness but widening again in quick succession, staring at him oddly, not relaxing her defensive stance or tense posture.

Red frowns. He had been expecting some Lizzie-esque quip, some flippant remark, maybe even a smile. He has just gotten out of jail after all. But she doesn't speak. No then why are you sitting in the dark like a creep? or you did a damn good job of it regardless or Red, how are you, it's so wonderful to see you, I've missed you so much.

She's just staring.

Feeling uneasy now, Red pushes himself up from the couch, standing and taking a few steps toward her. Maybe she can't see him properly or she's in shock, is she alri—

But Lizzie skitters backward, away from him, her back hitting the wall behind her, her eyes wide and strange.

Red freezes, completely unnerved by her behavior. "Lizzie?"

"Red," it's barely a whisper, he has to strain to hear it. "Red, please…"

Red opens his mouth to speak, to ask her what's wrong, why does she look like she's –

Oh.

Realization slams into him like a freight train, almost knocking him backwards with the sheer force of it. She has never looked at him like that before, but he vaguely recognizes the expression, something she wears in the field or undercover when things aren't going quite their way, it's how she looks when she's –

"Red, please…"

Lizzie is scared of him.

Pain blooms within him without warning, spreading through his body so quickly it makes him nauseous, almost worse than when he was being beaten up in prison, lying there helpless on the cafeteria floor with blood smeared on his face –

"Red, please let me explain…"

He can do nothing but gape at her, standing stock-still in her dark, foreboding living room as she pleads with him to let her explain and, of course, that's the only thing he came here to do, what else would he –

Oh.

He had told her, warned her, threatened her, from in his stupid little holding cell, that the betrayer would pay, he would find them, and they would pay, and now she thinks –

"Red, please let me explain before you…you…"

And he almost drops to his knees right there on the carpeted floor because –

Lizzie thinks he is going to kill her.

And the whole thing would be simply laughable if it weren't so goddamn painful because, yes, any other betrayer would face his wrath, obviously, but the second he found out it was Lizzie, violence was out the question, obviously –

Just the thought of pointing a gun at her head –

Bile rises in his throat.

(Hurting her would be just as painful and impossible as hurting himself. He would never. He would kill himself first. And he's come close to it a few times.

His life for hers and all that.)

And Red can't stand it, these awful thoughts, what she's assuming, so he steps forward without thinking, reaching out a hand, because he needs to touch her –

But it's the wrong move because Lizzie's gasping a horrible sound that makes him feel very cold inside and she's reaching instinctively for where her holster usually sits on her hip, trying to defend herself from him because it just looked like he was pulling a gun on her –

And they realize at the same time that she's unarmed and the look that enters her eyes, the sadness and fear he can see all over her face, when she remembers her gun is on the hall table behind him but no, no –

He didn't sit in her living room in the dark waiting for her to disarm herself, like she's clearly assuming, if only he could tell her, explain to her that he couldn't move because he was so struck by her beauty and –

"Talk," he chokes out, the word catching oddly in his throat on the way out. "Lizzie, I just want to talk."

But it's so obvious that she doesn't believe him, fear still plastered all over her face as she angles her body away from him and oh, this hurts.

"Lizzie, I'm not going to hurt you."

He sounds absolutely wrecked, his voice gravely and hoarse, and he wills her to hear it, believe it, this proof that he's absolutely undone by the idea of causing her pain.

Lizzie blinks owlishly at him for a moment, her tearful blue eyes almost luminous in the dark of the apartment, before she speaks.

"But you said," she whispers, carefully, not hopeful yet, still expectant and dreading. "You said the betrayer would pay. You said you'd hurt them. I'm the betrayer, Red, I turned you in, don't you know? So why aren't you hurting me?"

"Yes, yes, I know," he hurries to answer her. "But, Lizzie, I could never hurt you, please, believe me."

Lizzie frowns. "But…why not? L-loyalty above all else, right?"

(And she smiles weirdly as she says it, something twisted in it that he instantly loathes, some self-deprecating, self-sacrificing thing that he hates, like she's offering herself to him and no.)

But she wants a reason, he realizes. She won't believe him, he has to convince her and that makes him sore and sad inside, but he supposes it's fair.

(There is so much broken between them.)

But how does he explain to her, how does he describe his endless devotion to her, despite her betrayals and how they hurt him? He saw how hard she tried to free him, how much she regretted what she did, how desperate she was at the end. And while that doesn't make it okay, he would never hurt her for retribution. In the worst situation, he would simply disappear from her life, go back from whence he came, and that punishment would be no punishment for her.

(He would miss her much more than she would miss him.)

But, with her gazing at him, looking so young and scared, reminding him of the time they met for the second time on her first day at the Post Office, what seems like a lifetime ago, he suddenly knows exactly what to say.

"I've told you before, Lizzie: I think you're very special."

And that does it, she remembers the last time he spoke those words just as well as he does, and he can see her shoulders sag in sudden exhaustion, absolutely relieved, and she's stumbling forward into his arms. He catches her, like he always tries to do, even though he doesn't always, but this time he succeeds, wrapping her up in his arms and pressing his face to her hair and just breathing in like he's wanted to do this whole time.

(She smells like love and hope and everything he's been missing.)

Lizzie's arms are wrapped like a vice around his shoulders and he can feel her hands bunching in his coat and a slight trembling in her body that just makes him hold her tighter, pressing a kiss to her head because he can't help himself.

(He's missed her so much.)

It takes him a moment to realize she's murmuring something, and he can only catch snatches of words here and there, so he gently lifts her head from where it's pressed into his neck. When she speaks again, her speech is clearer and his heart clenches at her words.

"I'm so sorry, Red…I know it's no excuse, but I wanted answers and Jennifer was so sure that turning you in was the right thing to do and I didn't believe her, but she persuaded me, but I should have been stronger…"

"I know, Lizzie, I know…"

"No, don't forgive me, I don't deserve that!" her voice is suddenly stronger, and she pulls back enough to look him in the eyes and he can see that hers are red-rimmed and glowing with an old determination that he's missed dearly. "What I did was wrong, along with about a million other things, and you can't just keep forgiving me! You should be mad at me! I wouldn't blame you if you left and never came b—" but her voice cuts off here and her eyes fill back up with tears and he can do nothing but pull her back to him.

"I'm not going to leave, Lizzie," he soothes, his hands smoothing circles over her back. "If I was a stronger man, maybe I would but…I can't." He feels her sniffle against his shoulder. "Besides, I didn't help the situation by keeping things from you."

She pulls back again, this time to look up at him in surprise.

"Oh, I don't regret doing it. It was for your safety, so it was the right thing to do, of course," he amends quickly, and she smiles a little at the return of his normal self-assured attitude. "But…Dembe advised me many, many times to tell you the whole truth about everything. And…I admit he may have been right."

Lizzie smiles, tucking her chin over his shoulder and, with a leap in his heart, he feels her fingers gently stroking the back of his head. He struggles to keep his eyes open at the sensation.

"Yes, I've learned that Dembe is usually right about most things," she murmurs.

They chuckle ruefully together at the wisdom of their mutual friend. They hold each other quietly for a moment, safe in the now comforting dark, no longer pressing and frightening around them, before Lizzie softly speaks again.

"I'm so sorry, Red. I know it's not enough but…I will regret what I did for the rest of my life. And I hope some day you can forgive me. I just…right now, I just want things to be better between us."

Red's throat tightens as he recalls having that specific thought earlier before she arrived, and he presses a kiss to her face, somewhere between her cheek and her lips, that ambiguous line they've always been so good at straddling.

"I want that too, Lizzie. More than anything."

"I'm…I'm so tired of…" she trails off uncertainly with a tremble in her voice.

"Of what?" he prompts gently.

"I'm so tired of being afraid of the people I love," she finishes quietly and his heart clenches.

(Tom was bad for her in so many ways and, as much as she'll never forgive herself for turning him in, he'll never forgive himself for Tom and everything he did to her.)

"We can do it, Lizzie," he assures her quietly. "Together."

And she settles further into his arms at his words, relaxing her limbs and letting out a sigh so content that he feels something settle within himself.

"Together," she repeats sleepily.

It will take time to tear down the fear and rebuild the trust between them, time and patience that he's willing to give, and he thinks she is too. But this? Here together in the comforting darkness of her apartment?

This is a good start.