Liz bounced on the balls of her feet, hovering close behind Red's shoulder while he fiddled with the doors on the shipping container. She was so exhausted that she knew no matter what awaited her inside the container, she would probably crash just as soon as the doors closed behind her. Nervous energy was the only energy she had left.

She stood back to give Red room to pull the doors open and when he did, her jaw dropped and she nearly began to weep in sheer relief. It wasn't that she was ungrateful for what he was doing for her even when his hideouts were purely utilitarian bolt holes, but she really hadn't been looking forward to spending a week in another holdover from the Cold War with cots made up with scratchy blankets and a staticky black and white TV that could barely handle the local news.

This, though… This was simple but elegant, making good use of the limited space without skimping on creature comforts. And, by God, she could use some creature comforts right about now.

"Not bad, huh?" Red asked; he had a faint smile on his face and she got the distinct impression that he was pleased she liked it. Liz hummed her agreement, blinking to clear the tears forming in her eyes. Red had the good grace to look away until she could get ahold of herself again while he ushered her inside and locked the doors.

"We should try to get a few hours sleep while we can. Would you like the shower first? I promise you'll feel like a new person afterwards." She nodded mutely, still marveling at the magnificence of the container.

He led her around the dividing wall that served as a hallway between the kitchen and the small bedroom and bathroom, and quietly showed her how to work the shower before leaving her alone, because the controls were wonky and the last thing you need after a long traumatic day is to be outsmarted by an unfamiliar faucet.

After adjusting the temperature, she stepped under the spray and let it wash away days worth of blood, sweat, and tears, and the underlying, acrid stench of her fear.

Red was right about the shower. She hadn't had time to do more than splash her face with water since she dyed her hair, so she left the shower feeling incredibly refreshed and rejuvenated. But most of all, she felt clean. For the first time in… well, she didn't know how long. Days blurred into weeks. She could no longer say how long it had been since she handed over The Fulcrum to Red and watched as he was shot down in front of her. It felt like months ago. It felt like yesterday.

Liz stopped short when she came into the bedroom and found Red doing pull-ups on one of the exposed metal beams that made up the doorway into the rest of the container. He was barefoot. And shirtless, but for some reason his bare feet caught her attention first, at least until the angry pink of the fresh scar on his torso drew her eyes up to his naked chest.

He dropped to his feet with a surprising lightness and grace, and pulled his black button-down back on, unhurriedly fastening a few buttons.

Liz swallowed hard and cleared her throat. "Should you be doing that so soon after being shot?" she asked, grateful that her voice was finally cooperating again for the first time since before they arrived at the port.

Red shrugged. "Gotta keep up with my rehabilitation even without Dembe around to chase after me."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and watched her, his head tilted to one side as he studied her face. Looking for what, exactly, she wasn't sure. Signs that she was about to crack again under the pressure, perhaps? She must look better than she had earlier, even though she still couldn't think about the smell of burnt diner coffee without seeing the horrified eyes of the hostages staring at her in her mind's eye.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine. You go ahead and shower. I think I left you enough hot water."

"It heats it on demand."

"Good to know."

Liz stirred when the bed dipped under Red's weight.

"Red?" she said, her voice scratchy with sleep.

"Mmm?"

She reached out across the bed and found his bare forearm, his skin soft and still warm from the shower, and gave it a gentle, squeezing caress. He didn't pull away, not even when she slid her hand up his arm to the beginning of his t-shirt sleeve and ran her thumb along the edge of the thick jersey cotton and the shiny, bumpy skin that peeked out from under the hem, so very similar to the scar on her wrist.

He shifted on the bed, more facing her now than not, and reached his free hand out for hers, tracing her scar as she traced his.

There was a question she could ask, but right now she didn't really want to. Not when it seemed like he was perfectly comfortable acknowledging the silent connection she made as long as he didn't have to explicitly confirm it out loud. Her memories of her past grew clearer by the day anyway. Soon enough she wouldn't have to ask at all.

"Sleep, sweetheart," he said, his voice a low, warm rumble.

"You, too."

"I will. Don't worry about me." He offered her a smile that was far from reassuring. Liz could picture him getting up as soon as she fell asleep again, something she certainly didn't want. Sharing the bed was practical. Just as practical as changing clothes next to each other in the back of a silver panel van. He never gave her a reason to feel uncomfortable with him, she doubted he would start now.

She shuffled her body closer to his and rested her head on his shoulder. It felt… different… like this, lying down instead of sitting, but she was too tired to care much about examining the reasons.

Red wouldn't move if he thought he'd wake her. That thought alone was enough to lull her back to sleep, knowing he'd still be there when she woke up.