Liz yawned and stretched as well as she could under the pleasant weight of someone else's limbs. She'd obviously fallen asleep on the couch again, something that was becoming disturbingly close to a habit lately. It wasn't like Tom to join her when she didn't make it to bed, but she wasn't about to complain. She pressed herself into the warmth and tried to drift off to sleep again. A masculine hum of approval rumbled through the chest under her ear and she stiffened.

That most definitely wasn't Tom.

Her eyes popped open and memories of the last couple days flooded back to the forefront of her mind.

The case against Lorca falling apart.

The kidnapping and the torture.

The rescue.

The warm milk.

She had fallen asleep in Raymond Reddington's arms—by choice, no less. She chose him over going home to her husband, who was probably worried sick by now. Maybe. Perhaps.

Liz waited for the inevitable embarrassment and awkwardness to settle in her gut, but it never came. She relaxed against Red's side, glancing up to see him watching her with a look on his face she could only describe as serene.

"Morning, sweetheart." He leaned in and pressed a peck of a kiss near the corner of her mouth. The spot tingled. "How do you feel?"

"Like I spent the night running through the woods being chased by a monster and then slept on a couch. Other than that…"—she shrugged with the shoulder Kornish hadn't prodded with long, sharp metal objects—"better."

He pressed another kiss next to her lips, and lingered this time. She felt his smile against her cheek.

A month ago, if someone asked Liz if she had ever thought about being unfaithful to her husband, she would have laughed in their face. Today, the temptation to turn and kiss Red properly was there, and it was strong.

Another key piece of information from the night before came back to her and she hoped beyond hope that Red couldn't feel what she was feeling right now. She untangled herself and stood up, perhaps a bit too quickly to brush off as casual.

"You're welcome to stay for breakfast." He checked his watch and his cheek twitched. "I know it's late, but I have a standing order with the kitchen and they always send more food than one person could ever eat."

"I can't avoid Tom forever."

Judging by the look on Red's face, he disagreed, but he didn't argue the point. Instead, ever practical, he said, "He'll be easier to deal with on a full stomach."

She was about to turn down the offer, but her stomach had other ideas and growled at the mention of food. Loudly. She sighed and nodded when it was obvious he hadn't missed the sound. Leaving now would only make her stubborn and hungry.

"I wouldn't worry too much about what he'll think. You show up looking like you do right now and he'll believe whatever you tell him."

She glanced up to check her reflection in the ornate mirror on the wall and winced.

"Gee, thanks a lot."

She combed her fingers through her tangled hair, tried to make herself at least somewhat presentable. Red came up behind her and placed a hand gently on her back, stilling her movement.

"Lizzy, you're a beautiful woman, but you've been through a traumatic experience and you certainly look the part. I know I'm not much better off."

She took in his disheveled appearance over her shoulder in the mirror—the rumpled clothes, the day and a half of stubble on his face, the way his shirt collar stuck up on one side. He was a mess, all right, and he didn't appear to be self-conscious about it. It was endearing as hell. Humanizing.

She didn't want to go home.

Damn it.

"Use his sympathy to your advantage. Whether it's really there or he has to fake it, eke out every last drop he can muster. I'm sure he did the same to you when he was recovering."

Liz frowned. There was more truth to that than she wanted to admit.

Red held her gaze in the mirror until a knock at the door startled them both. He excused himself to answer it and she felt the loss of warmth between her shoulder blades like she'd been doused in ice water. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was going to become a problem.

"I hope there's something you like," he said, wheeling a room service table over to the couch. He seemed nervous, sort of like her college boyfriend the first time she stayed the night in his tiny apartment and he tried to make her breakfast in bed. (She used to catch the poor kid looking forlornly at her tattoo and his own all the time; she was pretty sure she broke his heart long before she broke up with him. If only he could see her now.)

"I'll eat almost anything at this point, just please, God, don't let it be pancakes."

"I feel like there's a story behind that worth hearing," he said, a faint, inquisitive smile on his face, "but don't worry. This isn't really a pancake kind of place."