"Jesus, Red. You mean… it's possible that we could have…" Lizzy trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the thought aloud.

She had gone quite pale and her voice was quiet, unsteady; Red's eyes stung at the sound of it wavering, an automatic reaction he discovered sitting at her side in that park so long ago, when he held her hand for the first time and told her she could trust him. He blinked rapidly, quickly losing the battle to clear his tear-blurred vision.

His heart ached. It was true—all the conflict and sorrow and angst could perhaps have been avoided, if only the two of them hadn't run away from each other at that pivotal moment of alarming reality. The possibility that they could have been together in those months after her exoneration, dealt with everything together… It was painful to think about.

Sure, the baby would've complicated their professional relationship, but to say their professional relationship had been simple to start with—or even merely complicated—was an understatement. And judging by the Task Force's inexplicable acceptance of Tom Keen despite the havoc he had wrought in everybody's lives, even they might have understood their predicament.

Trauma did things to people. High stress and anxiety necessitated comfort. It wouldn't be much of a stretch to grasp that he and Lizzy had reacted to the trauma of the manhunt in such a human way, that they had turned to each other when they had nowhere else to turn. They weren't the first to do so and they certainly wouldn't be the last. (Red had, after all, heard the rumors about Ressler and Samar.)

At this rate, the what ifs would haunt them to the end of their days.

Red pushed himself up from his chair and scooped up both of their glasses, in desperate need of a distraction. "Let me refill this for you."

Once his back was to her, he wiped discreetly at the tears that had fallen despite his best efforts to suppress them. He busied himself with the decanter, hoping he could get a better hold of his emotions before he had to face her again.

The hairs on the back of Red's neck stood on end milliseconds before Lizzy's hand settled on his shoulder. The contact was fleeting—her hand skimmed away almost as soon as it touched him—but it startled him all the same, making him jump like a cat whose whisker brushed against an unfamiliar finger on a cautious, outstretched hand just a moment too soon.

He took a shallow, ragged breath. "Elizabeth."

"I should've tried harder back then, I should've told you how I felt—"

"No," he said, gruffly.

"Why not?"

Slowly, Red turned around and they stood there silently for a long moment, moving neither closer to one another or further away; Lizzy tapped an anxious rhythm against the countertop, searching his face while she waited for his answer.

"At the time," he said, eventually, "I'm not sure telling me how you felt would've helped."

"Why?"

"Somehow, I convinced myself that as long as we didn't acknowledge the truth, no one else could possibly exploit it. Once it was out in the open, even if only between ourselves…" He let the sentence hang.

"You would have pushed me away even more than you did?"

"I'm afraid I might have."

"Just because I love you? That's pretty screwed up."

"I don't have a monopoly on screwed up things in our relationship."

She took a step back, gripping the edge of the counter. "Point taken," she said, the cool timbre of her voice nearly masking the underlying hurt.

He held out her refilled glass and she took it, fingers grazing his as she pulled it back. She raised the glass to her mouth, but stopped without drinking, gazing at a point over his shoulder as if she'd become lost in a memory.

"For the record"—she paused, took a sip, cleared her throat of the renewed burn of the alcohol—"I thought you would be OK without me."

"Why on earth would you think that?" he snapped, and immediately regretted it.

She had flinched. Visibly. She tensed up and braced herself, all of her defenses snapping into place in an instant, triggered simply by the tone and volume of his voice. Her eyes locked with his and he could pinpoint the exact moment when she managed to beat back the instinctive panic and began to relax again.

Red had seen the signs before, had seen that strange guarded way Lizzy always held herself around Tom Keen, sometimes even when she only spoke about him. He surmised that there was a part of her even now, however skillfully buried, that had been wired over the years to react defensively to a man's raised voice. Especially someone with whom she had been… intimate…

Dear Lord. He felt ill. He never wanted to do anything that reminded her of the worst parts of that man, even subconsciously.

"Lizzy, I'm sorry—"

"No. Please don't apologize. You're right. I was so desperate that day that I… If I had more time to think, I would've… I just… I had to believe you'd be OK. I had to believe you'd be out there somewhere in the world after I was gone, still living your life. You'd mourn, but you'd make it. Like you always have. But I was wrong.

"I'm sorry I couldn't let myself believe you could care that much about me. I've always been so afraid that the second I let myself believe it, I would find proof that you didn't. That everything was a lie."

"So when I pushed you away, I only gave your fear credence."

"Sort of. It still wasn't fair to treat it like an inarguable fact. Not just because I was afraid. You still cared, even when we weren't together anymore. I knew it, but it didn't make it easier to trust that there were never any ulterior motives."

Lizzy pursed her lips and shook her head. "Look. I've known for a long time that you would die for me. I just… never considered the possibility that you might die without me. But that's… almost what happened, isn't it?"

He couldn't deny it, couldn't lie to her even about this, so he said nothing. She knew his silence was as good as confirmation.

She rested a hesitant hand on his forearm. "Red?"

"Did…" He cleared his throat. "Did Dembe tell you about that, too?"

"No."

"How did you know?"

"Aram… everybody, really." She laughed, a hollow, humorless puff of air. "I thought Samar was gonna kill me. She cornered me back when she was still thinking of leaving. Told me how you disappeared, how… distraught Aram had been, thinking you were going to hurt yourself. How you hit rock bottom, and Aram basically had to go out and drag you back to the Task Force himself. She figured you'd never tell me the whole story. She was right, wasn't she?" she asked, her thumb rubbing back and forth, a gentle coaxing motion.

He shook his head. "Not exactly. Nobody knows the whole story. Not Aram. Not Samar. Not even Dembe. If he did… Well, he would've still worried about my mental state, but at least he would've understood me better. I think." He sighed heavily at the curious look on her face. It was time, he supposed. Time to share something he hadn't shared with another living soul.

(Although he suspected very strongly that Kate guessed the truth. Which… colored his ability to forgive her, as unfair as that was.)

"I didn't hit rock bottom just because you died, Lizzy. You died giving birth to my child," he explained. "I could accept that some of the danger you were in from the Cabal, from Kirk, was my fault and that some of it wasn't. But you dying due to a complication of childbirth…"

"No. No, I'm sorry, you can't have that. Sleeping with each other was a mutual decision. The complications weren't your fault, Red. Jesus." She slid her hand down his forearm to his hand and wrapped her fingers around his, awkwardly pressed against the flatness of the counter.

"You have to promise me you'll never do that again," she pleaded earnestly, the echo of a conversation long past.

"Excuse me?"

She squeezed his fingers. "The drugs. The recklessness. I want my daughter to have a chance to have her father in her life for as long as possible. Like I had Sam."

"And Tom?"

For a moment, Lizzy seemed genuinely confused, as if asking about Tom in relation to Agnes was a non sequitur. Which perhaps offered an interesting insight into her thought processes where he was concerned. "What about him?" she asked.

"Why is he suddenly not good enough to fill that role for Agnes? Sam wasn't your biological father, either."

Her face closed off and she pulled her hand away. "You goddamn know why," she hissed. "He's a criminal at heart, Red, just like you've always said he was. He'll never be satisfied here. He's only been playing at being a family man because it gets him what he thinks he needs right now."

"And what about me?"

"You? You're the opposite," she said, like it was easy, obvious. Such a simple statement and it shifted the ground beneath his feet.

The opposite—did she mean that literally or was it only a convenient turn of phrase? Did she really think of him that way? A family man at heart, who was only a criminal because it got him what he needed?

It was difficult to remind himself that it wasn't a negative thing for her to see in him. If anything, it was more positive than anything she'd accused him of in a year. It was progress. He shouldn't feel the need to withdraw into his defensive shell just because progress could be scary, yet another moment of terrifying transparency.

"What happens when he comes back? I don't think he's the type to take too kindly to another man—well, me specifically—raising his 'daughter'."

"Tom's gone," she said, flatly.

"Right. For now. That man's like a bad cough, he never stays away for long."

"This time it's different. He's gone for good."

"He's never respected your wishes for him to stay away in the past. Something must've happened to make you so sure he will now."

Ah. There. He hit a nerve. She pressed her lips together in a thin line. "I don't want to talk about it. He's gone and that's all that matters."

"He left you to care for your daughter alone. I find that… confusing. I don't have many positive things to say about Tom Keen, but he seemed to care for Agnes, inasmuch as he was capable of caring for anything. Although, he did have an awfully reckless way of ensuring her safety—"

"All right, that's enough," she bit out, cutting him off.

Pushing herself away from the counter, Lizzy began to pace. She made four trips to the edge of the sofa and back before she stopped in front of him. "He left because of you, OK?" she said, pointing an accusing finger at his chest.

He held his hands out in front of him in a kind of surrender. "I did everything I could to step back and let you live your life—"

"No. God. Not like that. It was the clock you built Agnes. He made a crack about you playing grandpa to her with the gifts, the visits… I told him to go fuck himself."

Red blinked in surprise. "That's… it? That's why he left you?"

She shrugged.

"It's not like it was the first time he made comments like that. Like before the wedding—he joked about asking you to walk me down the aisle. He thought he was being funny, but this time I was just so sick of all the insinuations, I snapped. I couldn't take it. I couldn't take another comment putting you in that box. Not when it's so far off the mark.

"Do you know how fucking…" She dropped her voice, took a step forward into his personal space. "How frustrating it is to have people assume that you're my father? I mean, we were lovers for months, for God's sake. What the hell does that make me?"

She sighed, dropping her gaze to stare at the loosened knot on his tie. "The worst part is Tom knows it's not true. He knows it grates on my nerves and he still wouldn't stop. Anything to invalidate my relationship with anyone other than him.

"And then Kirk shows up and he's so… obsessed about you having an affair with my mother—"

"Lizzy—"

"I get it, Red, I get it. Either the affair actually happened or it didn't—I don't care; either way, I know where I stand with you now. But I just can't pretend with other people anymore. I can't sit idly by and let them think about us like that. Not even Tom. Especially not Tom."

"Did you tell him? About Agnes?"

"No, I didn't. But Agnes was my breaking point. It doesn't take a genius to jump to the conclusion as to why. And the way her face always lit up whenever she saw you, that probably didn't help. Besides, it's not as if he ever really trusted me anyway. About you most of all." She laughed bitterly. "I took away the only thing he ever cared about. I guess I should be glad he didn't try to hurt me."

She leaned back against the counter, gripping the edge of it so tightly that her knuckles were white. "I've done a lot of soul searching since he left. I think…" She trailed off, biting her lip.

"What is it?"

"Never mind."

"Please. Tell me."

Lizzy closed her eyes for a long moment, seeming to work up the strength to answer him. "I think I lash out at you so much because you're safe. If I lashed out at Tom half as much as I've lashed out at you…" She shrugged and picked up her glass again, but instead of drinking from it, she only swirled the remaining liquor around.

"If you were still unsure of what he was capable of doing to you, why would you go back to him? Why take that chance?"

"I wasn't sure I deserved any better."

"Oh, Lizzy…"

At that moment, Red wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and promise her that everything would be OK, but they were long past that. He'd never be able to shake the devastation he felt when Kate had looked at him so knowingly and accused him of betraying Lizzy by offering her promises of safety that he couldn't fulfill.

For now, he settled for leaning against the counter at her side.

"Agnes, though. Agnes does deserve better," she said, with her voice near to breaking. "You know when you came to see me before the wedding? And that's what you said, that Tom didn't deserve to be her father? I knew you were right. I just… I wanted you to ask me not to marry him because… because you loved me. Not for my own good. Or hers. God. It's all semantics. I shouldn't've been so damn stubborn." She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "I don't know how to fix this."

They fell silent, standing close enough to feel each other's body heat, lost in thought.

"I do, you know," Red said, after a while.

"Well, I could use any advice you have to give."

It took Red a moment to backtrack through their conversation. "Good God, no—I have no idea how to fix any of this, I'm winging it here as much as you are." He swallowed, steeling himself to say the words he'd always been so hesitant to say. "But I do love you, Lizzy."

She peered up at him through the curtain of her hair. "Still? Even after everything?"

"It'll take a hell of a lot more than death to make you lose me. However you want me."

"This can't all be about what I want. I want you to be in Agnes' life. The rest has to be up to you."

"The rest?"

"If you want to just be her father or if you would—eventually—be open to… more. Because I am. Open to more. Someday."

He couldn't help the incredulous smile that curved his lips. "We could be miserable together," he said.

"We're miserable apart," she responded, simply. "This is the one thing we haven't tried. We weren't really all that miserable on the run, were we? We should've been."

He bumped his shoulder into hers and tilted his head conspiratorially. "That's because we make a great team," he whispered, with a wink. She laughed, in spite of herself.

The faint sound of crying filtered into the room through the old house. Red and Lizzy exchanged a glance. Sure enough, before long the crying grew louder and there was a knock at the door.

"Come in, Dembe," Red called out. The door swung open and in came his frazzled-looking friend, with a teary, red-faced Agnes in tow.

"I apologize, Elizabeth, Raymond—I tried to keep her occupied, but she doesn't want me."

"And I thought you were the fun uncle," Red said, pushing himself off the counter. "Here, I'll take her."

As soon as Agnes was in Red's arms, she quieted down and immediately started to imitate the ridiculous faces he was pulling. He even managed to get a giggle out of her, despite her lingering sniffles. Dembe and Lizzy looked on in surprise.

"Elizabeth," Dembe said, eyeing the pair with growing curiosity.

Lizzy met Red's eyes, her questioning gaze loaded with meaning; he nodded so faintly he wasn't sure she was able to pick up on it until she spoke.

"Someday we'll have to talk, Dembe. Soon."

Dembe nodded and, with one more lingering glance at Red, left without another word.

Lizzy wandered over to Red and Agnes. "She missed you," she said.

"I missed her, too," he said, letting Agnes grab hold of his finger with her little hand; she tried to bring it up to her mouth, but he tickled her little body and replaced his finger with her pacifier instead.

"She always knew, I think," Lizzy said softly. "You know, as much as he cared for her, sometimes I think Tom was relieved to have an excuse for why she never really warmed up to him. It ruined his fantasy."

Red made a soothing, humming noise in agreement as he rocked the baby in his arms. "He gave her your name when you were gone—Agnes Elizabeth. Was that part of the plan?"

"No."

"It… I almost felt some sympathy for him when he did it. That he would care enough to have your name live on with your daughter."

She nodded and studied his face for a long moment. "You never warmed up to him either."

Red shrugged. "Like father like daughter, I guess."