Liz stood beside Red's chair in Cooper's office while she listened to him give his version of the events at the auction, watching over him like some sort of twisted guardian angel—protecting him from what, though, she wasn't sure. He was safe here. As safe as he was anywhere, at least. Safe wasn't really a concept that applied to him.

Or to her anymore. If it ever did.

She tried as hard as she could to project an air of business as usual in front of her coworkers despite the lingering tingle of Red on her lips. Even here, she found it difficult to ignore.

Red faltered almost imperceptibly while he described Yaabari's plan for him, just the slightest catch in his voice as he recounted having the gun pressed against his head; she gripped his shoulder in support without thinking and when she felt thick, gnarled tissue under the fabric, she almost took her hand away in shock. Resolutely, she kept it there, rubbing her thumb back and forth, back and forth, grounding, soothing. A lifetime ago—or perhaps only a year and a half—he'd done something similar for her, in a bunker buried deep underground. She hadn't thought so charitably towards the gesture then, regardless of the fact that it did indeed calm her nerves.

Ressler watched her curiously, a question in his eyes, but she looked away, studying the various knickknacks on Cooper's desk without really seeing them.

Red didn't mention what he said with the gun to his head—wouldn't mention it, ever—but she heard the hollow echo of it over and over just the same, bouncing off stark white walls with the report of a gunshot.

He said her name. He said her name. She could've lived the rest of her life without knowing that Raymond Reddington would consciously choose her name as his last word on this earth, but she knew now and there wasn't a chance in hell she'd ever forget it, that this powerful, worldly, dangerous man thought of her over everything and everyone else.

Somehow, she'd become important to him, and in a very visceral way, at that. More important than The Fulcrum, the single object between him and certain death at the hands of his more mysterious enemies. The ones with any sense, at least, not jumped-up errand boys spending someone else's cash to buy significance at the expense of Red's skull.

Red summed up his ordeal for the team, succinct and dispassionate; he must have used up every last ounce of false cheer on his morning phone calls. "So barring some unforeseen emergency," he concluded, "I'm taking the week off."

It was the first Liz had heard about it, but she wasn't worried. She came in with Red. She'd leave with him, too. They could discuss the details later.

"Where're you headed this time, Reddington?" Ressler asked, with a bland smile on his face. "Someplace warm?"

"Well, Donald, that's for me to know and you to wonder enviously about." Red exchanged a glance with Liz before he stood and palmed his hat onto his head. "I'll keep Agent Keen informed of my whereabouts."


Liz and Red fell into step with each other descending the staircase outside Cooper's office, almost close enough for their hands to brush as they walked. They received more than their usual share of peculiar looks from the bare-bones staff, but then again, the atmosphere between them was indeed more charged than usual. They were loath to leave each other's side; perhaps the others were picking up on that.

"Hey, Liz, you got a minute?"

Ressler. Liz sighed. The elevator doors slid open in front of her and she gazed longingly at the battered yellow walls before turning back around. "I, uh… I guess."

Reluctantly, she trailed after Ressler into their office, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder to see what Red was doing. Maybe when they were further removed from the incident, she'd have an easier time letting him out of her sight for more than a few minutes. As it was, the distance, the unknown, the uncertainty of it, was damn near torture. She tamped down the panic rising in her gut.

Ressler shut the door behind them and turned to face her.

"What's going on with you and Reddington?"

Liz's stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"

"There's something you guys aren't telling us about last night."

There were a lot of things they weren't telling them, about last night and this morning. There were promises and kisses and surrender, her dog curled up on his coat, a hasty breakfast shared outside a food truck with shoulders hunched against the cold. There was 'Lizzy.'

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm not sure," he said with a frown. "All I know is I've never seen Reddington so… withdrawn. No stories, no insults, nothing. Just straight reporting and that half-hearted line about his vacation. Off the record… What the hell happened? He never really seems despondent. Not even when you won't give him the time of day."

"You weren't there," she said. "You didn't see how they treated those people. It was dehumanizing in the worst possible way. What's he supposed to do, just shrug it off like nothing happened?"

"Come on, Liz, this is Reddington we're talking about here; he takes everything in stride. He always has an escape plan, even if it means letting himself be used in some way. Somehow he always manages to come out on top."

Liz shook her head. "Whatever you think of the guy, he's not just some commodity to be bought and sold, he's not…" She stopped short, took a slow, deep breath while she tried to gather her thoughts; she doubted she was making any sense at all and if she kept going like this she would end up in tears. "He didn't have a plan this time. Once he knew what Yaabari intended to do with him, he genuinely thought he was going to die."

"We have near-death experiences every other week."

"This was different. If I'd gotten there one second later, if I even hesitated to pull the trigger…" She trailed off, her mouth moving wordlessly. She saw in vivid color an image of Red crumpled to the floor in Yaabari's place, his blood a rapidly spreading pool around his lifeless body.

Ressler watched her, thoughtful. "It really spooked you, didn't it?"

"Just because he's the bane of my existence doesn't mean I want him dead," Liz said in a rush and swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Even just calling him the bane of her existence made her sick to her stomach, but the alternative, letting Ressler know how much Red meant to her now… She didn't know if she could. She didn't know if she should. She had built up a reasonable amount of trust with her partner so far, but there were only so many secrets she could ask him to keep for her. He might tease her and Red about being lovers, but there's no telling how he'd react to finding out they actually were.

If they were lovers now, that is. Kissing in motel rooms was all well and good—brilliant, even—but it could be a one-off for all she knew. Their relationship had been volatile from day one. What was true yesterday wasn't necessarily true today, and it might be something completely different by this time next week.

"OK," Ressler said, holding his hands up, defensive. "I get what you're saying. I still don't get what the hell he did to finally get off your shit list, though. Keeping an asset alive is one thing, but back in Cooper's office, that was just…" He shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation; he didn't even displace a single strand in the process. "God, I don't even know what I'm saying at this point. You two are gonna drive me to drink. Get some rest while Reddington's gone, Keen. You obviously need it."


Red's car was idling at the curb when Liz reached it. She yanked open the door and slid onto the seat next to Red before he or Dembe had a chance to climb out and open it for her. Dembe exchanged a silent glance with her before pulling out into traffic. He was worried about Red. Probably even about her.

Red was much too quiet as they drove. Faraway, pensive, and tense. If he had been reliving the night before even half as many times as she had, she could certainly understand why.

She needed to kiss him, to feel some vitality in him again, to know he was all right—but she would wait. No doubt there were cameras everywhere so close to the Post Office, watching and waiting for any behavior that could be deemed suspect. Touching him in Cooper's office had been foolish enough.

"Where are we headed?" she asked, hoping that breaking the uneasy silence would alleviate the tightness in her chest.

"I assumed your motel."

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"After you drop me off."

He studied her face for a long moment. "I was under the impression you didn't want me to leave."

"No. You're right, I don't. I just didn't expect…" She frowned, still confused. "My motel?"

"I thought you were happy there," he said, a vague self-satisfied challenge in his tone.

Shrugging off her annoyance, she said, "It's not really your speed, is it? Your vacations probably cost six months of my salary."

"My vacations?"

"You told Ressler—"

"Oh," he said, and he looked a little amused, a little sheepish, "I said I was taking the week off. I didn't say I was going anywhere. I told you I wasn't."

"You planned on spending the week with me? You want to?"

"At your motel? No. With you?" He smiled, small but painfully sweet. "Lizzy, more than anything. If staying at your motel is the deal-breaker, then by all means, we'll stay at the motel. Although, do you really want to spend another night with a spring in your back?"

"How d'you know there's a spring in my back?"

"Despite the fact that it wouldn't take a genius to make that particular educated guess, I made the mistake of sitting on your bed while you were in the shower this morning."


Hudson launched himself at Liz and Red as soon as the motel room door creaked open, his fuzzy little body literally vibrating with excitement at seeing them again so soon. Red crouched down to ruffle his fur and scratch behind his ears. Hudson met the attention eagerly with wet doggy kisses. Liz rolled her eyes at the pair of them; she was starting to suspect Red had some kind of gourmet doggy treats stashed in a pocket somewhere.

She flopped down hard on her lumpy bed, unsuccessfully trying to avoid the troublesome spring. What the hell were they going to do here for a week? She was grateful on most nights she actually made it home for how dead tired she usually was because she didn't have to face the crippling boredom of the place. There weren't many options—were they going to just lie in bed, eat take out, and watch movies all day?

Come to think of it, that didn't sound like such a terrible thing, not with the prospect of Red's company. What was his taste in movies, anyway? Obscure foreign films with subtitles? Pre-code era? Film noir? Popcorn blockbusters?

Once Hudson lost interest in him, Red sat gingerly on the edge of Liz's side of the bed and braced himself with an arm on the far side of her body. Angling his head so he could meet and hold her gaze, he said, "Please take the apartment, Lizzy. You deserve it. You deserve so much more, but there's only so much that's within my power to give you."

She ran her thumb over the back of his hand where it rested next to her hip and said, "I told you. You don't have to stay in the chair tonight."

He took a stuttering breath and shook his head, emphatic. "That's not the reason I'm—"

She leaned forward swiftly and cut him off, finally giving into the temptation to kiss him again. He sighed into her, a murmur of a moan at the back of his throat.

Without the pressing obligations of work hanging over them, this kiss did not stay chaste for long. Liz tugged at his tie to loosen it, working her fingers down fingers down under his collar to find the ridge of thick and shiny skin that marked the edge of the scar tissue she felt though his shirt. He shivered.

"Lizzy," he said quietly, his breath ghosting over the skin of her neck; she suppressed a shiver of her own. This was how she preferred to hear him say her name.

Toying with the next button on his dress shirt, she came to a decision. If they were going to do this, she'd be damned if it happened in her pitiful excuse for a bed. She nuzzled her cheek against his and whispered, "Show me the apartment, Red."

He pulled back to search her face, and nodded slowly.

"Let me get Hudson's food bowls. He deserves a vacation from this place, too."


Liz didn't know what exactly she expected when Red told her he bought her an apartment weeks ago, but it certainly wasn't this.

It wasn't just a penthouse, opulent and expensive. It wasn't overwrought and showy. It had character. With homey little touches, the sort of things she could see Red standing in a shop somewhere and picking up because they made him think of her. It made her wonder just how long he'd been putting this place together. Had he collected these things over the years and saved them for her, or had he just paid attention and remembered—even taking into account the things Sam probably shared with him—and went on a shopping spree when he bought the apartment?

God. Apartment was such a… generic term. He hadn't given her an apartment.

No.

He'd given her a refuge.

Really, she should have known better. He was at his most comfortable in hidden little bolt-holes or small, cozy flats and cabins surrounded by books. Why would he give her a place that offered any less security?

"Do you like it?" he asked, hesitant. He watched her make her way around the space, looking as if he was having a hard time keeping himself from following her, or pacing where he stood. He was a ball of nervous energy, and she understood why; she hadn't said a single word since she opened the front door.

Making her way back to stand in front of him, she took his hat from his hands to stop his restless fidgeting and laid it down on the side table next to the couch. She took a step closer and brought her hands up to his face, his neck, pulling his forehead down to rest against hers.

"Do I like it? Red." She kissed him, slow, drugging, thorough. "It's the nicest thing anyone has ever given me," she whispered; she kept her eyes closed, afraid that if she made eye contact, she would start to cry. "That's not even a fair thing to say. No one else could ever do something like this. It's too much."

"It doesn't matter. I want you to be happy, I need you to be happy." He threaded his fingers through her hair and pressed his lips to hers. "Content." Another kiss. "Safe." Another. "I've caused you so much pain. I don't deserve—"

"Shut. Up. When it comes to me, I decide what you deserve. Not you."

"Lizzy, I—I'm having a very… difficult time… wrapping my mind around the idea that you're here with me. That you're willing to let me—"

"I'm not letting you do anything. I care about you. I want you. You. Not just this"—she waved her hand around the beautiful place—"or whatever else you can offer me. You've been trying to convince me you feel that way about me for months, the least you could do is accept the same from me. Because let's face it—we're in this deeper than either of us intended, but we're here. Together. OK?"

She cupped his face, scratching her nails over whatever bit of scalp she could reach. He nodded against her and angled his head, seeking another kiss which she supplied without hesitation. She pushed his coat from his shoulders and he let it fall to the floor, uncaring of the rough treatment of the expensive wool. Using whatever strength he had left in his arms after the long, trying couple days they'd had, he lifted her so she could brace her legs around his waist and carried her down the hall to her room.

By rights, both of them should be in therapy after what happened at the auction, but instead… instead they chose to deal with it like this. Not necessarily the wisest move, or the healthiest, but when was the last time either of them claimed to make good choices?

Liz pulled Red down with her onto her new bed, heedless of their shoes, their remaining clothing. She plucked at the buttons on his vest and shirt even as he tugged her own shirt out of her waistband, as he went to work undoing her fly. She wriggled and shifted to slide her pants off her legs as he took a nipple into his mouth, the rough of his tongue dragging across the sensitive skin, sending twisting, curling heat along her nerve endings to her groin.

She freed him from his pants and boxers and took him into her hand, stroking him slowly from base to tip. He groaned into her shoulder, rocked into her touch. "Lizzy."

"Please, Red…"

She wrapped her legs around his hips, her feet catching in the tangle of clothing still twisted around his thighs, and guided him so he could sink into her gradually, bit by bit.

It shouldn't feel this good. It shouldn't. Nothing should. Her pulse pounded in her ears, throbbed between her legs as she clenched herself around him, moving with him in a desperate, hurried dash to completion.

If this was the culmination of that tango he promised in that innuendo-laden speech he gave in Uzbekistan, he well and truly undersold it.