A/N: So uh this chapter's a bit long, not so much lizzington as explaining and setting up for the next two chapters. God this story has really gotten away from me. I think I'm going to tie in the end of season two somehow too, which I've never done before with writing so if there ends up being plot holes I apologize. Anyway, i would really like reviews, if yall want me to keep this going and finish it up I will but If it's just not doing it I guess not. I don't want flames as its my first story story. So uh...read...review...be kind please lol

The morning came, the sky still overcast and gray but the drizzling misty rain had ceased. The heavy draperies covering the bay window the night before were pulled back, allowing the hazy gray to filter into the room. Lizzie's eyes fluttered open, her mind crystal clear and she loved him.

Oh my….

She loved him. She blinked slowly, staring out of the windows at the skyline.

And she loved him.

She rolled onto her back, the sheet falling across her waist and mulled the feeling and sentence over in her mind. Again and again it rolled through. I love him, she thought and her brows drew forward slightly, no, I'm in love with him. Deeply. Irrevocably. The feeling spread through her, from her brain to her heart to her toes, warming her, making sense of all the things he'd done or said or not done or said. A smile grew on her face, a deep, enriching smile that reached her eyes and her heart and she couldn't have stopped the grin from spreading if she'd tried.

I love him, she thought again and it felt so right. She felt so right, so different from the despair and aching loneliness she'd become accustomed to over the last few months. Her mind was clear for once, sharp. The door swung open, bringing her form her newfound thoughts and emotions.

"Lizzie! You're awake, and still here, I'm glad for it," Red boasted enthusiastically. He was already dressed in a black and charcoal suit, sans his jacket, and a white dress shirt. His green eyes held a slight note of relief, one she detected and immediately felt bad for her disappearing act.

"Uh, yea, I am, what's on that tray?" she watched him move across the room, a heavy silver tray pushed on a cart, laden with domed silver dishes that were yet to be opened. Ever the gentleman, Red's eyes remained on hers whenever he looked at her as he opened each dome. Eggs every way a person could have them, fresh fruit, French toast, biscuits, gravy and all kinds of breakfast meat. There weren't any pancakes. She felt a twinge of tenderness in her heart for the man. He'd done so much for her, sacrificed and killed for her. She'd called him every name under the book, cursed him up one side and down the other and he still, still cared for her. Still took care to provide her with the best of the best.

"Lizzie, are you ok?" His voice next to her startled her from her wandering thoughts and she smiled brightly at him. It almost knocked him back, the tenderness he saw in her eyes and his heart grew with the thought that she must love him. Grew with the thought that surely she was going to say it, put it into words.

"Yea, yea, just famished. I had a rather…busy night." Her eyebrow arced toward her hairline and he smiled back, all predatory heat.

"Mmh," he hummed, momentarily disappointed the words hadn't left her mouth. He turned his attention back to the tray, thinking surely it wouldn't be long before she could voice her feelings. Doubt tried to creep into his mind, he could never deserve such a woman, surely, but he refused to let it take root.

Elizabeth couldn't bring herself to say the words. She didn't know why, she knew in her heart he certainly reciprocated. But weeks went by and still she hadn't said a word. Work was work as usual, and she was shocked at how well the kept up the façade they had. Some cases were rougher than others, some not so much. Some were just plain weird and some were enlightening in ways the team never wanted to know.

During the day they worked, they kept their distance, they remained ever the "stop being an ass Reddington" and "But Lizzie, I really am just trying to help". But the nights. The nights were something entirely different. The nights were dark and mysterious and steamy.

The nights she spent with him, at his safe houses, wherever he chose for the time being. The nights he showed her in every conceivable way possible his love for her. He loved her body with his hands and mouth, sometimes more than once, always more than satisfactory. The way they fit together was something phenomenal, something people spent their whole lives searching for and sometimes never finding.

Some nights her appetite for him was insatiable, they would make love together until they both couldn't move, until they both were trembling and soaked and heaving for air. Some nights they were tender, the lightest brush of fingers and lips, the unhurried rock of their hips together, hushed sighs and soft whispers until Lizzie would sigh his name against his neck, going stiff against him and melting all at once. He would watch her, his eyes wide and dilated and his mouth open and then he would bury his head in her neck. His lips would press to her skin, her name would sigh from him just as softly. She would feel him, pulsing inside her, pushing her usually into another smaller climax and they would fall asleep like that, tangled together.

But the most important things about the nights, were the nights he would talk to her. The nights he'd thought she was asleep and he'd talk. He'd talk about everything, he'd talk about his past and his present and what he wanted for their future. He'd talk about how sorry he was for everything she'd been through, even events and actions that he hadn't been a part of. He would spill his soul to her and sometimes she had to control her own emotions. Sometimes she had to pretend to stir, slowly, awake because he was breaking her heart with his own pain. Pain over his lost wife and daughter, pain of his lost life he might have had, pain over the pain he'd caused her. More often than not, he'd tell stories, of where he'd been, where he wanted to go. He shared hopes he still had and dreams too.

Lizzie learned a lot on these nights. She learned about his role in the fire, how he was sent to retrieve the fulcrum from her parents and the plan had gone sideways. She'd learned he'd been the one to pull her out of that fire, how he'd sustained third and fourth degree burns over most of his back and part of his arm. With her own memories from the Luther Braxton incident, she was able to piece most of that night together and though she wanted to be angry or indignant, she just couldn't. He'd tried so hard to protect her from the horror of that night, she couldn't bring herself to hold it against him in any way.

After that night, the Navy had tried to burn him, he was no longer any use to them. He'd done his job, botched it as far as they were concerned and became a liability, no longer an asset. Thus started his criminal career and as they say the rest was history, he'd murmured in her ear. That night was one of the nights she'd had to pretend to wake, she didn't want to hear anymore and she was more certain than ever it only solidified her love even further for the Concierge of Crime.

His past had been an interesting few nights as well. He was a few years younger than Sam, but they grew up in the same place, creating all kinds of havocs. He'd chuckled at some of the fonder memories, sighed sadly at the night he'd had to leave her with her adoptive father and disappear in the hopes the danger wouldn't find them. He'd scolded her fondly over her choice of career, thus bringing herself really to the danger instead.

All in all, she'd garnered he'd lived an interesting but dangerous and lonely life. She wanted to ask him about his scars but she never found a good time. Not without telling on herself and her midnight eavesdropping. She noticed whenever they did have sex, no matter how soft or hard, he always made a point to keep his back from her. Out of sight or in such positions she couldn't reach it or see it in any case.

Lizzie didn't really think he'd mind her knowing, why else take the chance she was awake if not to hope she would speak up? She was still nervous to make that assumption though. And she still had yet to tell him she loved him.

His hopes and dreams were something to behold though. How he hoped she would one day live a normal happy life, whether with him or not. How he hoped she would find it in her to forgive him one day, forgive him for his transgressions, his actions and words or lack thereof sometimes, his brutal honesty that had hurt her more often than not. He hoped she would always, always be happy wherever she was, whoever she was with, whatever she was doing, he wanted her to be happy. He dreamed of having a place to put permanent roots, though they both know that would always be a dream. Red was far too notorious to ever be able to stay in one place for very long, that's why he circled his safe houses, why he had them to begin with anyway.

Red dreamed of having a family again, and that night he'd said that, after he'd fallen asleep, she had cried silently at the torn and raw emotion she'd heard in his throat. He missed being a father, missed being a husband, missed having a family to call his own. Dembe was family, they had an unbreakable, incredibly infallible bond and he loved Dembe as his own. They'd taken care of each other in some of the roughest times. The one true constant to each other in their varying and hectic lives.

But the most important part of every night came when he would pull her close, whatever side of her facing him into his chest. He'd wrap his arms around her, holding her as if he were afraid she would evaporate into the air if he didn't keep her tight enough to himself. Red would nuzzle her cheek or neck or hair, kiss her warmly, chaste. And he'd say I love you Elizabeth. He'd always end his nights with I love you Elizabeth. Her heart would soar and his steady even breathing eventually pulling her under the tow with him.

She loved him. he loved her. It was a simple equation but yet she couldn't say the words. They always got stuck in her throat. She wasn't sure why, perhaps it was fear of the unknown. Lizzie had thought she'd known love when she married Tom but it had all been a lie. Smoke and mirrors at its finest. That wasn't love and when she looked back on how he'd treated her, the snide remarks he'd cover with a smile and I'm joking, the avoidance of her questions about his life and friends and more, even down to the mechanical way they'd have sex, it was all a sham.

When she'd found out Red's involvement, it had hurt like hell, killing her inside and yet he didn't shy away from his involvement, had continued to try to win her back, continued to protect her and continued to try and that was important. That was love. The all-consuming way their bodies came together, sighs and moans, thrusts and grinds, all the world gone except each other when they made love. That was love. He'd shown her true love and she was scared to death of losing it. Why, she had no earthly idea, it was just her bad memories, her own ghosts deceiving her mind into the darkness.

Those weeks turned into months. Months had gone by and still Elizabeth had not told him she loved him. Red was concerned, worried it was fleeting in the moment emotions that held her to him. He was scared she would end what they had going and he wasn't sure his heart could take it. He wasn't sure that was a disappointment he could survive in any way shape or form. The longer the months stretched on, the more and more his doubt grew.

He was a criminal, and she was the FBI. There was no way in hell they could be together. He was dirty, scorched and muddled from the criminal life he lived, a stain on her life and his demons threw that in his face every chance they got. With each night he told her I love you, hoping she would be awake, hoping she would whisper I love you Raymond back, and each night she did not answer his demon's laughed. Long and loud and hard in the back of his mind.

You'll never be what she wants or needs, they sneered, you'll never be good enough, you'll never be clean.

And with each passing day those demons got louder and louder until he couldn't stand it anymore. Red was sick at himself, how could he have dared to touch her so intimately? How could he have dared to call her his woman? And yet he knew he could never take it back, he never wanted to. Raymond Reddington wanted what he wanted and he wanted Elizabeth Keen.

Red wanted so desperately to hear her say those three words. He wanted so much to say them to her when she was awake, to see her reaction, to see her smile and throw her arms around him, kissing him soundly and vigorously and murmuring I love you again and again against his mouth. However, he knew he couldn't say it first. She had to be the one to take that step.

But as each case came to a close, each night went by unanswered, he began to doubt seriously that would ever happen. It was getting harder to ignore those demons, harder to not want to cut and run to save himself the awkward break up he was so scared would come. To save himself the heartache of spoken words that could never be erased from his mind.

And yet he stayed, he couldn't bear the thought that he might hurt her if he was wrong. And he dared hope he was grievously wrong.