Liz had just finished tying a bow in the drawstring of her sleep pants when Dom lugged a worn duffel bag into the living room and dropped it onto the couch next to Red.

"Now you can't claim I've never done anything for you," he said, and immediately turned and headed back the way he came.

"What's this?" Red called after him, perplexed.

"Why don't you open it and find out?" he said, over his shoulder. "Just don't come crying to me if it doesn't hold air anymore."

Red and Liz exchanged a puzzled look, and Red shrugged, reaching to undo the bag. He pulled out what appeared to be an old air mattress like the kind people took on camping trips, as well as a set of sheets that was only slightly musty.

Red hummed his approval, pleasantly surprised at the turn of events. Their night was suddenly going to be a lot less… lumpy.

"He's making an effort," Liz said.

"That he is," he agreed.

Red set about inflating the air mattress with his usual brand of efficiency and methodical perfectionism. It was relaxing to watch him work, a sort of balm for the chaos that so often dwelled in Liz's mind these days. It gave her something to focus her attention on—something predictable, reassuringly normal, both of which were in short supply here on the run. Because one thing could certainly be counted on to be true in almost any circumstance: Red was, indeed, good with his hands.

Liz helped him stretch the fitted sheet around the mattress once it was sufficiently inflated, and she gathered up the blankets and pillows they'd used the night before from the couch to add to their new, much less makeshift bed. They stood shoulder to shoulder and surveyed their handiwork, only to smile shyly at each other and laugh softly after a few moments. It was such a simple thing to be proud of in the grand scheme of things, but it still felt like an accomplishment.

Once the two of them slipped under the blankets and shifted around to find a suitable position to sleep in, Liz let out a heavy sigh. Red had wrapped his arms around her and tucked his legs up under hers, fitting his knees against the back of her knees with warmth and support.

She hadn't felt properly warm since the morning, what with the snowball fights and running around outside without a real winter coat on, but being surrounded by Red's presence like this was starting to defrost the chill that had settled into her bones. She hugged his arms tighter around her abdomen, pressing his splayed hand against her belly; he exhaled against the back of her neck, nuzzling closer there, too.

As she drifted off to sleep, Liz's mind started to wander and she allowed herself to imagine for the first time what it would be like to run away from all this with Red. Forget exoneration, forget The Cabal—just bail, leave, never look back…

If things were calmer, quieter, how would they be with each other? Would they communicate better? Would they be able to further dismantle the wall separating them? Liz thought maybe they could. If there was anything the last few weeks had taught her, it was that their relationship—fraught and heady and complicated though it was—could shift and adapt to become just about anything and any form it needed to.

What would it be like to build a family with this man? What would it be like to fall asleep next to him every night, to wake up in his arms every morning? To have him by her side for the trials and tribulations that came with a normal life—like when she went into labor, maybe—rather than the constant barrage of extraordinary events that currently defined their existence?

She would never be an afterthought for Red, that much she was sure of. Even when her choices complicated his life—holding Tom captive, refusing to hand over The Fulcrum, shooting Connolly—helping her took a certain priority over everything else. She knew the same would be true for the baby. She would've known regardless of his assurances. It was clear in everything he did. He would go to the ends of the earth to protect her; that drive would obviously extend to their child.

Liz's chest tightened painfully. Listening to the siren's call of a possible future, even if only for a few minutes, made her feel like she was suffocating from the injustice of it all. Sleeping with Red that night on the container ship had been one of the easiest decisions she'd ever made, despite the consequences. It just wasn't fair that dealing with those consequences wouldn't be nearly as easy.

She knew deep down that it would be wiser in the long run to follow through with Red's plan, to be exonerated if it was at all possible. That way she wouldn't have to spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, wondering when The Cabal or the FBI would catch up to her. But still, she'd been accused of so much more than she was guilty of… Wasn't it understandable to want to disappear forever? Why trust the same system that set her up to set her free?

"Red? Are you still awake?"

"Yeah."

"I was just wondering… what I mean is…"

Liz trailed off and swallowed to try to clear the lump in her throat. Why was this so hard to put into words?

"We shouldn't bring the contingency stuff you've got stashed here with us when we leave, should we? Even though it would be easier to run if we had it?"

Red didn't answer for a long time, not making any noise save for the sound of him inhaling the scent of her hair at the nape of her neck. He understood what she was asking between the lines. Of course he did. He didn't look so heartbroken when she described her fantasy of having a family to him for nothing. She hadn't really understood his reaction then, but now it was starting to make sense. He longed to be part of the family in her fantasy, although he didn't believe it was his place.

Well, it could be his place. Maybe it would be. Maybe that's how this would end.

But even if she was exonerated, wouldn't it still be impossible? How on earth would the task force react to finding out she was pregnant, anyway? Would they jump to the conclusion that the baby was Tom's? Or would they suspect what seemed obvious to her—that after spending so much time alone together, Red was the more viable candidate?

"I don't know, Lizzy. I… I'm afraid doing that would be…"

"Playing with fire?"

"That's a good term for it."

"That's too bad," she said, and her voice sounded terribly small.

"Yeah. It is."

They fell silent for a crushingly long moment, both of them more than aware that the other was still awake and imagining might have been and what could be.

"Red?" Liz asked again, only this time her voice cracked on his name.

"Come here, sweetheart," he said, and coaxed her to turn to face him.

Liz wrapped her arms around Red's shoulders and buried her face in the crook of his neck while he whispered soothing nonsense into her hair. She inhaled, deep and slow, and exhaled just the same, over and over as she waited for the sting of tears to subside, for the urge to sob her heart out into his soft cotton undershirt to pass.