Lizzy entwined her fingers with Red's and began to lead him down the hall towards her bedroom; he trailed closely behind her, more than a little bewildered at the sudden turn of events. He had had no intention of ending up in her bed, either platonically or otherwise, when he showed up on her doorstep earlier, no expectations for when—or if!—their relationship would travel down this road again. He wasn't about to complain that it had, but a whirlwind of emotions blustered through his mind nonetheless, threatening to shake him free of his moorings.

Once they were inside, she shut the bedroom door until it barely touched the doorjamb and a twinge of sympathy curled in Red's stomach. Lizzy had told him that after everything that had happened with Kirk, she had trouble trusting the baby monitor alone to keep tabs on Agnes. It simply wasn't enough to give her peace of mind in a world where someone could kidnap a baby and even consider using them to save their own life. She needed to be within earshot of her daughter whenever they were alone, to be able to hear her with her own ears, or she couldn't fully relax.

Lizzy knew all too well she was compensating for how much she regretted the way she spent the first few weeks of Agnes' life, time she traded for a false promise, but she still couldn't help it. She'd never get those weeks back with Agnes, she'd never be able to undo what she had done. The guilt she carried for going along with Kate's plan manifested itself in unexpected ways sometimes, and Red knew his forgiveness could only go so far to reassure her. Guilt wasn't always rational, and it was certainly more difficult to reason away when your actions truly did cause pain.

When she turned around and stood in front of him now, Red could feel her nervous exhilaration almost as strongly as he felt his own. Heat danced in her eyes, mingling with something that looked almost like mischief. They hadn't tried this before, tried to sneak away and make love before they could be interrupted by a fussy infant. It felt so ordinary, it almost doubled back around to being scandalous.

Lizzy took a step forward, wrapped her arms around the back of Red's neck, and leaned in. Their lips had barely even made contact again when they both heard a faint noise from down the hall. She pulled back just far enough to cover his mouth with a couple of fingers, and cocked her head to listen. Sure enough, Agnes had started crying. Lizzy's instincts, it seemed, were right on the money. They stood there for a few moments—Lizzy with one hand on his shoulder and the other resting on his lips, half-forgotten, Red with his hands draped loosely at her waist—and waited to see if Agnes would soothe herself, to no avail.

Red pressed a soft kiss to the pads of Lizzy's fingers.

"Hold that thought," she said, and gave him a quick peck before running off to tend to Agnes; he nodded absently and once she was gone, he backed up, still in a bit of a daze, and sat reflexively when the back of his knees made contact with the edge of her bed.

He took a deep breath, and then another, trying and failing to settle himself. Kissing Lizzy was… Well, he felt like he was on top of the world again. His body was alive with a rush of endorphins and arousal he hadn't felt in quite a while. He wasn't sure when the last time he… No. The night on the container ship. That was the last time he felt like this.

But that night the future had been so terrifying and unknown. That night he wasn't sure if Lizzy would ever be able to live again without looking over her shoulder, running from her own government and a relentless cabal that could be anywhere at any time.

Tonight, none of that mattered anymore. Sure, there was still danger lurking in an unknown future and there always would be as long as he was The Concierge of Crime, but it was so much less immediate, less imminent. Tonight, Red's greatest worry was how he and Lizzy would adapt to this change to their status quo. And, even more pressing, what the hell should he do with himself until she came back?

Should he… should he take off his shoes? Should he undress? Should he get into bed, under the covers, and pretend that this really was something they did everyday, pretend like the last time they slept together, euphemistically speaking, wasn't a lifetime ago?

He settled for removing just his shoes and his button down shirt, and then he stretched himself out on top of the covers. He laced his fingers together over his belly, but unlaced them just as quickly, much too nervous to keep still that way. He fidgeted instead with the fabric of the quilt, and brushed away random bits of imagined lint from his trousers, waiting on tenterhooks for Lizzy to return.

It wasn't long before she ducked back into the room and pulled the door to touch again, silently.

"Is she OK?"

She nodded. "She just needed a fresh diaper."

"That's good."

Lizzy wandered over to her side of the bed and looked Red up and down, taking a cue from him and shrugging out of her cardigan before tossing it over the arm of the same chair he'd left his dress shirt folded over. She stood there for a long moment, not really looking at anything in particular, rubbing absentmindedly at the scar on her wrist.

"So…" Red trailed off.

Lizzy met his eyes briefly, letting out a nervous huff of a laugh. "This is so silly," she said, but still didn't move. "Why am I nervous? It's not like it's the first time we've ever…"

"Come here," he said, and turned on his side, holding open his arms, ready to wrap around her; the odd tension drained from her posture and she crawled over to him, tucked herself in to his embrace. "Better?"

"Mmm, yes." She took hold of his hand, sliding her fingers between his, and pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of his jaw. "Now, where were we?" she asked, her voice a low whisper that sent a pleasant thrill up his spine.

Red eyes slid shut and he angled his head, blindly seeking her lips. She must have brushed her teeth while she was gone. The cool, minty tingle contrasted beautifully with the warmth of her mouth.

Lizzy was usually a very uninhibited kisser. She might hold a lot of emotions very close to her chest, but she gave kissing every ounce of her attention when she was truly engaged, which was why Red could so easily pinpoint the moments now when her mind started drifting. He knew what was happening to her. He knew because it was happening to him, too. They would freeze up and stiffen and have to physically shake themselves to try to stay grounded in the present.

Red wanted nothing more than to be able to stop it, to stay focused on the fact that he was here, now, and Lizzy was in his arms again at long last. But try as they might, they both kept getting snagged in mental boobytraps, in the minefield of their memories.

Lizzy pulled back, rested her forehead against his jaw. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me tonight."

"It's fine," he said; she shook her head, eyes closed in embarrassment. "No, I mean it. Really." He hugged her to him, close enough that she would surely be able to notice the lack of his own excitement. And notice she did, peering back up at him with her brow a concerned furrow.

He offered her a crooked smile and a shrug. "We're not ready yet. And that's OK."

"But I do want you. I always—shit." Lizzy ducked her head again, a fierce blush working its way down the skin of her neck. "I always want you."

Her bashful confession surprised a chuckle out of Red, flattered him as much as it warmed his soul. "Likewise," he said, and kissed her on one of her beet-red cheeks.

"Oh, good, I'm glad we're on the same page," she said, in a sarcastic show of nonchalance so transparent, she couldn't even keep a straight face long enough to finish the sentence. "God, why are we like this?"

"Lizzy, sweetheart… we're human. We've been to hell and back, the both of us. Is it any wonder we're still struggling? When we're ready, we're ready. Until then… Well, there's no rush. There'll be more chances. I promise you that."

Red tipped Lizzy's face up and gave her a deep, intoxicating kiss. When she pulled back, he brushed her hair away from her face, traced the angle of her jawline. "Would you mind terribly if I still stayed?"

"No, of course not. I was hoping you'd say that." Lizzy avoided his line of sight, fixated instead on where her hand rested on his chest, playing distractedly with the chest hair his undershirt failed to cover. "I was hoping maybe you'd stay, you know… more permanently."

Permanently?

Red worked his mouth, but no words would form. He was speechless. Utterly gobsmacked. Was Lizzy really asking what he thought she was asking? She wanted him to move in with her? He didn't even have any idea what such a thing would look like; the extent of his experience in cohabitation in the past couple decades consisted almost entirely of short stretches of time sharing safe houses with Dembe.

When he didn't respond to her question, Lizzy looked away and threw a hand over her eyes. "God. I didn't mean to bring this up now. What we've been doing has been so great. I just… I miss waking up next to you. It's just not the same when you spend the night on the couch. I can't just roll over and hold you whenever I need to."

Her voice grew more timid and small as she spoke, as if she was having a difficult time forcing the words to leave her throat.

"Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and think I'm in bed on that damn stage at your friend's theatre, but you're not there and I have to keep myself from… It's not a good feeling, to think even for a few seconds that maybe everything that happened really didn't, that I might have a chance to stop myself from… only to have it snatched away again."

"I'd love to wake up next to you."

Everyday. For the rest of my life, he thought, but didn't say. Perhaps she could read it in his face. Perhaps she even felt the same.

"Hang on," she said, and then rolled out of bed and padded over to her dresser; she opened the top drawer and searched around inside until she found whatever it was she was looking for. Something small enough to hide completely in one clenched fist, it seemed.

She crawled back into bed, knelt to sit on her legs at Red's side, and slowly—shakily—opened her hand.

Red pushed himself up, half sitting against the headboard, and peered into her palm to find a small object, wrapped in what looked like one of Agnes' old washcloths. He reached out, his hand poised to unwrap whatever it was, and met her eyes, silently asking permission.

"Go ahead," she said, and bit her lip.

He pulled back the threadbare fabric. Inside it was a key. Presumably to her apartment.

"Lizzy…" How long had she had this, set aside and waiting for him? Waiting for her to work up the nerve to offer it to him?

Red closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Thank you," he said quietly, and picked up the key, running his thumb over the ridges.

As symbolic gestures went, this one meant the absolute world to him.

In the past, neither of them had been especially respectful of the boundary of only entering each other's apartment with permission, but that was the past. Since they started down the tenuous path to reconciliation, they had never crossed that line. Now here she was, offering him a key. It was so goddamn domestic and normal, he could scarcely believe it had happened to him.

Red reached out for her free hand, the one not still clutching the tiny washcloth, and brought it to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it. Lizzy's breath hitched in her throat.

Her relief was palpable and her shy, hesitant grin was as beautiful as it was infectious. And then all of a sudden, she leaned forward to capture his lips again, and he could feel her grin pressed against his own. Goodness, but he could get used to this…

Lizzy broke the kiss after a few distracting moments and buried her smiling face under his chin with a giggle. "Crap," she said.

Red ran his hands lightly up and down her flank. "What's wrong?"

"I just realized… I'm gonna need a bigger closet."

Red threw back his head and laughed. Of all things to worry about, that was where her mind went first?

"I'm sure we'll figure something out."