AN: I am incredibly sorry for the delay and equally grateful for your patience and continued support. The next update will hopefully follow up sooner.

I hope this chapter was worth the wait and I would love to hear what you think, so if you can please leave a review when you've finished reading. Thank you all and enjoy!

Lyrics are from St. Augustine's "At Night"

(A quick note to one of the reviewers who doesn't like the lyrics: I pick the lyrics for each chapter carefully to create a specific mood so they do serve a purpose. They're not meant to distract- they're meant to act as a transition between paragraphs.)

I still wake at night
Just to hear your fine breath in the dark

It was early.

Still early in the morning, the moon not surrendering to the sun quite yet, that time of day when the world just existed for the sake of it, somewhere between tranquility and steadiness and indifference. When he could pretend so fervently, so willingly, that his mind was at peace.

He was lying on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, tracing some imaginary patterns. The room was perfectly calm, except for the assuasive steady breaths that gently caressed his right arm. She was still fast asleep. He faintly shook his head in disbelief.

He was stunned when she had entered his room mere hours before. Virtually paralyzed when she touched his skin. When she lent comfort to scars that couldn't be healed, when she granted him forgiveness.

Their bodies had fit together so perfectly. As if they were made for each other, as if life had shaped them in accordance with the other's pain and struggles. The sensitive spots, her sensitive spots, he had discovered them quickly and memorized them almost strategically. He wanted to show her everything he could do, the desire and passion he had stored up deep within him, that was caused by her, that carried her name. The way she had looked at him then, at that moment of ultimate closeness, was divine. After all, absolution.

To have her here, next to him, could never have been a realistic expectation. A dream, yes, a lingering yearning even, but never something in the realm of possibility. Raymond Reddington never dealt in irrationalities or hypotheses. He calculated, extrapolated, he closed deals like skillful businessmen do- pragmatically.

But this was different. Almost blinded by rage, striving for retaliation- yes, a part of him still felt these things, still wanted these things, demanded closure by putting a bullet into Tom Keen's head without thinking about it twice. And yet he simply couldn't go through with it.

Instead he lay awake staring at the ceiling. Instead he had trusted her to make the right choices. Because it has always been about her. Because the Concierge of Crime was at Elizabeth Keen's mercy.

He had virtually abandoned his wide array of contacts over these past two weeks just to stay close to her and make sure she'd be recovering quickly and be safe. More than anything else, be safe.

His priorities had shifted rapidly ever since he saw her descend the stairs at the post office. These things happen, simple as that, but he was well aware that a connection like theirs was precious and delicate and rare. He blamed the fire. Some bonds remain irrevocable. Indestructible. We're stuck with each other.

Betrayal, deception, sacrifice- all these things paved his path with such pertinaciousness. He had never wanted to involve her in all of this which of course sounded paradoxical given the way he had entered her life in the first place. He had wanted to show her what she could be capable of, that she was bound for greatness somewhere beyond an FBI desk, I'm gonna make you famous and he had arranged it so perfectly, but of course plans fail, no matter how meticulously laid out they might have been. He had introduced her to a darkness he could no longer shield her from. Bullets entering bodies. Life was so cruel sometimes.

The light sensation on his arm had ceased. Liz had shifted ever so slightly, but enough to break their frail contact. He turned to face her then, to get a better look at her sleeping form and the loose strands of hair elegantly framing her face and he tugged one behind her ear, carefully not to wake her and rob her of this temporary quiescence. Maybe it could last forever, this one perfect moment, both of them side by side in their own carefully crafted sphere. He was so tired. Tired of running and hiding and immunity deals. The FBI could never protect him, no, they knew too little and he had always taken care of himself and quite successfully so. All these documents and contracts were a mere charade but certainly practical, he couldn't deny that, the resources they granted him, the law on their side. Still, the truth was he could disappear off the face of the earth immediately if he was so inclined. And he liked to keep it that way. The luxury of options.

And now Lizzie. Lizzie. He felt such rare contentment just being close to her. She kept him grounded, focused. Human.

Tentatively, he moved closer and gently pressed his lips to hers.

Now I know it's not fair
I do believe that I care for your life more than for the rest of humankind

The coffee was stronger than she was used to, a rich and faintly sweet blend that instantly woke her senses. It reminded her of Red. It tasted like him.

His kind gaze was the first thing she had seen this morning. There was a tingle on her lips when she opened her eyes; he might have kissed her only seconds before, she wasn't sure, but found herself smiling at the thought. It still amazed her, this combination of gentleness and determination that defined him, and the security he could provide for her in the most unconventional sense. Theirs wasn't a relationship restricted by norms. It was more complicated than that, this deeply intimate understanding, this utter willingness to suffer for the sake of the other. Why give it a name?

"How's the coffee?" he asked as he entered the kitchen in a navy three-piece suit, his vest still unbuttoned and his silk pin dot tie hanging loosely around his neck.

"Efficient," she replied with a smile. "Not for the faint of heart."

"Lizzie, I firmly stand by the belief that life is too short for bad coffee." He had always been a man of convictions. Slowly he crossed the room towards the counter.

He watched her with an amused expression as she took another sip and grimaced, and as she handed him the cup their fingers brushed almost imperceptibly and he wondered if there would ever come a time when her touch wouldn't dismantle him in an instant, wouldn't ignite a fire he couldn't stop from spreading.

"Will you have breakfast with me?"

He felt the bitter liquid run down his throat. "Unfortunately I can't. I have some business to attend to. Dembe will be joining me, but Mr. Kaplan will be here to keep you company and Daniel should be back soon. I'm guessing he's still working."

"How long will you be gone?

"Until tonight. But I have personally made sure that all security measures are intact and working properly."

"So Mr. Kaplan and I can proceed with the investigation then."

"I would try to persuade you to rest instead, but-"

"I've rested for two weeks, Red. I'm still an agent, remember? I'll be fine."

"I have no doubt, Lizzie. Enjoy your day."

I turn in bed, I shiver then I smile
When I think of all the courage that you hide

"Any new findings?" Liz noticed Mr. Kaplan examining a stack of photos as she entered the living room.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. No suspicious behavior whatsoever." She didn't look up from the files as Liz sat down across from her.

"He's just spending time at the warehouse?" Liz reached for the photos and flinched as the cold eyes of her former husband stared back at her. It seemed absurd now how she could ever have trusted him, how she could have detected warmth and affection in his expression. But love is a skilled imposter and Tom Keen had been so good at this. They had been such a perfect match. She should have known better.

"Yes, talking to contacts, mostly. No mention of either your or Raymond's name. He left the warehouse last night but came back about two hours later, seemingly unchanged. I'm trying to find out if there's anything in development we should be worried about."

Liz put the photo back on top of the others, her hand shaking slightly.

"Are you alright, dearie?" Mr. Kaplan observed her intently. "You look a little distraught."

"No, I'm…I'm fine. Just tired. I think I'm gonna go lie down for a bit." Panic, she could feel it. Fear rushing forward, overwhelming her slowly but surely. Dammit. "Thank you, Mr. Kaplan. For everything."

"Don't mention it, dearie. I've grown quite fond of you. And so has Raymond." With those last words she offered Liz one of those incredibly rare knowing smiles, before she once again turned her focus to the data in front of her.

And if I had to choose right now
I'd pick your life over mine

As nighttime settled over Washington Liz found herself outside on the terrace, dressed comfortably in an over-sized wool cardigan and fleece sweats she had found in her room, breathing in that particularly icy air one never got to experience while living in the city. The panic attack had come and gone rather swiftly, but she was grateful Red hadn't be there to witness it. She didn't want to appear weak in front of him and she detested the fact that a picture of Tom Keen still had such an effect on her, could still trigger that kind of reaction. How was she supposed to face him without faltering, without reliving the physical and emotional pain he had caused her? The trauma and scars he had burdened her with?

Yes, her body still hurt with every move she made. And that was normal, that was part of the process, Daniel had assured her so many times, but she had never been the patient type and she wanted it gone, the constant stinging and discomfort, she wanted it gone. She felt footsteps behind her then and a blanket being put around her shoulders. Fingers lingering at the nape of her neck. A kiss near her temple as he joined her at the railing.

"You'll catch cold."
"You're back."
"I am."
"Successful day?"
"Barely."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."

Their training betrayed them sometimes. These investigative tones, unintentional yet a difficult habit to break, because precision was always of the essence, because they were used to the quick exchange of concise information. She didn't mind and neither did he. There was a time and place for eloquent declarations, and Liz knew he harbored a certain propensity for semantics, but oftentimes these little gestures were enough. Blankets to keep her warm.

He shifted a little and moved closer until their breaths mingled and danced in the evening air and slowly he closed the gap and kissed her. He could do these things now, could savor them in its purest form and enjoy them without regret. Could move his hands up her arms and neck to cup her face and close his eyes and be sure she wouldn't disappear. That sweet taste of trust on his lips. That sudden void when they broke apart.

"Have you spoken to Daniel?" she asked him softly.
"I thought he was with you."
"He isn't."

And in that very instant a phone started ringing and Red reached into his pocket to grab it and froze when he recognized the voice addressing him and as he stood there still trying to assess the situation, to make sense of it, Mr. Kaplan paced towards him- the feeds got intercepted- and a spiteful laugh reverberated in his ear- any last words, Mr. Albright?- and he looked at Liz in shock but she didn't understand, couldn't be sure, and Red pleaded- Tom, don't- and then he heard a gun shot.

The phone dropped to the ground.

Then, silence.