Moving Forward

He wasn't sure how long they had stood there, the rain soaking them both through to the bone and his arms wrapped around her. She had folded into him, just as she had done so many times before, and Tom had propped his chin on top of her head, holding her close and stroking her hair. If the circumstances had been any different, it would have been what he wanted. Her heart was breaking, though, and Tom knew he couldn't protect her from that. All he could do was be there.

The warehouse he had found to stay in after being driven from the last one - not that he was able to stay in one place too long with the Major's men after him - had a space that had once been converted into a tiny apartment, so at least he wasn't going to the gym just to shower. He had offered Liz the first round and she had, surprisingly, accepted. It left him sitting in the garage, drenched and cold, and alone with his thoughts.

Life was a funny thing, and where he'd once been convinced that he could read the events and people around him, these days he found himself surprised more often than he should have been comfortable with, and Liz always seemed to be at the center of it. She was half drowned beneath everything that had happened, and that made her unpredictable. Every last survival instinct screamed at him just how dangerous that made her. The last time he had misread a situation she had shot him and held him prisoner for four months. He should get as far away from the potentially volatile situation as he could before it got him killed.

But there he was. Even with Bud's price on his head and Reddington's secrets tumbling from his lips, he still hadn't left. Liz needed him, so he would stay, no matter the personal cost.

The door to the garage opened and Tom looked up, finding Liz walking slowly through. Her eyes were still rimmed red like she had continued crying through the shower. She padded her way into the garage on bare feet with a towel wrapped around her wet hair and one of his t-shirts on to replace her own wet clothes.

"Sorry it took so long," she mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Don't worry about it," he answered, and he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Tom swallowed hard, trying desperately to school his expression, but he didn't think he managed or before she glanced up.

"I...uh...grabbed one of your shirts. Just until mine dries."

"You're welcome to anything in here, Liz."

"Thanks." Her gaze returned to her feet. "I think I left you a little hot water."

"It doesn't last very long," he murmured and tried to decide if he should reach out to her or not. He wanted to. More than anything. The problem was that it wasn't about what he wanted, but what she did. He had already decided to make a conscious effort to simply be there when she needed him, and to take a step back when she needed that. It had been at least one thing that had worked in their marriage, and no matter how difficult it might be at times, it was what needed to be done.

Tom loosed a long breath and stood. "You need some time alone, or-?" His question was cut off mid way through when she met his eyes. It was almost physically painful to see all the hurt and the questions and the betrayal swirling there. The dam had cracked and, while she seemed to be struggling to keep the flood contained, she wasn't winning the battle in that moment. Very slowly he took a step forward and she leaned into his arms, just as she had out in the rain.

"I don't get it," Liz whispered roughly. "Everything I've ever known... everything... is a lie. Even my name. Did you know that?"

"No," he said carefully. He hadn't, though the more that they were uncovering about the photo, the less that the new tidbit of information surprised him.

"Masha," she breathed out the name. "It doesn't sound right, does it?"

Tom snorted a little. "I'm the last one to say if a name sounds right or not, Liz," he answered and thankfully that brought a small smile from her.

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Slip in and out of names like you do."

Tom's lips thinned out. "Most of them don't matter," he said honestly. "Most are just a job."

"Should I call you Jacob?"

"If you want, but... I got kind of got attached to the name Tom. I liked being Tom."

"I don't want to be Masha. I don't know who she is and I don't want... I never wanted any of this. I just want to wake up and the past year and a half to be some terrible nightmare." She leaned her forehead against his half-dry t-shirt again, a sigh escaping her, and Tom held his breath. "But that's not right either, is it? That would just be living the lie over again."

She still had a hold on him and Tom risked a quick kiss to the side on her head, his hand continuing to stroke her hair in a motion that had always comforted her. He didn't know what to tell her. He knew what she meant by wanting to wake up and this having been a nightmare. He had played that scenario over and over again while he had been chained to the boat, thinking on times when they had been happy and trying to stay sane. Funny, but holding onto happier memories of Liz had been what had gotten him through the torture that she had inflicted on him.

"What do I do, Tom?" she whispered.

"You really want my opinion?"

She pulled back so that she could look him in the eye. "Yes."

"The way I see it you have two options," he said carefully. "First is that you run. You put everything behind you and you start over. These people that you're mixed up with are dangerous."

"You said-"

"I know. I know that you're stubborn enough to get through it, but that doesn't mean it isn't dangerous." He waited for her to nod her understanding. "Second option is you stay and fight for every answer you can get, no matter the cost." He grimaced, hating the words that he knew were true. "I know how much knowing means to you, Liz." When Sam had been alive, it wasn't as big of a deal. She had wondered, but she hadn't gone looking. Now it was all she felt like she had. She wasn't like him in that regard. His past was just that and he had no want or wish to dig into it. He knew enough to stay as far from it as he could.

"What if what I find is more than I can handle?"

A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips. "You're the strongest person I know, Liz. You'll be okay, and... If you want me to, I'll be there."

"Just like now," she whispered. "You always manage to be just where I need you, don't you?"

"It's a gift," he murmured, his lips turned up very slightly at the corners, and she finally gave him a real smile.

"Thank you, Tom."

He pulled in a breath. "It's not going to be easy, but you don't have to do it alone."

Liz reached up, her hand against his cheek. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you," she confessed softly.

"Just as long as you let me know when you find out," he teased, his voice no louder than hers.

She smiled at him, catching the reference, and instead of the cold, calculating look that had been her go-to while she had been his jailor, her eyes softened a little as she popped up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. It was quick, but it still left him breathless. "You'll be the first to know," she murmured, finally releasing him. "Now go get a shower. It's not going to be my fault if you get sick." When he paused she rolled her eyes. "You think I'm just going to walk out in that downpour in nothing but your shirt? I'll be here when you get out."

Tom chuckled. "Fair enough."

The shower didn't take long, and he found her sitting in his chair when he came back downstairs, looking through files and going over information. They talked late into the night and he kept finding himself marveling at the strange sort of comfort they had fallen into. They were being open and there were no more secrets between them. She slowly told him about the apartment and Reddington's refusal to give her much more than a name. She thought he had been in love with her mother, but what that really meant she wasn't sure.

The rain never stopped and she never made a move to leave. Instead they moved the laptop into the little space upstairs and Liz fell asleep leaned into him on the old couch. They both knew they could never return to what they had been, but, as he felt sleep pulling on him too, for the first time Tom was beginning to allow himself to hope that they could at least build something out of the wreckage. It was confusing and it was messy, but that was life. More importantly, that was them, and they could get through anything as long as they faced together.

Notes: I had a couple of requests for a followup scene to last week's hug in the rain, so this fluffy cloud of fluff happened.