The frigid winter wind whips at Liz's hair, tugging it from where it's stuffed messily under her beanie as she hurries through the park, glancing anxiously over her shoulder. She's uneasy out here in the open. In broad daylight. While she's on the run.

Again.

But it's different this time. This time it's for her mother, and she has to help her mom, even if it's at Dom's expense, her mother deservers answers, doesn't she? And so does Liz, right?

(Wrong.)

Liz shoves aside the niggling doubt that has been eating away at her since she drove away with her weak, protesting grandfather in the back of a van. Right now, she just has to focus on finding her mother somewhere in this huge park in the middle of the day, because she called and asked to meet, finally ready with the information Liz has been dying for, the knowledge that will make all this dirty, rotten betrayal worth it –

"Masha."

Liz whips around.

Her mother is standing there, leaning casually against a swaying tree, regarding her with that steely look of cunning she always seems to wear, the one that makes her look decidedly venomous. Liz ignores her instincts, as usual, taking a breath to slow her rapidly beating heart, and steps toward her.

"Sorry I'm late," Liz hurries to say. "I came as fast as I could, but I had to be sure I wasn't being followed. Should we go somewhere safer than this? My car is –"

"That won't be necessary," Katarina interrupts smoothly. "This won't take long."

Liz freezes, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end at her mother's tone.

"…Why not?"

Katarina smirks and eases off the tree she was propped against, strolling idly toward her through the leaves on the ground, Liz's anxiety mounting with every step she takes.

"I just wanted to thank you," Katarina says, smiling broadly at her in a way that makes Liz frown.

"Thank me?" she repeats, confused.

"Yes," Katarina confirms pleasantly. "For being so easy to fool."

Liz freezes where she stands, not trusting her ears, because that would mean her worst fear has just been confirmed, and any hope of for salvaged relationship with the woman who gave birth to her is draining out of her in one quick rush.

"Although I suppose your late husband would be the better one to thank," Katarina muses, as if she didn't just blow a hole through what was left of Liz's battered heart. "He was the first one to teach you what gaslighting was. But you didn't seem to learn, did you?"

The mention of Tom and his crimes against her still makes Liz ache in awful ways and she grits her teeth against the painful reminder of her first – and in some ways greatest – mistake.

"I must admit, I expected you to see right through me," Katarina continues calmly. "I thought you would be smarter. But you were just so starry-eyed, so blind in your desperation for a mother that you hung on my every word."

And the sheer pain of her attitude, so nonchalant and casual, takes Liz's breath away. That this ghastly woman who should love her more than anything, is instead standing there preying on her most secret dream, her most ardent wish.

(And Liz thinks back to all the lonely nights of her childhood, Sam comforting her tiny form as best he could as she cried and cried for the mother he was never able to be, the mother she always hoped was out there trying to find her after all.)

And Liz's mind whirls against the appalling truth and her body moves without her permission as she darts forward, reaching out to Katarina, her hands feeling like claws, wanting to scratch her, hurt her, make her bleed, her last instinctive, fruitless effort at self-defense –

But Katarina is faster, whipping a knife out from somewhere on her person, swiping it easily at Liz, cutting her soundly across her upper arm, and the stinging, burning pain of it makes Liz hiss and stumble backwards, her mouth open in illogical surprise that her mother actually, physically hurt her –

(And why she stumbled blindly forward with unarmed, bare hands when her gun is right there clipped to her belt where it always is, has her cursing herself uselessly because why, oh why, is she so stupid –)

Liz cowers helplessly under Katarina's gleeful glare, blood now dripping steadily down her arm as she backs away from the woman she tried so hard to love, feeling fear prickle down her spine as she wonders bleakly if her mother is going to kill her –

(Stupid Liz. Stupid, stupid Liz. She should know better. Once an agent, always an agent. Just like Tom.)

Oblivious to her shattering heart, Katarina moves toward her, all but slithering through the leaves like a poisonous viper, and Liz stumbles backwards, fear and sadness clawing its way up her throat, until her foot suddenly catches on a tree root and she falls heavily to the ground, her legs crumpling uselessly underneath her, the cold wind still whipping.

Katarina comes to a stop standing over her and Liz stares up at her, feeling hot tears start to slip down her cheeks.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asks hoarsely.

The harsh laugh Katarina barks out into the bitter air makes Liz jump, but Katarina just shakes her head, a twisted grin mangling her thin lips.

"Kill you?" she repeats. "No, no. I'm not going to kill you. There's no need. You can live with the knowledge that, thanks to your help, I have all the information I need to escape danger and I chose not to share it with you. And you? Well, you gave up everything to help me and you'll be on the run from your precious task force for the rest of your life."

Liz gapes at her, her vision blurring with tears and her arm throbbing.

"But why?"

"Why? Because that's what happened to me!" Katarina is suddenly shrieking, her mood changing on a dime, her expression quickly morphing into fury.

(And for the first time, the psychologist buried deep inside Liz wonders if her mother is truly unhinged.)

"I was tricked into giving up life-saving knowledge, by the double-crossing men you call friends, and forced to run! I had to give up my entire life because of other people's selfish choices and, most unforgivably, I was forced to give up my daughter!"

Liz frowns, confused.

"But," she protests desperately, struggling to make sense of her mother's misplaced rage. "I'm your daughter. We could start fresh, go away together! You don't have to give me up again!"

But Katarina's mood changes yet again, her face melting back to disturbing calm with an unsettling grin.

"Oh, yes, we could do that," she croons. "But they say you want your children to learn from your mistakes. And now? You'll be forced to go on the run and leave Agnes just as I had to leave you."

Liz gasps, horrified at her mother's twisted sense of logic.

And Katarina's final cold words give that knife sticking out of her heart one last wretched twist.

"Let's see if you can do better."

And then she's gone, walking away, turning her back on Liz, bleeding and crying on the cold ground, willingly leaving her daughter for not the first, but the second time.

(Because apparently? She was never worth keeping.)

Liz can only sob, her mother's retreating form blurring with her tears, her heart bleeding for yet another instance of misplaced trust, another gaslighting, lying, manipulating relationship, from the person she least expected. Betrayed by her own mother, the one person who should love her more than her own life, but instead left Liz's life in ruins, her mother's insane desire for her to suffer as she did a punishment for the unthinkable crime of loving her. And now her career is ruined beyond repair, all her bridges burned. She betrayed the task force, her friends, Red.

Red.

(Red, who stopped at nothing to prove her innocence the last time she was on the run, sacrificed everything to save her life, her career, her happiness. And Katarina couldn't even be bothered to pick her up off the ground.)

Liz lets out a keening cry, crumbling the rest of the way to the ground, her cheek pressing against a bed of fallen leaves, some part of her grieving mind barely registering the sticky blood covering her arm and dripping down her coat sleeve, numb cold settling into deep cut, the only thing her mother saw fit to give her, and she just can't stop crying, her breathing turning sporadic, descending into the throes of a panic attack she's not sure she wants to emerge from –

And then she feels hands on her, tugging her upright and into a pair of arms, so wonderfully warm, almost as soothing as the voice that then speaks into her ear –

"Lizzie—" and she almost chokes on the gratitude she feels that he's come to rescue her yet again, when she least deserves it, and she sucks in a frantic breath, seeing stars behind her closed eyelids, so thankful for him it hurts "—Lizzie, just breathe, I need you to calm down, we have to get you up and somewhere safe, we have to stop the bleeding, come on, Lizzie—"

And she lets herself be pulled up and dragged back through the park and into something that feels and moves like a car, although she can't be bothered to look, truly not caring where he's taking her, just pushing greedily into his warmth, taking everything he has to give, because at the end of the day?

That's all she knows how to do.

Liz doesn't exactly lose consciousness on the car ride, but she's not aware of where or how long they travel, only vaguely sensing it when she's pulled from the car and into a warm building. She only bothers to open her eyes when she feels herself being pushed gently but firmly down onto something soft and comfortable – a couch – and her coat is tugged from her cold arms. Liz frowns at the odd sound of tearing fabric and then the familiar sting of antiseptic, before she finally makes an effort to blink and clear her swollen eyes.

Liz looks down, catatonic and uncaring, to see a familiar pair of hands working quickly and efficiently on the cut on her arm, cleaning away the dried blood, disinfecting the wound, and swiftly wrapping it with a soft bandage. It's deep and still weeping blood, but the clinical side of Liz's brain notes that Katarina missed a muscle by a few inches, surely by accident, and it doesn't need stitches.

Liz continues to watch, numb and disinterested, and it's only the sight of Red's fingertips gently smoothing down her secured bandage, giving her injured arm one last tender stroke, that has her heart fluttering weakly and her head tilting up to look into his face.

(And she missed him while her eyes were closed.)

But he's not looking at her, instead busying himself with putting away the first aid supplies he'd rifled through while dutifully putting her back together, and Liz notes his expression and body language, cold and stiff in front of her.

(He may not explicitly be telling her 'I told you so' but his tense posture, pursed lips, and hard eyes make it pretty clear.)

Red stands from where he was perched on the coffee table in front of her, moving away with the first aid supplies in hand, and Liz zones out again, feeling the loss of his presence keenly, rejecting the emptiness that returns as the cold slithers back into her limbs, making her shudder.

The next thing she knows, Red is standing in front of her again holding a glass of cold water, waiting expectantly for her to take it from him, but she can't bring herself to move. She hears him sigh quietly before he patiently reaches for her uninjured arm, slipping his fingers gently around her wrist to guide her hand and firmly wrap her fingers around the glass himself.

(And she feels another flutter in her heart at the gentle way he still touches her and, for a brief moment, she deliriously pictures him whipping out a knife and striking her as Katarina did, and the mental image is so absurd that she almost laughs out loud.)

The cold condensation on the outside of the glass is a shock to the skin of her fingers but the feeling of the moisture makes her realize how thirsty she actually is, and suddenly she's bringing the glass up to her face without assistance to drink greedily.

(Of course. He's not stupid. He knows panic attacks make her thirsty.)

Red stands over her and makes sure she drinks the whole glass, only taking it from her when she's drained the whole thing. He places it on the coffee table and looks at her wordlessly for a long moment, before heaving another sigh and sitting down next to her on the couch.

He leaves space between them, but Liz can still feel his body heat radiating next to her, and she leans in, unable to resist his warmth that is chasing away the awful chill in her bones. That chill, left by her own mother as she heartlessly abandoned her, injured and crying, with the most awful, terrible words –

And the tears gather unbidden once again in Liz's eyes as she sits there, feeling more lost than ever, until she feels Red shift next to her, reminding her of his presence. Liz slowly turns her head to look at him, feeling like her head weighs a hundred pounds, and the sight of him there, defeated and exhausted, but still next to her has her letting out a strangled sob and lurching forward, because she has to feel something other than this terrible hopelessness or she's going to freeze and shatter –

And suddenly she's kissing him, her dry, chapped lips pressed to his with no warning, leaning over his lap and nearly climbing up his body in her desperation, her cold hands grabbing at his neck and arms, trying to tug them around herself, brushing her legs against his, trying to inject some warmth back into her body –

But Red is grunting underneath her hands and lips and suddenly she's being shoved backwards by his palms at her shoulders and she opens her eyes only for more tears to fill them because, of course, he doesn't want her, he'll leave her just like she did, as he has every right to do, but Liz doesn't think she can stand it, not again, not him –

(And how many times does she need to prove to herself that she needs him, more than air, in this way and a million others?)

Liz blinks rapidly, struggling to see Red clearly, still there next to her on the couch, holding her at arm's length and staring, his mouth red and agape, his eyes wide and pupils blown, his cheeks wet from her tears, and that's all she has time to look before he's growling quietly in something that sounds like frustration and pulling her back to him by the shoulders –

And in the next instant she's been fully pulled onto his lap, her knees bracketing his hips as her lips return to their rightful place on his, wet and sliding, and his hand is roughly tugging her hair as she cries and he's biting her lip with a snarl and oh, this feels like a punishment and she welcomes it –

(Because anything is better than him leaving her.)

Suddenly, Liz feels the world start to tilt as Red slowly reclines backwards, taking her with him against his chest, until he is lying flat on his back on the couch, her legs on either side of his and her elbows digging into his chest as she moans into his mouth. He rips his lips from hers to suck in a desperate breath, his hand moving to knead her hip and his mouth moving to nip and bite at the tender skin of her neck, making her cry out in pain and pleasure –

(And how is it he knows exactly what she needs, this distraction with a little pain to bring her away from the brink inside herself at being left behind by yet another person that's not him.)

And Liz scratches her nails against his scalp and sucks on his earlobe, making him twitch under her, and her hands are sneaking under his shirt as his hands drift down over her ass, seemingly unable to choose a place to put them, and Liz has never been more grateful for him, sending heat singing all the way through her cold body and shredded heart as she rubs against him, and god, if he lets her, she'll never leave his side again –

Red seems to know that it's over before Liz does, trying valiantly to bring her frantic kisses to an end even as she sags against him, whining breathily at being separated from his lips. He senses her body shutting down before she feels it a few moments later, fatigue hitting her like a freight train, the sheer amount of contrasting emotions her body has withstood over the course of just a few hours proving too much for her exhausted brain.

But Red says nothing, he simply guides her head down under his chin as she starts to lose consciousness, quite literally falling asleep on top of him in the middle of a long-awaited, passionate encounter that very well should have led to so much more. Liz protests weakly, still wanting him desperately, senselessly, but he shushes her gently, reaching up to tug the thick blanket off the back of the couch and tuck it around them both.

The added layer of warmth, sandwiched as she is between the blanket and Red – who is a beautiful combination of comfort and strength and softness and drugging cologne and soft kisses in her hair – Liz knows she has mere seconds left awake so she uses them to whisper a few pleading words to him, the first words she has spoken to him since he found her collapsed and bleeding on the ground and decided, once again, to save her.

"Please don't…don't leave me…I can't…not without you…Raymond…stay…"

And she doesn't hear a response from him, drifting off into a much-needed sleep, her fists still tightly clenched around his shirt as her mind shuts down to the feeling of his hands ghosting soothingly over her back under the blanket…but a few deep, whispered words somehow make their way into her heavy, dreamless sleep.

"I haven't left you yet, Lizzie…"