It had been late when Tom got home — from wherever he'd taken himself to avoid her — late enough that she had just pretended to be asleep rather than face him. She had lain in the dark, listening to him quietly get undressed and ready for bed; listening to the tiny jingle of Hudson's tags, following Tom around the room.

Had lain beside him, faking a peaceful slumber while he drifted off easily. It had taken her a much longer time to actually fall asleep.

Now, with the morning light spilling over the bed, the alarm chiming its harsh notes, she reluctantly let her eyes open to find him beside her, watching her with a studied expression.

"Hi," she said weakly, not really knowing where to start. "Where'd you get to last night? I thought…"

"It doesn't really matter, does it?" he interrupted. At least he didn't sound so angry anymore. "I just needed some space, some time to think about things. But Liz," and he smiled now, "I don't want to fight anymore. I'm sorry if you feel that I let you down somehow."

Her small inner voice pointed out that his smile didn't reach his eyes, didn't brighten his face or lighten his expression. That his words smacked of the twists of passive aggression. Not everyone is emotionally expressive, she scolded herself. He's smiling, he's making an effort, he cares.

She smiled back, taking the olive branch eagerly. If they didn't have to argue, so much the better. "I don't want to fight either," she murmured. She leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I'll try harder to be present, I really will. Sometimes, work just…"

"I know," he said calmly, reassuring her. "I'll try to be more understanding when you can't be here."

Pleased at the seeming accord, she stretched, and moved to get out of bed, get ready for the day. She wondered if Reddington would have a new case, or if whatever had him so preoccupied the night before would be holding his attention.

While she was making the coffee, Tom clattered downstairs with his laptop in hand.

"Liz," he called, "I got an email from Jeni — she sent us the 3D ultrasound, come look."

They sat on the couch and watched, and the image of that small form, that perfect little person, just pierced her heart and sat there, making a new place for itself inside her.

"I'm in love with this little nose," she said, a little dreamily, imagining, imagining.

"Yeah, that's a cute one," Tom agreed, happy too, she could hear it (she could).

"Let's just face it, I'm in love with him," she said, yearning. She wanted this, wanted it so much. She couldn't let Raymond Reddington, of all people, steal this precious gift from her. Besides, he'd had a family, once, He'd understand…wouldn't he?

"Oh my god, it just got real," she added, fingers tracing the screen.

"Yeah," Tom said again, and if his voice suddenly sounded a little less enthusiastic, a little unsure, it was easy to chalk that up to nerves. "Are we really doing this?"

She grinned at him, happy, so happy. "I think we are," she said. "Are you a little freaked out?" she asked, putting the laptop aside, and reaching over to wind her arms around his neck.

"Yeah, a little," he answered, drawing her in. "In a good way, though, right?"

She agreed, and they kibitzed a little about all their new baby things, and how it was all going to work. She made a decision, right then and there, her heart full of the family she was going to have, was going to treasure.

"You know, um…" She looked once more at the shifting face of the baby. Of her baby. "I've decided that I want to stay home for a little while, spend some time with the baby, and–"

"Are you serious?" he interrupted, sounding happier now, joining her in joy. "Can you do that? I mean aren't you–you could lose your job."

"This is more important," she said, meaning it, truly.

He smiled again, quick and light. She noticed again that it didn't reach his eyes, that his expression was mostly flat and cool, evaluating. She thought he maybe didn't trust her words, didn't think her in earnest, maybe thought she was just trying to make peace.

In time, he'd see. They'd be a family, and it would be everything she ever wanted.

He sat in the dim quiet with Lizzy beside him. She seemed better, today, with a lightness to her that he liked to see. He hoped he wasn't about to weigh her down again, but honestly — something had to be done, regardless of her reluctance to listen to him.

Something had to be done.

"There's nothing more profound and of lasting consequence than the decision to have a child." Listen to me, he begged silently, even as he spoke on. Hear what I'm not saying, as well as what I am. "The exploitation and perversion of that decision is the stock and trade of a truly evil organization — the Cyprus Adoption Agency."

"Adoption?" Even hushed in a polite way, her voice could apparently still carry its due load of scorn and disbelief. She wasn't hearing him. "You want me to believe this is a coincidence? Tom and I are adopting a baby, and you serve up an adoption agency?"

"Life is full of lovely little ironies," he said. Thought that of course it wasn't a coincidence, and if she would just take off her blinders and see… He thought then, of the unique joy of holding a new life, and couldn't blame her, after all.

He went on, explaining what he knew of the Cyprus Agency's particular brand of insidious evil; the complete transparency that covered any number of horrors, of machinations even he didn't really understand. Yet. It was going to be up to his little team to figure out where all the tentacles reached; how far the corruption ran.

And hopefully, Lizzy would learn something along the way.

He hated it, hated bursting this bubble, destroying this dream. But better now than later — better before the dream reached its pinnacle lest he decimate her completely.

Oh, how he wished it were simple, that he could just put a bullet in that filthy usurper's brain and be done with it. But she had to see, had to understand — all so she wouldn't grieve. At least, not overmuch. The break would be simpler if she saw clearly, he truly believed it.

But he wouldn't bring a child into the maelstrom with them. If it came down to it…well, he always had a gun handy, didn't he?

Back to the warehouse again, and another…unpleasant duty to fulfill. And here was Teddy, right on schedule. He seemed sure of himself, at least. But where did that leave him?

"She's telling the truth. Don't bet the trailer money, but I pushed her hard, and I'm telling you — that girl's cleaner than a duck fart."

Such a way with a turn of phrase Teddy had. He smiled, but it wasn't particularly pleasant. "Thank you, Teddy," he said coolly as they passed one another.

And back to Meera, still steadfast and blank faced, showing nothing of her thoughts or fears.

He could respect that.

"Let's talk," he offered, pleasantly threatening.

"Already did," she replied shortly. That's right, he thought, give nothing away.

"Yes, but now that you've been vetted by Mr. Brimley, I'm more inclined to listen."

So, she talked, and she was actually fairly convincing. Someone had used her, used her as a front, to put through the papers necessary for betrayal. He supposed he could believe it. And with a family in tow, Malik wasn't that likely to abruptly flee the country.

He could keep an eye on her, as necessary.

He'd get his man — or woman — eventually.

She hated putting an innocent couple through this, she really did. As if they were undercover operatives, or capable of this kind of work. It was no wonder at all that the wily lawyer caught on to their stammered questions.

It wasn't their fault.

Just like it wasn't her fault when the lawyer in question was mowed abruptly down by a bus.

It wasn't her fault, but the image of it would stick with her for a while, nonetheless.

And then, a lead — or, the lack of one? The adoption records all led…nowhere. There were no verifiable birth records, no trace of birth mothers or families. Who were these children?

So onto another unpleasant task, ruining the day of more families and taking DNA samples from children. Looking into the wide eyes of a little boy, she felt terrible, hideous, like she was reaching into this pretty little family and tearing it apart.

It won't happen to us, she vowed, even as she met with Reddington once more.

"I think this will be my last case for awhile. I'm going to spend some time at home; be with the baby."

He just looked at her, eyes full of secrets. It always puzzled her that someone with such expressive features could be so inscrutable at the same time.

"How's the case coming along?" he asked.

Fine, she thought snippily. If that's how you want it.

"We compared the DNA to every known sample on file for missing or abducted kids — not a single hit. The Cyprus Agency delivered 27 children, all unaccounted for. Nobody's ever reported them missing."

"You're so linear," he said, with a light scuff of a chuckle.

And you're so critical. "What's that supposed to mean?" she said aloud.

And again, again, he pointed to the place she hadn't looked, the avenue of thought that she hadn't seen. Who wouldn't report a child missing? People that couldn't. That couldn't or wouldn't go to the police.

Because children, babies, didn't just appear — they had to belong to someone. She was going to dig through this mess, no matter what.

As she walked away, she heard him turn to watch her go.

"You're arriving at a point of no return, Lizzy." She turned to look back at him. If he was finally going to respond to her, she had to listen. "If you have any doubts about your husband, you can't go through with this adoption. When you get there, if there is even one shred of doubt–"

"There isn't," she interrupted him, clear and sure. She wouldn't give an inch, not this time, not anymore. Wouldn't entertain the thought that everything wasn't going just the way it was supposed to. Her life was about to be perfect — how dare he, how dare he come in with this case and his know-it-all attitude and try to ruin it?

She fumed inwardly all the way back to the black site.

The truth of the matter, when they came to it, was far worse than she'd imagined. Not babies snatched from criminals with no recourse, no mothers in prison, no families on the run.

Mothers snatched, women missing, yet somehow giving birth after they were abducted.

Was this some kind of…

She refused to think about it, shied away from it. Until they had some kind of proof… But for now, thanks to Aram, they had the agency's next target to protect.

But they were too late. Again, again, too late. They'd get her back, this innocent girl, she had to believe that. Had to believe it to keep going, keep working, keep fighting.

Cooper was infuriated. All these dead ends and no real progress. As frustrating as she found it, he seemed to find it enraging.

"We need proof!" the big man bellowed. "And it would be nice to get it before another woman is abducted."

Liz agreed, but didn't see the point in getting angry about it. They needed to think, to put themselves into the shoes of the enemy, work their way to a new answer. Take the time to figure out where the trick was, because there was always a way to break through if you could just look at the problem in the right way.

She supposed Reddington had taught her that. She'd be grateful later, maybe.

Then, they found Kate Ellison. Another girl that it was too late to save. Her heart felt heavy, and heavier when everything the coroner said seemed to confirm her worst suspicions. Muscles atrophied, heavily sedated, but chock-full of prenatal vitamins?

Someone was using these kidnapped girls to create inventory, to churn out babies to order. She could feel the truth of it, and it made her ill.

She thought of the sweetness of watching the ultrasound that morning, and felt much worse.

They had to find these girls — how? Could they track the sedative?

She needed Red.

A clandestine meeting with Meera Malik.

Oh, the drama of it — the cloak of darkness, a lonely bridge, two solitary cars meeting in the night. Very CIA, he thought, and rolled his eyes as he stepped out of the car.

He scanned the documents she offered, and absorbed what they told him. Not a surprise, exactly…but a complication. Or maybe not. Maybe he just didn't care.

He'd deal with it, either way.

"Our business is done, Agent Malik."

The next morning, a meet with Lizzy. She was wearing burgundy, and he liked it on her. But there was no time to dawdle.

"Sorry I'm late."

"What the hell is this place?"

Well, Lizzy was in fresh and feisty form today. She wasn't at all keen on the location, but she'd learn. The best sources of information weren't always found in the obvious places. Russell was a solidly reliable genius when it came to pharmaceuticals.

"Now be nice," he admonished. "You're about to meet one of the nicest narcotics dealers this side of Cleveland."

As they threaded their way through the throng of partiers, music thumping, he could tell she was upset. It wouldn't last, he thought. It never did, when she got what she wanted. Needed.

Aha, there was the man himself.

"Russell!"

"Red?" Sounding amazed and incredulous — high, clearly, but that didn't really matter. "What's up, fool?"

They embraced warmly. Russell was generous to offer a hit of his current vice — a mescaline steam bath? Good grief.

Red took a whiff, just for nostalgia, and sighed. "If only I could do just one. No, thank you. No, last time I played around with that, I ended up naked in the desert trying to hitch a ride to Tuba City. Those Navajo tacos…oh, heaven!" He laughed, the memory a good one.

"When was this?" Lizzy, forever skeptical, not to mention a little snide.

He glanced her way. "Ah…about two years ago."

"She seems like a cop," Russell stated.

"Thank you. You see?" He waved a hand Lizzy's way and ignored her eye roll. "I keep telling her that. She doesn't listen to me."

Now, to business. Alas, no time for entertainment. He thought a touch of mescaline might loosen Lizzy up nicely — at the very least, it'd cheer her up…and almost felt bad for thinking it.

Russell was as obliging as always, tracking their hydroxyz pam in a matter of moments, finding the doctors who'd prescribed it. One stood out, and there they were.

He laughed along with Russell, as Lizzy stood between them, looking at the two of them. Thankfully more bemused than annoyed.

She'd been right, right — it was like a nightmare straight out of a novel, terrible, horrific. And Mallory — or Shaw, or whatever his name really was — was responsible for it all.

Another struggle, a fight; blows to the body and her head bouncing off the frame of a bed, off the floor with an agonizing thud. Another gun pointed straight at her face and for a second, for one lonely second, when the sound of a shot echoed through the room, she thought she was lost.

Strangely, she thought of Reddington, smiling at her like she was everything that mattered.

But it had been Ressler, storming in in the nick of time to save her. The tally of what the two of them owed each other was already growing long.

Head pounding, she interviewed Mallory, desperate to find out why — why perpetrate such a horror? Only to find it was some kind of sick legacy, some sort of monument to a damaged, unhappy boy.

It was…sickening.

Home, alone, she watched the ultrasound one more time. Then another.

And knew Reddington had been right, after all. The tears came, unbidden, unwanted, a silent drip over her cheeks. She felt cold, inside and out.

The click of the door announced Tom. How could she face him?

"Honey?" He came around the corner and saw her. "What's wrong?" Came to her. "Are you okay?"

She took his hands, trying, trying to find the right words. "I can't do it."

"Do what?" Then she saw his eyes flick to the laptop behind her and awareness come over his face. "You're not ready."

Just breathe. "We're not ready."

"No, look — you don't have to take any time off, all right? Just — there's a lot of working moms out there, and you can do both." He was scrambling, pleading. "You can do both."

"No." Her heart was breaking. "Tom... it's us." She was having trouble breathing through the tears, now, keeping her voice steady. "It's us. I don't know what's wrong. I don't understand it, but something's not right.

"I can't have a baby right now."

His voice was shaking too, close to breaking. "Well, I don't know what to say to that."

"Honey, you can't tell me that there's not one shred of doubt, one shred that wonders...if this is...broken." She clung to his hands, wished he would cling back, would hold her, do something to show her she might be wrong.

"Broken? Is that really what you think?"

"Don't you feel it?"

"I don't know, I know things have been different since you started this job…"

"This isn't about my work, Tom, it's about us. There's something wrong between us."

"I don't…I can't…I need some time."

What? "I think we should talk more, I think–"

"It's not all about what you think, Liz."

And he was gone, out the door, leaving her alone in the room full of baby things they wouldn't use.

Alone, in the wreckage of her hopes.

He waited in the dark, again.

This was beginning to be an unpleasant habit. The inhabitant of this house certainly was a sound sleeper — not a peep out of her and he'd broken in and made himself quite at home. He started the record, to get things going as much as to enjoy the song.

That brought her downstairs, and unlike Meera, Diane couldn't hide her shock at seeing him there, waiting.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?"

"I know, Diane."

Back and forth, and yammer and bluster and god, he was sick of it all. And had a deep dislike for her presumption, that she was shielded by his agreement with someone else entirely.

He shot her as much to move things along as to prove her wrong. Shot her again and again for her taunt about his family. She couldn't know what she was really saying, but his bitter anger turned to a weary sadness as he looked at her.

As he gazed out the window and phoned Kate. As he waited, again.

His phone buzzed, surprising him. He wasn't expecting anyone. But it was Elizabeth. Not the right time, he thought, but had to answer it, anyway.

"Lizzy? It's getting late."

For a moment, all there was were small gasps of air. Something was wrong, horribly wrong.

"Red…I…please."

"What is it, sweetheart?" She sounded…broken, like her world had shattered in her hand.

"I…I…I need you, please."

He didn't want to see her, didn't want to go to her with blood on his hands. But she sounded so very bleak, alone and desperate, he could refuse her nothing.

"I'll be there shortly," he said softly. "Just…just hang on."

He waited for Kate, impatiently now, and luckily she wasn't long. A few brief words, an exchange of affection. Kate…understood him, probably better than he liked to think.

"Dembe," he said, approaching the car, "can you leave with Mr Kaplan? I need to be with Elizabeth, and I need to go alone."

"Is it safe?"

A short nod — she wouldn't ask for him unless she was alone — and he was driving. Tried not to worry too much. He'd know what was wrong soon enough.

When he walked through her door, it was dim and still. His step was quiet enough, enough that no one heard. He walked quickly to the living room, only to find her, alone beside a small white crib, weeping silently into her hands. A small dog lay faithfully beside her, nose on her knee, whimpering.

He crouched beside her, heart breaking for her, knowing, knowing what it must be. "Oh, Lizzy," he said sadly.

"Red?" Choked out of a tight throat, she looked up at him, tear-streaked face flushed and abject in misery.

"Come here, now," he said roughly, and sat beside her on the floor, shooing away the dog, pulling her into his arms and cradling her close.

He stroked her back as she sobbed, harsh and loud in the empty house, cracking open in the safety of his hold. He whispered nonsense into her hair, rocked a little, every trick he knew to try and calm her. To ease even a small part of her suffering.

"You're not going through with it," he said gently. "The baby."

"I–I can't," she managed. "I–Tom…we…"

"It's okay, don't try to talk," he soothed. "Better to let it out, Lizzy. Cry as much as you need to."

And she did, soaking the fine wool of his overcoat, the silk of his tie, with salty waters; wrinkling his sleek lapels with desperate, clutching hands. He'd never cared less about the fate of a suit in his life.

Cared only for her, Elizabeth, lost to a fundamental sorrow. Lost because of him…no, he told himself firmly. There's only one person to blame here, and he would pay. One day soon, he would pay for this destruction.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and wished he could make things different for her.

Eventually, she quieted, just small hiccoughs of breath escaping her, her face still pressed to his chest. She mumbled something into his shirt, but he couldn't make it out.

"What was that, Lizzy?"

She pulled back so she could look him in the face, her own the very picture of devastation. "Why?"

Should he pretend not to understand? Prevaricate, hesitate?

He owed her more than that.

"I am truly sorry, Elizabeth," he said, voice rich with sincerity. "If it could have been any other way…"

"That's not answering me," she pointed out with a sniffle. "If you hadn't come here, sowing seeds and dropping all these mysterious hints and warnings, I wouldn't have any doubts. I wouldn't have had to give…to give up my baby."

"I did what I had to do," he said simply. She wasn't ready for the truth; they weren't there quite yet. "And I didn't put that box under your floor."

She shook her head at him. "Neither did Tom," she said, but her voice was unsteady, unsure.

"You see?" he said. "Doubt is there, with or without me. All I did was show it to you. And I am truly sorry for the repercussions of that."

"Repercussions," she scoffed, wiping at her eyes. "It feels…it feels like death. I feel so…empty."

"It is a loss, Lizzy," he agreed solemnly. "The death of a dream. But other dreams will come your way, I promise you that."

"You can't make those kinds of promises," she said. "You're not…you can't."

"I promise you," he repeated, meaning it with everything he had. "This loss, this devastation…it won't define your life, Lizzy. Other things, better things, will come your way."

"I don't want them." She started to sniffle again, and he could see her marshalling, trying not to cry. "I wanted this."

He kissed her cheeks lightly; pulled out his handkerchief to wipe away the wet streaks and blotches. She leaned into his touch; let her eyes close.

"Where is Tom?" he asked, despite himself. "Why isn't he here with you?"

She shrugged and turned her face away. "He was just as upset as I am," she said softly. "He needed time to process everything, to understand. I really blindsided him, I think."

"He should be here," Red said, trying to make his point without saying it, without rubbing in the obvious wrong.

"He needed time," she repeated. "But thank you for coming. For being here with me."

"Whenever and whatever you need, Lizzy," he said, and it was nothing less than a vow.

She sighed, letting her head fall back against his chest. "My head aches," she murmured. "I'm so tired."

"Come on, then." He stood, lifting her with him and guided her to the couch. "Lay down here," he ordered.

She curled up obediently, and he went to find a cloth. He didn't dare go upstairs, didn't want to scent her home and give himself away. Cause even more trouble for her. He found a clean dishcloth in a kitchen drawer instead; soaked it in cool water.

He knelt beside her head, wiped her face gently, and then folded and pressed the cold cloth to her forehead. She sighed again, long and still a little wet, but some of the tension eased out of her face, her shoulders. She pressed her head against his hand; he stroked back her hair.

"I shouldn't stay too much longer," he said regretfully, unable to stop touching her, her silky hair, her now-pale face.

She put a hand over his so they both cupped her cheek. "I wish," and her voice now sounded sleepy and distant. "I wish you could stay. I slept so well, last time…"

He wished it too, suddenly and fiercely, wished he could stay here in her home, and make it his. Tuck her into bed and care for her, be there for her, in body as well as spirit.

"I'll see you soon," he said, unable to articulate anything else. Lost, in a sea of tenderness. "You'll sleep well."

"Red…" A fading whisper, as he leaned in and kissed her softly.

He stood and walked to the door; looked back with something like longing, an ache in his gut.

"Goodnight, Elizabeth."