When she wakes she can sense his presence immediately. She can sense the shift in his mood, and she has not yet seen him. Her vision is blurred as she cracks her eyelids open, her mouth and throat dry. She stretches her legs out, searching for the cool side of the bed, a stark contrast to the warmth of her flesh and turns her head to the door.

There he stands, fedora in place and sunglasses already on. Black vest and pants today, looking dapper as usual. His eyes are soft and smile gentle as he steps slowly into the room.

"Glad to see you're awake, I thought you'd never get up," he jokes, smiling at her. She ignores the remark, but does glance at the time. He was right; it was early in the afternoon. She'd slept so soundly and so deeply, for the first time in weeks.

"Why do you insist on wearing clothes that are really not suited for this climate, Red?" She asks, her voice husky from sleep. She slips out from underneath the quilt and slides off the bed, her bare feet coming into contact with the cool tiles beneath them. He is laughing at her, a deep rumble within his chest, a conceding smirk accompanying it.

"It comes with the name, Lizzie," he eventually replies, as he sidles up to her, a piece of paper in his hand. She takes it from him. "I figured it was time we left our little Haven for something new; something with a more... well let us say diverse range of company."

"So you bought a yacht?" Lizzie asks incredulously. She glances over to him, notices the way his eyes spark with amusement. He misses the banter; he's trying to joke with her. He's trying to bring her back from the dark abyss she is so precariously close to.

"I borrowed a yacht," Red corrects, moving to Liz's wardrobe and pulling out her suitcases. "We could leave these clothes here; I've had the Seven Seas stocked, unless they have sentimental value to you?"

Liz furrows her brow, and begins to throw her clothes into the suitcase now laid out on her bed. She leaves a pair of shorts and a singlet beside the case, ready to dress into later.

"They're perfectly good clothes, Red, there would be no reason to throw them away."

He makes a noise of agreement, tilts his head in acknowledgement and heads out the door, leaving Liz to her packing. She notices when he stops in the doorway and turns to him, eyeing him curiously.

"Should I go down to the beach and collect the clothes you left there last night, then?" he asks, his expression aloof, feigning innocence.

She slams the lid of her suitcase closed as she hears the door click and his footsteps retreat deeper into the villa. She rubs her hands over her face, trying to ignore the heat under her fingertips.

In truth, she had never intended for him to find her like that. She had merely wanted to wade out into the cool water, shed of everything but her most basic self. She had wanted to cleanse. When she had heard his quiet approach in the water, she'd frozen. For all her inner thoughts and monologue over the past few hours about confidence and security, they'd all been torn away. All Raymond Reddington had to do was wade out into the ocean and wrap her in a towel.

It was piled on the floor at the end of her bed, a white puddle. It was unlike him to leave something in such a state, judging by his reaction to the condition of her room. Perhaps he was as unsettled as she had been.

Sighing to herself she slips on the fresh set of clothes she left out and grabs her suitcase off the bed and drags it out into the living room. He is standing by the door, looking out to the beach, fingers linked loosely behind his back.

"So, when you say 'diverse range of company', who exactly do you mean?"

"Oh, I'm sure you can imagine, Lizzie, acquaintances and contacts. Rich and important people that may be able to assist us in our travels," he responds, moving over to the coffee table where a glock rests on its side.

"So, people who could potentially kill us?" Liz asks, trying to keep her voice as level as possible. Her hands twitch slightly at the sight of the weapon.

"Well, anyone could potentially kill us, Lizzie, that's why we go prepared," Red responds, passing her the weapon and watching as she slides it between her shorts and lower back. The cool barrel pressed against her skin is unnervingly comfortable.

"I'm all for being prepared, Red, but I feel as if putting ourselves on a boat with people who may kill us, for God knows how long, might not be a very good plan."

He steps towards her, expression blank, but his eyes search her face, assessing.

"It's a yacht," he murmurs, and Liz can't help but huff at him in frustration, "Lizzie, I know every single person who will be sailing with us. I know what drives them, I know what they want and I can most likely give it to them. We will be safe. You will be safe for as long as I am around," his voice is gravelly, forceful as if he is willing her to believe and trust him. So she nods her head, because she has no other option anymore. She's a murderer.

He does not seem satisfied with her answer, and for a moment he lingers, before he steps past her and grabs her luggage. She follows him out to the car, and slides into the back seat.

The drive is quiet, the driver only speaking to Reddington occasionally. He is his usually jovial self when he responds, but when silence falls once more, his eyes seem to dim as he watches out of the window. Liz shifts in her seat, the butt of the gun grinding into her back uncomfortably.

They arrive at the harbour, and Liz thinks that if Red was trying to be inconspicuous about their movements, he had gone about it the wrong way. It was enormous, luxurious. It was undeniably Reddington. The Seven Seas may have well of been the only yacht, or boat, in the marina, its presence was that great, like the man who was destined to reside in it.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Red breathes as he passes their driver some cash and gets out of the car. He pops the boot and pulls Liz's luggage out. Notably, he has none.

"Well... that's one way you could describe it," Liz states blandly, ignoring the admonishing look Red shoots at her, before he sets off towards the water. She follows after him, apprehension coiling in her gut. She must admit that it's nicer than Tom's boat, but quickly brushes the thought aside and focuses on Reddington's retreating back.

As they make their approach, a man, presumably a staff member, comes out to greet them. Red briefly embraces him, the Concierge of Crime persona cloaked around him like the fine clothes he wears, before passing Liz's luggage over. The man introduces himself to Liz as Colin, before bidding them a good night and disappearing into the hulking beast before them.

Liz turns to Red, assuming that he knows where they're going. He looks boyish in his glee, bouncing on the balls of his feet as his tongue briefly flickers over his lips. He turns to look at her and he appears so young, his eyes glinting at her mischievously, as if he knows some big secret. He probably does.

"Shall we?" he asks, and waits for her to walk past, her uncertainty known to him, obvious by the way he grasps her hand and leads her inside.

It is extravagant, the interior, so much so that Liz has to take a moment to gather her surroundings. The design is all rosewood furniture, with blood red and beige couches. There is a model of the yacht in a glass case next to a large book case that lines the far wall, predictably full of books and mementos. She drifts over to it, brow furrowed.

There is an Autobot symbol, in silver, framed beside the book shelf. On the actual shelf, in front of the copious amounts of books was a strange white cube, which appeared more like lots of separate cubes glued together. On one of the books was painted a crude leaf in the shape of a star. Lizzie frowned as she heard Red chuckle in amusement as she scoured the rest of the items. There was a silver cylinder, which looked awfully suspicious, so Liz left it where it was. Her eyes were then drawn to a framed photo of a man, bearded and wearing glasses, dressed in daggy clothes sitting and next to a Triceratops.

She whipped her head around so fast that she almost lost balance. Red grinned at her like the Cheshire Cat.

"How the Hell do you know Steven Spielberg?" She gasps, glancing all around her in awe. She briefly registers the clinking of champagne glasses and murmur of voices further inside, or perhaps on deck. She focuses back on to Red. He's leaning against the bar, head tilted to the side watching her, hands in his pockets.

"He desperately needed funding for one of his filming endeavours, and I was more than happy to help. Land before Time had always been a favourite film of mine," Red comments, as he wanders over to her, eyeing the shelf. He reaches out and grasps the book with the crude leaf sprawled across the front cover.

"A tree star," Liz whispers, tracing the outline with her finger. Her eyes drift shut of their own accord, tears stinging behind her lids.

She's back in Nebraska, cuddled up with Sam on the couch, in her soft pyjamas and a bowl of popcorn wedged between her legs and her Little Foot teddy tucked under her arm. They were bathed in the soft light of the television, and Sam's head kept nodding down to his chest. Lizzie would gently pinch his arm, this was her favourite part.

She looked back to Reddington, standing so close now, and his expression is stricken, because he knows that film was important to her. Of course he knows. Yet, for once, Lizzie believes he didn't bring it up on purpose, so she breathes deep and leans into him. He runs his hand gently up her back to rest at the nape of her neck, his fingers gently threaded through the hair there. She balls his shirt in her hand, attempting to get her breathing steady.

A sharp bark of laughter makes them both jump, Lizzie mentally noting that it is actually possible to startle Raymond Reddington. He steps away from her, his hands dropping to his sides and smile back in place.

"I have a suspicious feeling I'm not dressed appropriately for the company were about to go see," Lizzie whispers, her voice raw.

Red smiles at her, and shakes his head.

"You look lovely, sweetheart, but there is a dress in the room," he points to her left, just past the bar where there is a corridor and presumably a door at the end of it. "That I think it may suit your taste."

She thanks him quietly, and once he assures her that he'll wait there, she walks off to her new quarters.

The suite is just as lavish as the room she had just left, but the interior design is different. The rosewood has been replaced for teak, the red and beige furniture now upholstered in white. Liz looks around her, disbelieving. The bed is enormous and extravagant, unsurprisingly, but the sheer amount of couches inside the room was just ridiculous. Lizzie could comfortably sit at least ten people within the suite. Why on Earth would someone need that many couches in their room?

She shrugs, sure that she will never be able to comprehend the rich and famous, before the dress, hanging up on the wardrobe, catches her eye. She sighs, it's beautiful. She pulls it off the hanger and drapes it upon her bed. It is black, the top half sequined and sparkling in the light, the bottom fitted against her legs. She strips off into her underwear, grimly assessing her reflection in the mirror that hangs above her bed. Her hip bones jut out, ribs a bit too obvious for comfort. She shakes her head and slides the dress over her head, flattening the material with sweaty palms.

Liz walks into the bathroom, not all that surprised to see that there is two of everything, and the interior is marble. She pins her hair up into what she would describe as a 'messy bun', but she hopes Red will think it's presentable. She foregoes the makeup, too tired to go to the effort.

Red once again has his back to her, facing the window and looking out to sea. His shoulders are lax and he rests his weight on his right leg, lightly tapping a rhythm against his thigh. She makes eye contact with him in the reflection of the window.

"Once again breathtaking, Lizzie," he states as he turns to face her, striding over to her with a confidence that only Reddington could achieve. "Come now, I'm sure everyone is eager to see you."

She scoffs at him, but follows him past the bookshelf and down the corridor. The chatter she heard earlier rises in volume, the smell of food wafting towards them. Liz notes how Red sucks a breath in between his teeth, links his arm with hers and then stands that little bit taller. The Concierge of Crime.

The room hushes as they walk in, a dozen couples face to look at them. All wealthy and beautiful and apt to the environment they occupy. Liz is suddenly very aware of the gun she left in a pile of clothes in her room. Reddington must feel her tense because he gently squeezes her arm.

"Raymond Reddington," remarks a man to Liz's left. He has the most impressive walrus moustache she has ever seen, and it quivers as he smiles. His greying hair is tied back into a plait, and his three-piece suits looks as if the buttons are about to bust, his stomach so large.

"Ah! Wilfred! It's been years!" replies Reddington, releasing Liz's arm and going to embrace the man, pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks, before turn back to her. "Wilfred, this is an associate of mine, Elizabeth."

Wilfred practically beams at her and thrusts a meaty palm out for her to shake. His skin is hot and clammy, from, what Liz can only assume is, poor life choices and alcohol. She glances over to Red, feeling out of place and confused.

He looks over the assortment of people before them, smiling, and then all at once they stand and move towards him. Liz takes a step back, overwhelmed as they shake Red's hand and embrace him and kiss him and treat him as their closest of friends. And then, one by one, they turn to her and Liz can't help but smile at Red through the sea of people as they introduce themselves, because he is truly in his element. He looks so happy.

They say that they've known Reddington for years. They say that he sponsored them for their education, that he paid for some serious medical procedures, he found their missing daughter, he recovered priceless family heirlooms. One woman, Victoria, mentions the 'incredible thing he can do with his tongue' and Liz is forced to avert her eyes from the man in question until her blush subsides.

It is clear to Liz that, knowing Reddington as she does, that these actions would have been motivated by some benefit for his empire. And perhaps she is right in a sense, as she continues to observe, profile, that he gained something from them all. Loyalty. All of these people, they love him, respect him because he had helped them when he could. None of them feared him. The glint Tom spoke of, whenever he mentioned Reddington's name, in people's eyes, it wasn't present.

After introductions, everyone once again takes their designated seats, delving back into the delicious food sprawled along the table. Red grasps her by the elbow and guides her to the seat next to his. He pulls out her chair, ever the gentlemen, and waits for her to sit. Once she has, he leans in, his breath on her exposed neck, and whispers,

"I wouldn't put much heed into what Victoria says; she really has no idea what I'm capable of."

He laughs as he takes his own seat, looking completely unfazed by his remark as Lizzie tries not to choke on her wine.

The rest of the night is loud chatter and watching Red and eating beautiful food and talking to beautiful people. Liz, for the first time in weeks, feels as if she can actually relax. Wilfred, it turns out, is the owner of a very flash and expensive hotel chain. He tells her that Red had helped him in a desperate time of need, when he'd fallen into an alcoholic stupor and almost gambled away his family, that he owed not only the Concierge of Crime, but Raymond Reddington himself, a large part of his life. Liz listens politely and comments when necessary, but her eyes were constantly drawn to the company by her side. He's slumped in his chair, grin firmly in place and eyes sparkling, but he looks as if he is tiring, the hand he holds his glass of wine in, drooping. The other's seem to notice it as well, or perhaps their own suites and plush beds are calling them, because they begin to depart, bidding Red and herself goodnight.

She shifts in her seat to look at Red as the last couple leaves, to find that he is already staring at her. His head, like usual when he is observing her, is tilted to the side, his eyes are thoughtful. He blinks slowly as he reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

"You seem extremely happy tonight," Liz comments idly, gently nudging his leg with her foot. Red chuckles at her, shifts so he is staring up at the ceiling. He absentmindedly swirls the remaining wine in his glass.

"As do you," he replies, his voice rough and serious, before he looks back to her, a smile pulling at his lips. "I take it you have never sailed across an ocean before Lizzie? You've never been on a sail boat surrounded by sea with no land in sight. Without even the possibility of sighting land for days to come? To stand at the helm of your destiny?"

Liz shakes her head slowly, because this sounds awfully familiar.

"Well, I don't expect you to understand at the moment then, but perhaps by the end of this trip, you may," Red remarks, frowning slightly at the smirk on her face, "What?"

"I believe you, Red, that one day I may understand, but by the end of the trip? I don't think that'll be possible," Lizzie says soberly, reaching out to grasp his forearm. He leans forward, seemingly concerned.

"Why's that, Lizzie?"

She leans over and whispers in his ear,

"Because we're on a yacht."

Lizzie stands and smirks down at him while he laughs and wanders off to her bedroom, feeling victorious. Little does she know that Red is staring after her, shaking his head, because they're the basically same thing Lizzie.