AN: Thank you guys so much for your sweet comments. Enjoy chapter 2!


The car ride calms him, the streets ahead deserted and nighttime surrounding them.

Her head is resting on his shoulder now, a change from her earlier position, and he hopes she is comfortable, sleeping soundly and dreaming of happier things or of nothing at all. He wants to take her hand, just something to ground him, but he's afraid of waking her and remains still instead, listens to her breathing, closes his eyes to fully focus.

She's alive, she's alive, she's alive.

It's how he survives, with the image of her inside his head. In times of need, in times of solitude.

He thinks about the time she called him in the middle of the night. A spontaneous decision on her end and a conversation ultimately going nowhere, no blacklister, no intel, are you okay and I'm not sure why I called, she had sounded oddly shy, embarrassed even, and he wished he could see her face to gauge her emotions. He had teased her, an attempt to lighten the mood, asked if she had been missing him, if life was too dull without him. He could feel her hesitation, held his breath until her response. Yes.

He thinks about the time they went out for dinner. Another arduous case waiting to be solved and not even a lead, her desk covered in files and the atmosphere agitated, I can't take a break and you should eat, he had finally convinced her that she needed to focus on something else for a bit, clear her head. He had picked the restaurant, had led her to a quiet booth that would grant them some privacy, had watched her break down right in front of him, stressed and exhausted and I don't know what to do, Red. When he had eventually dropped her off at her house, all comforting words and reassuring touches, she had kissed him on the cheek before saying goodbye. Thank you.

He thinks about the time she saved his life. On the run and partners, fugitives from whatever fate had in store for them, chased by people who just didn't understand, how will this end and you will get through this, he had been in control of every threat and this wasn't his first time, either, he had been running for most of his life. Just a moment of negligence and someone with a gun, her voice calling for him, Red, he had barely turned around in time to hear the gunshot, a lifeless body sinking to the ground behind him and the sudden realization that she would kill for him, too. She had grabbed his arm and pulled him into an alley, away from death to momentary shelter, had inspected his side to make sure he wasn't hit. With a final nod she had fixed his jacket, smoothened the lapels to avoid his gaze. A bashful smile and you need to be more careful, okay.

He tilts his head and leans to the side then, her hair soft against his cheek as her fingers begin to move, seeking and longing, as they find his hand in the dark, as he loses himself in a memory of two broken souls seated on a bench, the world closing in around them, and he can feel her pulse now, his only salvation, her skin warm against his.

He'll bring her somewhere safe, a place where none of this will matter, far away from the perils that have damaged them.

I never wanted you to be-

He won't fail her again.

Like me.


He doesn't check the time when the car pulls up the driveway. He can hear the ocean in the distance, yes, he thinks, this will do, a refuge for the two of them, his most valuable estate for quite simple reasons. It's where he can be himself, disregard the persona he has so carefully crafted, a place that has proven cathartic in times of challenge and turmoil.

She doesn't move as the car door opens, doesn't even flinch as he gently touches her arm. Lizzie, he says, we're here, but nothing, and he lets her be, picks her up instead like he had done mere hours ago, her face in his neck and hold on, Lizzie, just hold on, and she's slowly waking now, too, her body beginning to shake from the cold, the shock, the pain, and he's holding her tighter, his lips near her ear, whispers of consolation, only focus on my voice and nothing else, the last steps until he reaches the guest room, it's alright, until he carefully puts her down on the bed, it will all be alright. He dims the light on the nightstand, doesn't want her to wince at the sudden brightness. She looks too small, too fragile, and he knows he has to be practical, check for injuries, keep her warm, let her rest. He hopes she will let him, that she trusts him enough to help her.

She's barely awake, looks back at him through hazy eyes as he calmly asks her if she's hurt, if there are wounds that require attention. She shakes her head and relief floods through him, and then he sees her lips move, I'm so tired, Red, he hears her say as he sits down on the edge of the bed, I know, Lizzie, his hand covering hers, I know. He wants her to be comfortable, excuses himself briefly to prepare the bathroom for her, find something for her to wear, take your time and I'll be right outside if you need anything.

When she steps out of the shower, it's his bathrobe she picks over the neatly folded stack of clothing next to the sink.

When she opens the door and finds him waiting for her, she comes undone.

He catches her, holds her to him with all the strength he can muster, his fingers tracing patterns up her back while her tears soak through his shirt, her suffering evident on his skin now and burning and burning and burning, he wants to help her so desperately.