Oh, the king

Gone mad within his suffering

Called out for relief

Someone cure him of his grief

- Queen of Peace, Florence + the Machine


Author's Note: Because reactions can vary...

I.

He'd asked to meet her at her home or his. He sounded urgent when he called to arrange the logistics. She didn't blame his impatience. He was worried after all. She'd scared him with her sudden outburst, with the way she galloped in her desperation to hide from him. He didn't know how precious it was, the time they had left. He was unaware of the imminent blow that would be her admission. Once she admitted that she'd managed to fall in love with him, their odd relationship, such as it was, would change. It could end.

For once, he didn't know. And it was a blessing, she often thought. He was so lucky. Or maybe, he was not. Maybe, he was harboring similar feelings, as unlikely as such a prospect seemed to her. Perhaps he was just as unlucky.

II.

He felt it somehow, that he would not be allowed a second chance at fatherhood. Maybe it was the overwhelming amount of guilt his mind had accommodated over the years. Or maybe it was simply a devastatingly accurate hunch. He was proven correct either way. He had been retaining hope for as long as he could, of course. He'd envision himself as Lizzy's guardian, as the closest thing she'd have to a father. He'd daydream of silly things like walking her down the aisle. The closest thing to a granddaughter he'd ever have. Over the past months, Reddington had come to realize that Nietzsche had it quite right; all his suffering was merely the "how" on his quest to earn the "why" he'd been living for in the past four years. His love for Elizabeth was so grand, so otherworldly; it was the only meaning he'd ever need, he was sure of it. It was what made his life livable.

With a single sentence, she took away his "why".

III.

"I think I'm in love with you," she told him. They sat together for half an hour, making small talk. They were in his apartment, in the Narnia that would disappear for her once their conversation was through. Her fingers were touching the fabrics of his sofa and decorative pillows and she allowed herself a few greedy lungfuls of the air at his place. She bid the surroundings a final farewell, enveloping everything with her gaze. Just in case. She relished in the strange normality of their final moments before the blow that would follow. Only, experiencing something for the last time was no joy, it was agony. She'd never experience this again. There would not be them, not in the safe way they existed in their relationship now. She was going to close the door to their tiny, little realm. And she'd never be able to return.

And in a perverse way, she greedily, twistedly, wanted a lover and a guardian all at once.

She lost both.

IV.

"Was it something I did? Has my behavior triggered this?" he asked and she could tell he was unhappy. And unlucky in a way he had failed to foresee.

"Yes. But it was not that you were giving me wrong signals. I fell for all I received from you."

"I love you, Lizzy," he told her and his eyes were full to the brim. Neither of them were going to cry tears of joy that day.

"I know." She confirmed. Because she did know. It was why she was so completely devastated.

V.

They held each other and cried for hours, resting comfortably with her head on his chest – it was a position that seemed fitting for their different loves.

"How long can we go on like this? It can't last," she supplied, her head heavy from crying, on his chest still.

"No, it can't," he agreed but held her tighter nevertheless.

VI.

He'd leave her when he was sure his work was completed. He'd let her be. He'd lose a daughter and she'd lose the prospect of a very unsuitable lover. His poor girl that had somehow fallen in love with him. He couldn't help her. His immeasurable love for her wouldn't do. And her love for him made him shut his eyes with unease. They couldn't co-exist, loving each other the ways they did.

VII.

He asked her to call him when she got home and she nodded, resuming her quiet crying. She was not going to see it but he'd resume his the second he closed his door. He'd cry, maybe he'd weep for his lost daughter and for his lost "why".