(Another fluff fic. Yes, some of the theories are different in this one, and probably will continue to change in each of my fanfictions as time goes on; my theories will evolve like everything else.)

Raymond Reddington was not a morning person. He never had been, he never would be. Well, that was somewhat a lie; some days, he was largely a morning person so long as he got his coffee and a crossword puzzle, while others he stayed in bed. This, however, was one of those days he was not. He was bundled tightly into the blankets of his bed, cocooned under them in a tangle, the comforter thrown haphazardly over his head. It was almost unusual, considering ninety percent of the time he hated to have a comforter on the bed. But today, he was burrowed all the way under it, hiding his face from the sunlight.

Well, to be honest, it wasn't just a matter of whether he was or wasn't a morning person some days. Some days his life as the Concierge of Crime, of everything he'd been thrown into without a choice, caught up to him and he just didn't want to see the light of day. Some mornings he'd wish those two and a half minutes could have lasted forever, given him some peace. But he supposed there was no rest for the wicked, the damned, the tortured. There was simply no room on this Earth for people like him, as much as it might need people like him. Or so it seemed to him by this point. He had done his best to be a loving husband, to give everything he had, but everything had fallen apart in shambles. She had died and he hadn't been able to do a damn thing to protect her. And the girl they thought was his daughter was "presumed dead", yet she was beautiful and very much alive, hiding right in front of everyone's noses.

Elizabeth Keen.

His mind drifted to the scar on her wrist. The odd burn scar, she claimed her father had given her. Not her real father, but rather her adopted father. The trauma from the fire had left her with no memory of him as her father, being she was only seven. He knew he would have to leave, to make sure she was safe and protected. It was his fault she had gotten burned in the fire that had destroyed his house that Christmas Eve. The very thought made him shake and shiver, the dark, criminal side of him coming out; the "monster". He hated himself for letting her get hurt.

And hell be damned if he would let anything happen to her, ever again.

All of a sudden, the blanket was thrown back, and he squalled pitifully, which faded into a groan, tugging the comforter back under his head.

"Get up."

"Mm."

He heard her growl but burrowed farther under the blankets, closing his eyes. He could hardly call last night a "fitful sleep". He had tossed and turned in the grips of his violent nightmares, of the phantoms of all his guilt and regret howling, of all his demons, his enemies laughing at him, hurting him. Wanting to make him feel pain until he screamed. It was a relatively normal occurrence, one he'd shake himself out of in the middle of the night and prop himself against the headboard, stare blankly at the disarray of bedsheets and feel utterly haunted. Completely trapped. It seemed he was only a morning person if they gave him a break the previous night, which was rare; otherwise, his enthusiasm in the morning was relatively forced. The mask of Red Reddington, the Concierge of Crime, and not the broken soul of Raymond Reddington that hid underneath. He did not want to openly admit that he felt like he was drowning every time he dreamed.

He groaned again when she tried to pull the comforter away from him, giving it a forceful jerk and rolling over so his back faced her, reduced to nothing more than a bundle with the sheets haphazardly wrapped around him. She sighed exasperatedly and suddenly pulled the blanket with such agility, he didn't have time to react. He let out a loud, threatening growl, trying to scare her off, but she wouldn't be budged. He kept his eyes closed, curling into himself.

"Fine. I can play bad cop, worse cop."

"Lizzie, go away." His voice was a snarl, startling her slightly. She had never heard him use that tone with her before.

"No."

With a whoosh, the curtains were thrown open and sunlight flooded into the home he owned in Baltimore. He mumbled something and grabbed the nearest pillow, shoving it over his face and moving his right arm around his body to his left shoulder, gripping the sheets and tugging them tighter around himself. She was silent, but he heard her footsteps across the hardwood floor, covered by a fancy rug of sorts, noting she was returning to the bed. He made the faintest noise of surprise when she jerked the pillow from his face, his hands frantically reaching for it, his brown eyes flying open.

"Get up!"

"Leave me be!" Reddington snapped suddenly, though his formal choice of wording lacked more than usual, flying into a sitting position and grabbing at the pillow. She held it out of his reach and tossed it across the room, causing him to growl quietly, but this time his shoulders sagged and his expression changed to a somber one. He was mellower in the morning, his defenses breached and the real man underneath able to be seen.

She almost gasped when she realized how bad he looked. His clothes did not match, as if he had thrown them on in a fit, or perhaps a breakdown, of sorts. They were severely wrinkled and untidy, quite unlike him. There were dark shadows lining the underside of his eyes, as if he'd not slept at all last night, and she was almost sure if he had hair, it would be beyond messy. He wasn't even wearing any socks, his toes curled into the mess of sheets. He must have assumed she was gasping in shock at his words because he averted his eyes, mumbling, "My apologies."

"You look terrible."

"Why, thank you."

"No, I..."

"I know I do."

Elizabeth frowned, opening her mouth but then closing it again, seeming to think better of it. Red raised his head, his brown eyes meeting her deep blue ones again, curling his knees up to his chest and resting his elbows on his knees. She thought perhaps she could see the ghost of the man that had once not been a criminal, and looking into his eyes, she realized she was wrong about what she had said when he had killed the Stewmaker; he was no monster. He was more human than any monster she had ever met. There was a short silence between them before she opened her mouth again, saying firmly, "You need to get up. I'm taking you down to the headquarters."

He scowled. It was the most comical thing she had ever seen almost because it could hardly be taken seriously. He rubbed at his sleepless eyes, muttering, "I am entitled to do as I please."

"You still have a deal with us."

He did not argue this time. Instead, he seemed to give in, wearily nodding his head. He glanced around the room, pressing the palms of his hands into the mattress of the bed. "Alright. Allow me to get dressed into something more fitting."

She nodded, turning to the door but froze in her tracks.

"Red?"

"Yes, Lizzie?"

A pause. Hesitation. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Surprise registered on his face before his expression fell back to a neutral, closed-off one, finally having gained control of that mask again. However, there was a distinct lack of cheerfulness. "You don't want to know."

"That's a lie."

He produced his first smile of the morning, but it was weak and fragile, as if it might break. He opened his mouth, his mind working for one of his clever reasons, but- another first of many this morning- he could come up with nothing more than, "Because."

Elizabeth frowned but turned away.

She came back a while later, finding the door cracked open. He had not come to breakfast as he said he would, had not come out of his room to go with her to the HQ. She feared he had, for some reason, left. Instead, she found him bundled in the blankets again, the curtains jerked shut once more and leaving the room dark. It must have been the most sleep he'd gotten all day. But she couldn't let him sleep in, as much as she wanted to; she had to get him to the office.

She walked up to the bed, reaching out a hand to shake his shoulder. She abruptly became aware he was making quiet noises, his expression not at all at peace, talking in his sleep too quiet for her to understand. As soon as her hand rested on his shoulder, his body jerked as if she had hurt him and he did not seem to wake. Heavy sleeper. Instead, his fingers twitched slightly, his legs kicking off the blankets, mumbling, "No, no, no..."

"Red?" She shook him lightly but that seemed to make it worse and he began to writhe, trying to get away from her touch, but she gripped his shoulder firmly.

"Please, can't you just leave me alone...?"

"Reddington!" she hissed, wanting to feel irritated, wanting to shake off her concern but it was beginning to overwhelm her. She wasn't sure why she felt so drawn to him, as if she knew him from somewhere, somewhere she should remember. His lower lip wobbled and she froze, feeling her heart stop. Was he... going to cry? Raymond Reddington, Concierge of Crime, ruthless, reckless traitor to everything he had once been loyal? The man who put his emotions aside no matter what the cost and cared for nothing but his own benefit?

Except he had her, and she had him. There was no fighting it. There was some sort of distinct connection she couldn't make out, something that her brain kept connecting to the word "father". Why, she knew not.

"D-don't hurt her... please don't hurt my daughter..."

She opened her mouth, intending to try to wake him from his nightmare again, when his next words made everything else stop.

"Don't hurt Lizzie..."

Her knees went weak as she watched tears escape his closed eyelids and slip down his tired face as he curled himself tighter into the blankets, as if he were trying to shrink, to disappear. It must have been a nightmare of when everything was simpler and he was not a criminal because there was innocence in the way he said it, desperation he would not have expressed if he were to his senses and conscious. She forced herself not to think about it too hard now; knowing she had to wake him up before he ended up hurting himself in his sleep. She threw the blankets off of him, shouting as loud as she could, "Raymond Reddington, wake up!"

His brown eyes flew open, a breath escaping him like he'd been drowning or holding his breath.

Calling your name in the midnight hour,

reaching for you from the endless dream.

So many miles between us now,

but you are always here

with me.

His hands almost immediately reached out for her, his eyes haunted, still half-caught in the dream. He touched her delicate cheekbones, his touch fleeting, his fingers drifting down to his sides. He pushed himself up, and before she could try to say something, his fingers were on her neck, searching out her pulse, his other hand gripping her shoulder tightly. He seemed immensely relieved, his expression softening, the haunted look fading slightly.

"Lizzie... I..."

She cut him off this time, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly and he crumpled suddenly, shaking against her, but did not sob. Still, she could feel his tears soak through her shirt and she hugged him tighter, trying to comfort him like he had her; but he had done it in a natural, fatherly fashion, and she knew why now. Her mind was spinning and she was remembering all the things she'd forgotten; of how he was her father, of everything. She had forgotten because she had received a nasty concussion, severing her ties with all her connections unless something very triggering happened and awoke them from their slumber deep inside her. That was why the lie detector had not picked up she was lying; because, to her, it was a truth. Because she had not remembered, and it was buried so deep in the unconscious part of her brain, the clever machine could not find it.

There was a reason...

I collided into you.
"I tried so hard to protect you. I did what I had to," he whispered, his formal wording chased away like the wind. He sniffed against her and pushed his head against her shoulder, closing his eyes. She quieted him, rubbing his back lightly.

She did not even realize what she had said until the words had escaped her lips, "I know. I forgive you."

She must have started hyperventilating all of a sudden because the next thing she knew, the tables were turned and he was holding her instead, rocking her back and forth and whispering sweet nothings while she whimpered deliriously. "Red..."

"Shh."

"I-"

"Shh, shh, hush, Lizzie."

She swallowed hard, curling up against the warmth of his comforting embrace. Comforted in the arms of her father- her real one. Biological father. She curled her fingers around the collar of his shirt, gripping the lapels tightly. He was looking down at her, the mask gone, nothing left but a weary soul and affection. He brushed her hair back. "I lied. You're not a monster, you're not perfect. You were just... protecting me."

"You don't have to say that."

"No, I mean it.

"Elizabeth..."

"No. You're more human than anyone I've ever met..."

He was silent, a neutral expression forming, but he smiled after a long moment as if it was the greatest gift she had ever given him. "Thank you, Lizzie."

"You should rest. I'll tell them I was sick and you took care of me or something."

She gave him no room to protest, pulling the blankets off the floor and curling up against him like a little girl, closing her eyes. He held his breath, slowly wrapping his arms around her in a protective, fatherly manner, allowing himself to lie down and let her rearrange the blankets over them, her fingers brushing over his face, the lines under his eyes. "Sleep."

She snuggled into him and as he drifted away he heard her whisper, "I have you. My father."

"And I, you, Elizabeth. And I have you."

They slept.

And for once, the demons didn't drag him down in the black, but at the same time, he didn't dream of a blank, lonely nothingness.

This time...

There was peace.