Author's Note: Chapter 28 ends here.

Friday came very slowly that week. Her overwhelmed mind was so angry at Thursday for how reluctant it was to come to an end. Every hour prior to Red's return seemed resolved to bring her closer to the dangerous internal turmoil she was trying to escape from.

Elizabeth was working hard, so very hard, to suppress the irrational jealousy that was eating her. The sheer force of it was submerging her whole, wrestling with he resolve to keep her sanity intact.

Unfairly, Reddington had had a life before her. Once upon a long-forgotten time, he didn't even know her. A lifetime ago, he didn't feel a single ounce of love for her. A prospect so unimaginable, yet so clearly manifested in the photograph she had found and taken home with her. She had no right to resent his youth. His previous happiness was not something to be punished. Even though her greed for him begged to differ, she couldn't allow herself to be selfish with him. The act of always giving her everything was... what he did. He did it endlessly. It was her turn. She had to cherish every one of his past smiles and all the reasons behind them. And she would.

She considered questioning him about the picture as soon as he stepped foot inside her home. He wouldn't be surprised, either. He'd always known of her inquisitive nature and how little patience she had when she was after something, whatever it was. The questions that were burning her would come to the surface sooner rather than later. But first she would love him. She would feed and please him. She'd let him sleep right in the middle of her chest and his breath would caress her breast and nipple. He'd wake her up with a hand between her legs and she would be wet and ready.

Her jealousy was not going to drown them.

"Come sit with me, please," he pleaded when she stood from the couch and announced she was going to cook for him or die trying. "Come on", he nudged her more for good measure when he sensed she was about to abandon the idea of food. He was visibly tired. It made her want to kiss his eyelids and lull him to sleep.

"Tonight was supposed to be all special and romantic, you know," she informed with a huff as she nestled herself next to him again. Her hand found its way inside his shirt and stayed there – on his right breast.

"Well, you've always loved a good plan," he told her and laughed when she squeezed his chest hard, in acknowledgement of his wit. "What were you going to cook?" he asked her and angled his head in order to look at her face.

"Roasted lamb," she laughed into his neck. After all, such an ambitious prospect was laughable; she didn't cook. He cooked. After they'd had sex and before. It made him happy, he always insisted.

"Will you allow me to take you out, Lizzie? If you feel like lamb, I know just the place. Even I can't cook meat as impeccably," he admitted regretfully.

"Aren't you tired? Will you have enough energy for me after?" she asked him with gleaming, playful eyes.

"Well, I will need to find a way to stay in shape after our meal, won't I?" he kissed her quickly then, but his tongue had enough time to tease hers.

He could be so unfair sometimes.

They made love once that night. It was so delightfully easy and perfect. She liked how she didn't have to wear lace; her cotton underwear made him just as happy as he kissed and bit her through her panties. His cologne mixed in with the smell of her clean sheets. Now she could sleep. Now that he was back to her and back to being 55. Revisiting him at 25 would have to wait.

One more sleep.

Or a hundred.