disclaimer: not mine.

"And that's how I came to be tumbling through the troposphere at 120 miles per hour," he says. "Jubal was plummeting, too, but luckily, he had a parachute and I managed to grab onto him just in time. He cushioned my fall," Red says with a small grin.

"Were you scared?" she asks, already half-asleep.

He gives her a faint smile. "I was terrified. My mouth was so dry, I couldn't speak. I couldn't stand up. My hands kept shaking for hours," he says with laughter in his voice. "Oh it was a blast."

She regards him. Raymond Reddington being terrified. From the outside, it's probably not much different from him being content or worried or angry. He's annoyingly good at hiding. He hides even when he stands right in front of someone. But, at the very least, she can see him hide now.

"Yes...?" he prompts, his voice pulling her out of her reverie.

She must have been staring at him for a while. "I'm just trying to picture what it looks like."

Amused, he tilts his head.

"You being scared," she says, answering his silent question.

His amusement fades. His gaze drops. He looks at her bruises and she feels a rush of confusion. She clearly has an effect on him but it's a puzzling one that feels beyond her control.

"You did scare me today," he says after a long pause, then glances back up at her. "For a moment, I thought I lost you," he admits.

"Is that why you were in such a hurry to stash me away?"

He hesitates, then gives in. "Yes."

"Can I leave?"

"You're not my prisoner."

And yet she feels chained to him. Feels pulled. "What, then?" she asks. "What am I to you?"

He looks at her, taking his time. "Everything, Lizzie," he says at last. His voice is thick and gravelly and soothing. "You are everything."

A tiny, involuntary smile tugs at her lips. "That's not a real answer, Red."

Sounds of knocking shatter the fuzzy stillness. Dembe appears at the door. Red gives him a small nod, then looks back at Liz.

The mood shifts again.

The soft playfulness is gone. A smile still shadows his lips but she feels him tensing up. It affects her, too.

"I need to take care of something but I'll be back soon," he says and gets to his feet. So does she - with surprising speed - and their bodies collide. She quickly steadies herself but he doesn't move and she gets stuck between him and the couch.

"I have to... I have to call Cooper and... I-I need to go home," she says. All of a sudden, her body is vibrating with a hazy sense of urgency - a gnawing need to take action. Any action.

He knows the feeling. He also knows how unwise it is to react blindly and impulsively. That's the only reason Tom Keen is still alive.

"Your home is a crime scene, Lizzie," he reminds her. His gaze is dark and tinged with a distant, dull ache. "It's not safe. Not yet."

Not yet. Those two words set off alarm bells in her brain. "Are you going to kill him?" she asks point blank.

There's a pause. He considers her question, then answers it with one of his own: "Do you want me to kill him?"

She remains silent, her tearful gaze fixed on him. She starts to unravel again. How did things get so messed up so fast? A year ago she was planning to start a family with Tom and now a tiny part of her wants to give consent to his murder. She pushes the thought away and inhales, clearing her head and pulling herself together. That tiny part is not in control yet. "What good would that do?"

He regards her silently. A sad, faint smile curves his lips. "Yes. Unfortunately, dead people make subpar conversationalists," he says. "And there are some questions our dear Tom must answer."

"You know where he is?" It sounds more like a statement.

"In hospital," he says. "They are keeping him overnight. Agent Cooper will have him transferred tomorrow morning."

Her eyes narrow. "So he didn't run."

"He's not finished. Whatever he had planned is still in play."

"If you go, I'm coming with you."

He shakes his head. "No."

"It wasn't a request."

"You're exhausted and emotional," he says.

Her eyes flash with anger. "Says the embodiment of impartiality," she counters.

He grinds his molars, fixing her with a stare. "Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Lizzie."

"I think it suits me just fine. But I still I can't let you kidnap and torture him."

"He tried to kill you."

"Yes, I know. I was there," she says. Apparently, he is rubbing off on her a little bit. "And I want him to pay. I want answers but we need to do this the right way. The smart way. You wanted to work with me, so work with me."

"He doesn't deserve your protection."

"It's not him I'm trying to protect."

Her declaration catches him by surprise but he is careful not to show it. He doesn't say anything, either. The silence grows thick and heavy between them. It starts to fill up with hesitance and rapid heartbeats. Hope wells up in him but he remains still. Waiting. Eyes locked on her. What happens next must be her choice. Pushed by a strange, vague need, she moves closer. Her hand drifts to his, and her fingertips lightly brush against his wrist, then trail down along the back of his hand, sliding over the ridges of arteries and knuckles. It's a warm, exploratory touch. Light but intimate. Cautious but curious. His jaw muscles clench and unclech. His pupils dilate. His breathing becomes slightly shallower. She enjoys the way his skin feels against hers. She enjoys the effects elicited by this simple physical contact. She enjoys that she's thrown him slightly off-balance and that he's struggling to hide. Then his eyes narrow. "Are you trying to seduce me?" he asks, his tone mock serious. He's trying to gain back control. Trying.

She withdraws her hand with a small, knowing smile. "No need. You've already decided to stay."

He tilts his head. "And what makes you think that?"

"You haven't moved since you got up."

tbc