A super quick, unproofed or edited mini fic based on 2x14 because goddamn we all wanted that 'thank you' in the backseat to go differently.

Very minor spoilers for the episode.

Don't own anything.

"I risked my life for you because I care about you. Deal with that," Liz tells him, and it's a little more savage than she wanted, but she's been bottling it up for so long, trying to compartmentalize it for too long.

She's spent months now on the receiving end of his care and concern, never requested, and always on his schedule.

She gets it. She does. He cares about her. And the more he reiterates this declaration recently, it's gotten...more specific. She thinks about his reaction now, in the field, should something happen.

She ignored his request tonight and came back for him because she cares about him. Weeks of frustrating dreams, distracting thoughts and serious emotional quandary and it seemed like nothing in that instant. It was a simple choice.

The panic to find him was so frantic; she's never felt something like that in the field before. It took everything in her to calm herself, to be rational. To sweep the hallway, gun drawn, and keep the constant stream of prayer - don't let me be too late don't let me be too late - in the back of her mind.

Funny, she always feels like her senses are heightened in situations like that. You hear better. See better.

And that's how she knows what he'd said seconds before she'd fired.

That gun had been at the back of his head; she'd seen the droop of his shoulders as he'd taken a breath and her name slipped off his lips.

At first, she thought he'd somehow known she was there, a signal to fire. The naked shock and awe on his face in the next moment when he'd turned to face her and repeat her name made her realize that her initial understanding was completely wrong.

Raymond Reddington had been ready to die with her name on his lips tonight.

She never asked for that responsibility.

It leaves her feeling anxious, makes her want to run fingers over her scar and lash out but she keeps herself in check. His anger - once again she's risked her life - has her turning her head away, hoping it will help her from saying something she doesn't want to say, from provoking him with another intentionally obtuse question about taking away phone privileges.

Liz can feel his eyes on her and the pressure in the backseat of the car is pressing on her chest too much; she can hear her heartbeat in her ears.

She needs to steer the conversation to less stormy waters. Lighten the mood but still make a point.

"And when someone does something nice you're supposed to say 'Thank You'," she points out.

There's a moment of silence that follows after her words. She can hear him take a breath and she imagines he's preparing himself to actually thank her, or for some new monologue to tell her about a hideous fish or a drug trip in the middle of a rainforest or-

Reddington touches her hand where it sits on her lap. He's so delicate about it, so careful. He doesn't touch her leg, but very slowly and gently wraps a hand around hers, and she turns her head to watch him. She knows he's cautious to allow her time to pull her arm back as raises it, pulls it closer to him.

Liz drags her eyes from their hands to the inevitable destination and as always, she finds herself openly staring at his lips.

"Thank you," he murmurs before kissing her knuckles.

There's a half second before it registers with her that it's her hand he's brushing his lips over, lingering there. It's her hand in the hand he's trying to keep from shaking.

"Thank you."

Reddington turns her hand over, and ducks over her palm, pressing another kiss into it.

By this point, Liz has twisted in her seat and leaned closer without realizing it. It's not to hard turn the hand in his grasp and run it along his jaw, to tilt it up his face, to make him see the look in her eyes. Or maybe he let's it go to bring his head back up on his own. She doesn't really care.

In the next instant they're closing the gap between them, and the angle is a little off at first but they settle into the kiss like they were born to do this, to hold on to one another and press their lips together, like she's been waiting to feel him press his tongue along the seam of her lips, like he's always known she'd sigh this way when he slides a hand along her hip, like her heart has been patiently waiting to sing with joy at the noise of need in the back of his throat when she bites on his lip.

God, she's really happy these are tinted windows.

They retreat to opposite sides of the seat at the sound of a hand on the door handle.

Dembe is still recovering from the skirmish where he was tased. She has to wonder if they would have stopped if it was him in the front of the SUV.

Liz feels like her heart is going to burst out of her chest, but by the time the FBI is in the driver's seat, Liz has gotten her breathing under control.

Red clears his throat beside her. Her cheeks burn and she holds back the smile that wants to make its way across her mouth.

"Thank you," he says one last time, decisively.

"You're welcome," Liz replies diplomatically, even as she feels the brush of his hand against the side of her pinky.

In the dark of the back seat now that they're in motion, hidden under the edge of her FBI jacket, Raymond Reddington takes Elizabeth Keen's hand.

They lace their fingers together. He squeezes them.

"But never do that again," he finishes.

They both know it's a request she'll never honor, he won't either.