A/N: Thanks to the lovely selinabln (selinabln dot tumblr dot com) for making me realize the true importance of that opening scene in 1x12. He stayed. He stayed! This is my take on what might have happened.

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The now-empty room seemed to gape around her as she struggled to process the brief meeting. She looked down at her arm where his fingers had been only moments before, standing in this room where he had materialized and had just as quickly disappeared.

She was at the door in seconds. She didn't think; she didn't need to. All she knew was that he couldn't leave. He'd just come back and he couldn't leave.

"Red!"

He was standing at the car, his hand on the rear door handle and his back to her. His shoulders straightened at the sound of his name and he slowly turned, the exhaust from the vehicle fogging around him, obscuring him momentarily from view.

Liz stood in the open door, filling the space he'd just occupied. It was cold, and her breath came in little white puffs that lingered in front of her face. In the trip from the living room to the front door, she thought he might already be gone.

Her eyes were slightly wide and her lips were parted. She gestured openly with her hand, a stilted social grace, and met his inquisitive gaze.

"You could stay awhile," she said simply.

He regarded her from under the brim of his fedora, his face a storm of emotions. "I hadn't planned on it."

She nodded, closing her lips and licking them nervously. The gesturing hand dropped, but the other one went up to lightly clutch the door facing.

"I hadn't planned on seeing you," she said quietly.

Something nondescript shifted in his face, and his mouth twitched once.

She looked at him, her face open and pale under the full moon. She stood to the side, gesturing through the open door, making a space for him. "Please."

He gave a quick, slight nod as if affirming something unspoken. What would she have done differently had she known I was coming, he thought to himself. It pleased him, and he allowed himself the momentary fantasy of her preparations. Finally, he patted the roof of the car and Dembe drove away into the night.

He stood where he had earlier, in the street looking at her house in the dark. Only she knew he was there this time, and she welcomed him into her home like she would have done before, had he given her the opportunity.

She'd been holding her breath, awaiting his response. As he returned the way he came, walking up the small path to her door again, her lips curled into a half smile and she exhaled.

He said nothing as he slipped inside, and when he walked into the small foyer he found himself thinking of her as he had before, with some measure of disconnect, when he had waited in the dark, listening while she was still unaware of his presence.

The door shut loudly and he turned at the sound. She'd pressed it closed with her body, her arms behind her and her eyes locked fully on his form as if he were an apparition that might dissolve into mist if she looked away.

She stepped toward him, thinking of what to say.

"Can I get you anything?"

Her voice sounded small to her ears, unsure and alien, but it was still louder than the voice inside her that wondered why she had called him back. That one was stubbornly quiet.

Red shook is head quickly, but remained curiously silent. He had that slightly broken expression from before, and there was a gloom of darkness around him that he shouldered like a coat.

"Red."

She spoke his name aloud, half in wonderment and half to wake him from whatever dream of his her presence interfered with. Slowly she stepped into the space between them, and then again. She finally stood before him, looking at the top button of his shirt.

She wrapped her arms around him gently as if he might break, and pressed her body against his clothes as if to leach the night's cold from him. She could feel the wiry tension in his shoulders almost quiver beneath her hands.

She had not anticipated his response, nor hers, but the realization of his return overwhelmed her momentarily, and her eyes fluttered closed. She exhaled against him, and the small sound seemed to wake him from his stupor because she was encircled by his body almost instantly.

While her embrace had been somewhat hesitant, his was not. His arms wound around her tightly, as if he suddenly realized she was there. He crushed her against him, his warm palm flat against her back and his fingers white with pressure where they pressed into her ribs. She wondered briefly if he might be aware of his own strength, but she did no push away from him.

After the initial shock, she relaxed in his arms. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her body as the turbulent tide within him appeared to recede. He dipped his head into her shoulder and his stubble whispered across her cheek, causing her to shiver. He sighed, haltingly and a little uneven.

It was then she realized that he was not so much holding her but holding on to her.

His hand went up to her hair, and he smoothed it gently where it lay against her back. He released her then, and she felt his absence as if he'd never returned. His eyes shone like polished jade in the low light, warm but muted by some unspoken emotion.

Her hands were still on him, and she squeezed lightly at his shoulder, moved her hand up to the smooth column of his neck as if validating that he was real. The angry little scar, not very old, stood rigidly against his skin, and she viewed it with wonder. It was not unlike her own.

"I was so worried about you," she said quietly. Her fingers traced the scar, remembering suddenly being in the back of that ambulance and wondering which one of them would die first.

"I know." His voice was low and a little apologetic. Red would feel guilt, she thought sadly, over something he had no control of.

She withdrew her hand, somewhat embarrassed by her transparency. She averted her eyes, avoiding the slow burn of his gaze and the realization of the way her touch had thawed him, body and mind.

"Can I take your coat? Get you some wine?"

He looked at her and smiled, allowing her to retreat into the comfort of hospitality. "Wine would be nice," he said.

He turned and shrugged out of his coat easily. He gave her his hat as well, and while his back was turned she let her fingers skate across the band.

He did not sit, but he moved more comfortably into the interior of the room, inspecting the wall hangings with polite interest.

She had one really nice bottle of wine, something she and Tom had been saving for their anniversary for the last two years. She always had to work, and most of their celebrations ended in warmed-over dinner and the monologue of some late night comedian. She'd forgotten about the wine until now.

She withdrew it from its hiding place and dusted the label. Château Montrose 1989. She remembered when she bought it; she had felt so affluent.

"Do you need any help?"

She followed his voice into the living room and found him on the couch, his legs crossed and one arm on the back of the chair.

"No, I'm fine. Thanks," she said tightly as she struggled with the cork. She finally released it with a hollow pop and poured them both a glass.

She handed him his and settled at the end of the couch opposite him.

Liz turned and watched Red appreciate the wine. In the times they had supped together, she enjoyed this the most. He did not do it obnoxiously like the couples that she and Tom often dined with, novice foodies desperate to impress. Red actually appreciated it and he didn't care who was watching.

After holding it up to the light, he swirled it under his nose and took an experimental sip. His eyes brightened. "This is lovely, Lizzie." He pursed his lips. "Montrose?"

She nodded, pleased with her little splurge. "'89."

He nodded appreciatively. "What's the occasion?"

She looked at him, her chin slightly lifted, a soft smile on her lips. "Your return," she said quietly.

A little muscle in his jaw twitched as he looked at her. She had one leg flat against the couch so she could better face him, and she had kicked off her shoes. Her liquid eyes were warm and fixed on him.

For several moments of relaxed silence they simply looked at each other, neither one believing the other one was there.

Lizzie raised her glass to her lips, but he thwarted her movement with the lightest touch to her knee where it lay crooked on the couch toward him. She looked down at the little touch, then up into his face, the wine glass still poised in front of her mouth and her eyes full of questions.

He withdrew his hand and straightened a little on the couch.

"We have to toast."

She looked at him incredulously. "You're serious."

"Very. A wine this nice you have to toast. Now raise your glass Lizzie."

She held her glass dutifully between them, feeling a bit silly. Red cleared his throat and looked at her imperiously.

She expected a lesson on the history of wine, or a slightly tongue-in-cheek dedication to the FBI, or even an ode to Agent Ressler's boyish good looks, but she got none of those. His expression changed, and he looked at her meaningfully.

"To us."

She smiled, a little surprised. "To us," she said.

They drank in relative quiet. The wine was delicious. Liz was far from an aficionado, but the flavor profile was complex; it was crushed berries on her tongue with hints of wet leaves, leather, and chocolate afterward. Something about it reminded her of Red, and not just its color.

He was looking at a distant point somewhere in her kitchen, and she wondered where he had been all these weeks. What he had gone through.

"What happened to you Red?"

She knew she should move on, to stop dredging up his memories of the horrible experience with Anslo Garrick, but her world had stopped all those weeks ago. She'd thought of nothing but whether he was alive or dead, if he flourished or floundered. It was all very fresh.

He turned to look at her, his mouth relaxed. "It doesn't matter," he said flippantly. "Not any more."

She looked at him, a measure of anger rising at the disregard he had for his own well being, and she set her glass down on the coffee table.

"It matters to me, Red."

He started to say something, some words of protest, but he caught her gaze. The wine had given her eyes a little sparkle, some color in her cheeks, and she had one hand in her hair as she propped against the back of the couch. She was looking at him with such gentle entreaty that he forgot to breathe. He swallowed.

"Anslo was an errand boy sent on behalf of someone else to find me," he began. "He merely entertained himself with notions of my death until that person arrived."

Her eyes narrowed. "Who was that person?"

He pursed his lips, and when she realized he would say nothing else, she let the matter drop.

"It should never have happened," she said quietly. She wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on a distant point, her voice thin.

"It had to happen, Lizzie."

She turned to him, her voice stronger, more resolute. "No, it didn't. You have to stop doing that, Red. You have stop throwing yourself at death for my benefit."

Her eyes were dark, flecked with bits of silver, and she looked pained. He pressed his lips together and looked at her with that rare tenderness that usually made her uncomfortable.

"I will always do what I feel is necessary to keep you safe," he said, his voice raw and even deeper than usual.

His rote response did nothing to satisfy her. If anything, it raised even more questions.

"Why?"

His eyes flicked down to her mouth before returning her gaze. "You already know why," he said quietly.

She recalled their earlier conversation. "Surely by now you must know how I feel." She stood, feeling suddenly warm, and took a few steps toward the kitchen before deciding there was nothing there she needed.

She did know. There had been moments when the depth of his feelings would briefly surface-in a touch, a glance, or in a certain pregnant pause-forcing her to recognize them for what they were, what they are, and how they resembled some of her own.

"You broke your word to me."

He swallowed, struggling to discern her meaning. She turned to face him, her arms folded over her chest, and repeated herself.

"You said if I needed you that you would be there." She licked her lips nervously. "I've needed you every day you were gone, Red. Every day."

He stood, wine glass in hand, but he did not go to her. He wanted to, wanted to affirm his feelings for her in earnest, to smooth away the confusion that clouded her features, but she wasn't ready. She was just beginning to sort out the realization of his feelings for her and maybe coming to terms with some of her own.

"I'm sorry," he said honestly. "I never meant to hurt you."

She shook her head dismissively. "I'm not hurt," she said quickly. The truth was, she'd grown used to him, had grown dependent upon their relationship. For a person who took pride in their independence, it scared her.

"I'm just-" She sighed, frustrated at her inability to express herself, by her discomfort at doing so. Her hand hovered near her mouth as if she could form the words that her lips failed to provide.

"I've missed you," she said finally. She smiled, a bleak shadow of happiness, but her eyes were warm.

He took a few steps toward her, fixing her with his eyes, communicating hopefully what his touch could convey so much better had it been time.

"And I've missed you," he said thoughtfully. He smiled. "What have you been doing all these weeks, anyway?"

She quirked her mouth. "Pretending to look for you," she said.

He took a sip of his wine. "Pretending?"

She looked at him evenly. "If Raymond Reddington doesn't want to be found, he won't be."

His eyes twinkled. "I'm here now."

"You want to be here."

He looked at her humorously. "You insisted."

"Not initially."

"But ultimately."

She smiled, the familiar banter natural and welcome.

"But I am back," he said seriously, turning from her briefly to regard the painting over the fireplace. "And we've much to do, Lizzie, you and I. Much to do." He appeared lost in thought momentarily, and she looked after him. After several moments he turned to her, his face serious.

"There's someone I think you should find."

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Complete? You tell me. As always, I would love to know what you think :).