The first time Red stayed the night, it had been unintentional.

He'd fallen asleep on Lizzy's couch with Agnes tucked against his shoulder, her tiny fingers clinging to his collar and neck. Lizzy hadn't had the heart to disturb them, she'd said later.

The next morning, when he stood in front of her bathroom mirror to freshen up, a wave of longing swelled up in his chest so strong it nearly drowned him. This was what he wanted so badly for so long, but didn't dare allow himself to consider anywhere within his reach. Well, not this exactly—waking up on the couch with a crick in his neck and his tie soaked with baby drool—but close enough of a facsimile to make his breath catch.

It was the simple things, really, that ended up meaning the most. There was a package of disposable razors in the medicine cabinet, the same cheap, drugstore brand Red used while they were on the run. The fact that the package was unopened implied Lizzy might have bought them with him in mind; the fact that Tom Keen favored the scruffy, unwashed hipster look reinforced it.

Red and Lizzy hadn't woken up under the same roof since the day after she'd been released from prison. For months, he thought it would never happen again, yet there he was. And it seemed likely she had thought it would happen again, and maybe even prepared for the eventuality.

Discussing a hypothetical future together was one thing. Taking steps to prepare for it was another thing entirely. He wondered when she bought the razors.

When he finished his morning ablutions, she had a plate of waffles waiting for him on the kitchen table—properly toasted, too, despite her bizarre fondness for eating them frozen right out of the box. (His housewarming gift of a toaster oven and a four-slice pop-up toaster hadn't gone to waste; no more waffle-heating house fire incidents for Lizzy, no siree.)

When the time came to say goodbye, he crouched down next to Agnes' high chair and earned himself a syrupy hug and a kiss and one final morsel of waffle that she held out for him to eat from her adorable little fingers.

Saying goodbye to Lizzy was far more awkward. They'd see each other again in only a couple of hours at the Post Office, after all, where they would have to pretend they hadn't just eaten breakfast together as a family. Where they'd have to pretend they weren't a family at all.

Which they were.

They were a family. He had a family again.

Red was so far out of his depth he had no idea how far he'd have to swim to reach shore.

He lingered for a long moment, made to feel infinitely longer by the expectant expression on Lizzy's face. When it seemed like his loss for words would continue indefinitely, she shook her head and sighed, then darted forward to press a brief peck of a kiss to his cheek.

"See you later," she said, giving his bicep a quick, casual squeeze.

Once he was in the hallway outside her apartment, Red leaned back against her closed door and took a few deep breaths to ground himself.

How on earth could it still be possible for Raymond Reddington, The Concierge of Crime, to have such a… a normal morning?