She walks into his hotel suite. Somehow she gets in without a knock or a key. One high heeled foot in front of the other. A naughty look on her face. She's wearing lipstick, he notices, blood red and beckoning to him.

She sashays this way and that, moving in and out of the light from the floor lamp, taking her time walking over to the upholstered wingback chair where he sits. Takes her time, her hips moving this way and that. Never breaking eye contact with him. Her eyes are so blue.

Her coat is black of course. It would be. A trench coat of sorts, belted at the waist. She stops in front of him now. Looks down into his eyes. He swears he can hear a purr coming from her lips. Or maybe it's a growl. Either way, he can't tear his eyes away from her.

She slips one hand under the trailing end of her canvas belt. Gives it a little tug.

Oh, he's been anticipating this. He reaches up, not to help her, just to touch.

"No, no, no," she scolds him. Her voice slow and full. Wags her finger back and forth. Back and forth. Her nails are red and lacquered. They match her lips he thinks.

He settles back in the chair. Extends feet in front of him, kicks off his shoes. Uses his right hand to loosen his tie. His collar. This seems to make her happy. He sees the light dance in her eyes a bit. She's enjoying this, he thinks, holding all the cards. All of the power.

Her hand returns to her belt and she tugs it harder now. His breathing quickens. The anticipation. The everloving anticipation. Time seems to pass like molasses.

Finally she takes mercy on him and frees the belt entirely, her coat falling open. Just a sliver. An intoxicating tease. He loves this game. He's sure of it.

The look on her face is bewitching. She is so sure of herself. The confidence radiating out from her. Loving this. Bringing him to his knees.

He's sure his mouth is hanging open. He didn't expect her to be here tonight. Especially not like this. Oh, but he likes this. The force of his…appreciation…surprising him. His hands creep up. Just a fraction of an inch.

She notices, of course. Steps back a half step. Lets the coat fall to the floor. Black coat on the red plush carpet. Fitting.

He sees the lace, black and satin and intricate. Contrasting with her skin. Oh, the lace. He reaches for her and this time she reaches back.

Time passes. How much, he's not sure. Hours? Days? Weeks? Suddenly they're someplace else. Someplace different entirely. He can see her though.

She throws the metal fire door open with a clang. The target has to be right in front of her, she would swear on it. She saw him drop the bag and then tear up this stairwell. She hears Ressler behind her and pauses to pull her weapon from its holster.

The roof of the building has baked in the sun and is now a peeling beige. The HVAC boxes hum and whir noisily, disrupting and drowning out all other sounds.

She sees number thirty-eight before he sees her. He's over by the corner of the retaining wall. Crouching behind a potted unshaped hedge. She can see his hands on the rim. His knee. She advances cautiously swearing under her breath as her foot hits a bit of gravel, the sound of rock hitting metal alerting her target of her approach.

Number thirty-eight jumps up from his hiding place and, surveying the area around him, sees no escape and charges right at her. The darn gravel impedes her ability to react and suddenly she's falling. Falling.

Xxx

Red awakens with a start, a loud shout pulling him from the unconscious to conscious state. Sweat clings to his back, his head, his shoulders. His breathing is heavy, panting, and shallow. He looks down at his white undershirt, sees it sticking to his chest, twisted and pulled. Sees the sheets tangled around his legs and ankles. He realizes the scream came from inside of him, his throat stinging angrily. His heart pounds forcibly, he can feel the vein to the side of his forehead pulsing. Filling his lungs with air he exhales slowly, willing himself to relax. To calm down. No sense in waking Dembe.

He slips his glasses off the bedside table and peers at the alarm clock. The green numbers glow – it's three in the morning. He sighs, falling back against the down pillows. Another night lost. The dream, the damned dream. The good followed by the bad and then the fall. The beginning confuses him, but it's the fall that terrifies him. Seeing her flailing while he stands helpless…somewhere. The dream's forced it's way to the forefront of his brain, sending the first terrifying thought into his consciousness every single morning…she's gone.

He blinks. Eyes dry behind the black rimmed lenses.

But she's not gone. Not really. Thank God. Giving up on sleep he stands, surveys the quiet bedroom, and heads to the shower. Leaning against the shower frame he turns the hot water on full blast and wills the last of vestiges of the night away.

He's in the middle of shaving, the razor pulling through the stiff lather, when the dark seed of doubt starts to creep in. He pauses the up and down of the razor and gives himself a mental shake. Looks into the mirror and sees tired eyes looking back at him. It was just a dream, he tells himself, just a dream.

But he can't shake the uneasy feeling and soon he is sitting in the back seat of his car, the leather black and warm on the back of his legs. Dembe drives towards the latest blacksite. 'We're about 5 minutes out Raymond. No traffic at this hour.'

Xxx

Her hair is coming down from its hasty ponytail. Sweat runs down her face and dampens her black tactical shirt and pants. Her bulletproof vest emblazoned with FBI is still strapped snugly around her torso.

She stands against the cool cement block wall. Puts her hands on her upper legs and bends slightly at the waist. Tries to catch her breath. Rests a minute before going back in.

She hears the screeching of tires on the wet pavement outside. A car door slams and then another. The exterior door to the warehouse swings open and in strides Red. Blue pinstripe shirt and cream vest immaculate despite the surroundings.

'Lizzie,' he says. Jovial tone at odds with the stress evident on his face.

'So glad I caught you.'

He's at her side now. Moves to take her arm in his. Lead her back to the car.

'Red, what are you doing?' She jerks her arm away leaving a black smear across Red's otherwise perfect shirt.

'Something has come up,' he says, 'elsewhere. Let's hop in the car. I'll fill you in on the details.'

'Red, what are you doing?' She repeats herself. 'This is an operation. You gave us his name.' She raises her eyebrows questioningly before turning away and shooting him an exasperated look over her shoulder.

'No Lizzie,' he says it again. 'They,' he gestures broadly in the direction of the building, knowing the rest of her team is still inside, 'can take it from here.'

'Red,' she says. Anger beginning to sharpen her voice. She reaches down and looks to check her weapon and starts to stride towards the interior door.

He advances towards her quickly.

She looks up, feels her body spin, and finds herself staring straight at Red's mouth. She struggles for a second, disoriented, realizing that he has her hands pinned above her head. His hands are encircling her wrists, not letting her move.

He doesn't say anything for a minute. Each inhale pressing his midsection more firmly into hers. He feels her heart beating double time against his chest. Realizes, so out of place, that he's enjoying this…this being so close to her…the touch. His body pressed to hers, aware of hers. The thought confuses him and gives him pause…but he doesn't move away.

'Red,' she's almost yelling now. 'Let. Me. Go.'

He doesn't move his hands from around her wrists. Clears his throat and looks down at her. 'It's not safe,' he says. Knowing she could have saved herself, probably. Then why is he here? The overwhelming desire to lean down and kiss her a sudden onslaught flooding through him…he stiffens and shakes his head. Alarmed at his thoughts. What is he doing?

'Clear, clear.' They hear Ressler's voice from somewhere in the interior. The mission is over.

Red steps back now. Drops her arms. Turns and walks back outside.

She rubs her wrists together, still feeling his touch. Stares after him. Why?