#and then Raymond seeing Lizzy wake up again after 10 months holding her hand having tearsvin his eyes and saying to her that Agnes will

[allmyandroids]

Raymond Reddington

Season 5 Episode 8 - Ian Garvey

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

Lost in the Forest of This Heart, Chapter 10: Caught Between Forever And Nothing At All

Lizzington, The Blacklist. One chapter left for this longest-running WIP of mine!

Summary: Control, longing, plans. His voice lacks all of the polish she’s used to, like a shot of whiskey over broken glass. She has the ridiculous urge to burrow into that sound and never leave.  

Cross-posted on AO3. important notes can also be found there.

Liz wakes before sunrise, the solid weight of Red’s back pressed against her own.

It takes a moment for reality to return. Oh, yeah. That’s right. She did the stupid thing last night, letting her loneliness override common sense.

Sneaking into his bed without a word. Could she be any creepier? She’s lucky he didn’t wake her back up to evict her…if he even knew she was here.

Red is snoring lightly, which is both endearing and helpful. When Liz cautiously pulls away from him to turn around, she doesn’t have to wonder if he’s awake.

It will be really awkward if he turns over and finds himself face to face with her–the wise choice would be to retreat to her own bed before he wakes–but she’s not willing to let this opportunity pass her by.

As of tomorrow, she’ll be heading who-knows-where, and Red will be gone. Dembe will be delightful company, less prickly than Red can be at times, but he won’t be…Red.

Liz squeezes her eyes shut, so tight she sees stars, and accepts the truth she’s been avoiding for days now. Weeks, maybe. God, months if she’s willing to look at herself in the worst possible light.

It’s not really about her safety anymore, or where her future is headed. Red will keep pulling strings to clear her name whether they’re together or not, and Dembe is just as capable of keeping her alive–possibly more qualified, even.

No, this panic when she imagines going on without him is not about her at all. It’s about him.

She loves him.

Liz opens her eyes, strangely relieved to have admitted it, even just inside her own head.

Regarding the slope of his shoulders a few inches away, she wishes she was brave enough to cross the distance. He’s never pushed her away while conscious. Always had a hug available, or a hand to hold hers. She suspects he’s a cuddler.

Damn it, she’s going to miss him. It’s not fair. After everything else, she has to lose him too?

They haven’t even had a chance to work out most of their issues, to rebuild what’s been destroyed. They need more time.

If only the Task Force hadn’t found the phone they used. Ressler is probably on their heels right now.

A thought strikes her, as Red turns toward her in his sleep. He never said anyone was actually following them. He said they found the phone. Knowing the phone was found, they would know if the FBI was tracing it in their direction. But he said if.

If they found the trail, Red would be the one captured. Not when.

What were the odds Red would stick to a path he knew to be on their radar? He was better at protecting himself than that. And if he would be safe staying the course, why wouldn’t she?

Not to mention, it was only a few short weeks ago that he was agreeing that it would be easier to split up, but he had no interest in doing so. Were things more dire than he was telling her, to change his mind? Or was it something else?

While Liz is busy asking herself questions she can’t answer, Red wakes without stirring. She’s never seen anything like it–his breathing remains even and quiet, his body still. His eyes just drift open, and she gets to watch them focus on her as he comes back to the world.

For that one instant, as she watches his eyes go from a deep, clouded blue to a brighter, alert green, it feels like she’s the world he’s coming back to–and she can’t help wishing that were true.

"Elizabeth,” he murmurs, still motionless. It’s the first time he’s ever called her that without using it as a reprimand. His voice lacks all of the polish she’s used to, like a shot of whiskey over broken glass. She has the ridiculous urge to burrow into that sound and never leave. There’s something captivating about it.

She doesn’t even realize she’s smiling until Red’s lips curve in response.

“Good morning.”

He has that sly, knowing look in his eyes now, the one that tells her he’s got her number. He might as well be wearing a hat, it’s so much like any day he met her to share intel and poke holes in her team’s work.

“Morning.” She resists the urge to sit up, turn away–anything to avoid the intense way he’s focusing on her now. This wasn’t what she had in mind when she decided to steal a little time with him. She’s pretty sure she’s blushing, caught doing something she would never do when he was awake.

“How did you sleep?”

He’s not exactly looking at her now; more like through her, around her. If she didn’t know better, she would think his gaze kept drifting to her lips and back up. If she didn’t know better, Liz could pretend he liked finding her this close, rather than being too sleepy to care. Yet.

“I slept okay. Bit restless,” she admits.

“Me too.”

“Sorry about this,” she adds reluctantly. Now she’s given him the opening to back off, push her away, but it’s better than seeming like she thinks she has the right to climb into bed with him. Falling for him has made her crazy.

Oh, god, she really has. She has fallen in love with Raymond Reddington. A man who kills without hesitation. A man who sees her as his life’s mission to protect, some sort of debt he owes her dead parents.

It’s a bad sign that the second part bothers her more.

He can’t know what she’s thinking, but he seems too busy watching the shifting expressions cross her face to take the out she gave him.

“You okay?”

Liz swallows the laugh that wants to betray her hysteria. Just fine, no problem…head over heels for the Concierge of Crime. Nothing to see here.

“Yeah.” She knows she’s blushing again. He must be half-asleep still, because for a man who reads her easily, he doesn’t comment.

But boy, does he stare.

****

Lizzie’s eyes are so darkly blue this morning that they’re nearly violet. He has never gotten to look at her this way, so close for so long. The delicate freckles across her nose delight him. He’s too happy to be here to feel guilty about wanting to kiss her along the line they form.

Why is she still here? Why is she looking at him like that?

He knows the dream he was having before he woke to find her here involved a life that doesn’t exist. That happens a lot; it leaves him melancholy to face the waking world.

For once, reality is better.

“Did you…have a nightmare?”

He’s not sure how to ask her why she’s with him without scaring her off. He’s incapable of accepting the gift without questioning it. Mercifully, Lizzie seems unspooked, no more eager to go than he is to lose her.

“No.” She looks away, lost in thought for a moment. “I just didn’t want to be in that bed any longer.”

Her response makes no sense to him, but it seems like she expects it to, and he doesn’t choose to dissuade her.

“Alright.”

Lizzie covers a yawn, turning away from him and then back, and he smiles. “We have another hour or so, if you need more sleep.”

“No, I’m good.”

Still, neither of them moves.

“Red?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

He can’t tell if she’s apologizing again for waking up in his bed, or something else. Her sorrow seems incongruous with the moment, though, tears shimmering when everything feels warm, and close, and not-yet-fraught.

“Lizzie.” He presses his hand to her cheek, catching the tears when they fall. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

I’m sorry for being so angry for so long, she thinks. I’m sorry there’s not enough time now. I’m sorry I can’t tell you, when you deserve to know.

Liz sighs. “I’m sorry anyway,” she says, shutting her eyes.

He stays there, her face against his fingers, until the tears dry.

****

The woman who hands Red the car keys is petite and trim and looks as though she’s rapidly approaching seventy, but the firmness of her mouth reminds Liz of Mr. Kaplan. Like all of Red’s associates, this is not a person to be trifled with.

“You be careful,” she tells him, eyeing Liz from the doorway.

“Always am,” he replies glibly, and the woman sniffs. Red shuts the door, not bothering with farewells.

Liz is smiling when he turns around. “Friend?”

“Of course.”

“She didn’t seem overly awed.”

“Ah, well. She’s seen far more impressive and terrifying things than me in my glasses.” He tucks the keys in his right pocket and surveys the room. “We’ve got everything?”

“What’s to get?”

“Good point.” He scratches his neck. “Well, then, I guess we’re ready.”

Liz glances around along with him. Ready? To possibly never see him again? To share a car for the last time?

How is she supposed to get ready for that?

“Let’s go,” she replies softly. She may not be able to explain her changing feelings to him, but she isn’t willing to lie. No, she’s not ready.

This sedan is a dull blue, similar to the last. It feels smaller, even though she knows it isn’t. There just isn’t enough room for them and their melancholy, both lost in solitary musings. They’ve only been on the freeway for a few minutes when Liz breaks the silence.

“So after we…when we leave Wisconsin tomorrow, what happens next?”

“Right.” Red squints harder at the road, as though the parallel lines might up and move on him. “While you and I have been zigzagging across America, Dembe and Mr. Kaplan and a few others have been putting things in motion.”

“Okay…”

He spares a quick glance for her before returning his attention to the road. There’s a deadly satisfaction in it. “Now that the groundwork has been laid, Lizzie–we take down the Cabal.”

“We?” She’s watching him carefully now. “But I thought…”

“We’ll be travelling separately,” he acknowledges, “but we will still be working together. Meeting occasionally. I did hear you,” Red adds quietly. “It’s time for me to stop treating you like a child.”

Well, that’s something.

“Okay…what do you mean, we’ll be meeting? When?” Will you be Red then, or will you have disappeared behind your carefully constructed walls again?

He chuckles, unaware of her fears. “Soon enough. When the details are set, Dembe will pass them to you. And we’ll be meeting, because it will take the both of us, to truly, finally eliminate our enemies.”

The dark determination in his voice when he talks about “their” enemies gives Liz a shivery feeling that she can’t blame on fear.

“You’re going to need to be in disguise a lot,” he adds. “Dembe can help you with that part.”

“That shouldn’t be necessary,” she counters. “I took a semester of drama–I know how to style a wig.”

“Right.” How had he forgotten that? Sam had sent him pictures of Lizzie as Persephone, her one onstage role. Red had considered it a shame that she preferred to stay behind the scenes, focusing on the work, until he saw them. She was radiant, a scene-stealer.

Even then, it worried him. He told himself he was concerned for her safety, the possibility that someone might pay a little too much attention and dig into her past–but of course that was ridiculous.

No, he was just terrified of getting attached, of letting his feelings get in the way of what he would someday have to do.

If only he had listened to his fear.

Instead, he’s following the interstate, aware of every single minute as it passes. Red knows that whenever they do meet next, it’ll be too long an absence. Life without Lizzie will be a world without light, without color.

He can feel her eyes on him, and her mind working, trying to piece the plan together. When she gives in to her curiosity, it makes him smile. “So, if I’ll be with you, what are the disguises for? I mean, being in your company will make it obvious that I’m me–unless you’re talking serious prosthetics.”

“No, nothing quite that extreme. The disguises won’t be for disguise. They’ll be for testing loyalty.”

“They–wait,” she says slowly as it dawns on her. “I’ve heard of this. I studied this.”

“I’m sure you did. It’s a cliche at this point, but it works.”

“And you’ll what? Parade me around in different hairstyles and see what reports of me make it back to the Cabal?”

“As well as the FBI, of course. Any betrayal could put us in danger.”

“So I’m just for show.” Disappointment has dulled Liz’s voice. She shifts to stare out the window.

“Not at all, Lizzie.” Red reaches for her hand, glancing away from the road long enough to catch her expression. “The disguises will help me find weak links among my acquaintances, but that’s not why you’ll be with me. That’s a side benefit.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. You’ll be with me because it’s time to show the world that you are a formidable adversary. Our enemies"–there was that tone again–"as well as our friends need to know that if they go after us, both of us will retaliate. They need to know that I am not the only threat.”

She squeezes his hand. “So, I’ll be armed.”

“Yes, of course. Dembe will have weapons for us both when we get to Wisconsin.”

“You’re not worried…after what happened the last time?”

“Why on earth would I be?” The question baffles him. This is Lizzie.

“Well, I’m a little worried,” she admits. “I’d understand if you were.”

“I trust you,” he says firmly, letting go of her hand to rub her shoulder. “And if you need me, I’ll be right there.”

Except for when you’re not, Liz thinks but doesn’t say.

“So,” Red continues, “we’ll meet with my contacts some of the time, to check in, and our other reunions will be meeting members of the Cabal directly.”

“To get to the top of the organization?”

“To neutralize them.” Red returns his hand to the wheel, shooting her a careful look. “The Cabal isn’t structured in a centralized way, Lizzie. There’s no CEO, or President. That guarantees that if someone were to kill one member, they wouldn’t be much affected.”

“Like when I shot Connolly.”

“Exactly. We can’t kill their leader, because they have no leader. But they have a core.”

“And if we take out the core, the Cabal shatters.”

“Yes. Or is weakened enough that we can mount a broader attack.”

“It sounds like whack-a-mole.” Liz says, grinning at him.

“I suppose, in a way, it’s similar.”

She grows somber. “But we’ll be killing people.”

“Strategically, when necessary, I will be. Yes.” He sighs. “I wish I could leave you out of that part, Lizzie, I truly do.”

Noting his emphasis on I Liz frowns. “Red, if I’m in this with you, I’m gonna be all in.”

“I’m not going to make a murderer out of you,” he replies.

“It’s too late; I already am.” She lays a hand on his knee, stopping him from arguing further. “I know you think there’s a distinction, and I would love to believe that. But I pulled the trigger, I made the decision. I chose to kill him. And Connolly was no greater threat to me than everyone else in the Cabal.”

Red is shifting his attention from the road to her and back, concerned.

“They want me dead,” Liz says simply. “And the way things are supposed to work, where the authorities can be counted on to take care of them, protect us all–we don’t live in that world. Turns out that world never even existed. So if we have to kill them first…that’s justice.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, awed by her. There’s a warrior under all that tragedy and pain, one he’s seen glimpses of over the years but never so clearly as right now.

Sometimes, the way he loves her hits him like a fist to the stomach. He would die for the woman sitting next to him, without a thought. Without blinking. Without regret.

“Please don’t fight me on this,” Liz finishes quietly, misunderstanding his silence. “I’m with you, now–as far as it goes.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assures her, gripping the steering wheel until it hurts. It takes all his strength to stop himself from pulling the car over right that second and telling her everything he’s still keeping locked away.

He could swear oaths and confess his feelings and reach for her, throwing a lifetime of caution to the wind for just one chance to touch her. Getting to breathe her in, finally letting his deepest needs out, his hands in her hair and mouth on her skin–

Red clears his throat, wishing not for the first time that he had been blessed with slightly less imagination.

It runs wild around her.

“You’ll have your own gun,” he says, returning to their conversation as though he can simply will the traitorous thoughts away. “I fully expect that you’ll use it if need be.”

“Okay. Good. Glad we’re on the same page.”

****

Grateful to have sorted out the plan of attack, Liz waits until they’ve finished lunch to bring up the question that’s been burning inside her all day. She swore she wouldn’t push anymore, but this isn’t something she can let go of without a fight–this is losing him.

If she has any hope of stopping it, she has to try.

“Red?”

“Yes, Lizzie?” He looks up from the paper he’s reading, so unsuspecting that guilt almost steals her words before she can speak them.

“Why are we splitting up, exactly?”

He sets the paper aside. “For safety. I told you yesterday, the Task Force–”

“Found the phone,” Liz agrees, interrupting his measured words. “Not us. You never said we were in any immediate danger. Red…you didn’t explain why going separately will be safer, if we’re just going to reunite to face the Cabal. It doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s more prudent,” he says. “If we can succeed even slightly at shifting the focus to me, you’ll be safer.”

“Except nothing you do is going to make me less of a target,” she argues. “On our own, we’re two targets, equally at risk. Or I’ll actually be more at risk–it’s me they want now, more than anyone else, including you.”

“Staying together isn’t the best course of action,” Red insists stubbornly.

He hasn’t actually responded to her argument. “This isn’t about our safety from the Task Force,” Liz decides. “One clue about where we passed through two days ago won’t guarantee them any viable leads. So what is this really about?”

“I told you that I trust you. Can’t you trust me when I tell you we need to do this? It’ll be safer this way,” Red insists again.

“Safer for who?”

His face is a mask, and he doesn’t reply. Why won’t he tell her what’s going on?

“Damn it, Red.” She slaps a hand against the window at her side, unable to hold back the impulse to lash out at something. Someone. Was it her father who passed that down to her?

Red doesn’t so much as blink, which makes her even angrier. How can he be so calm about this? How can he sit and watch her desperate need to understand–to find a way out–tear her apart, and be completely unruffled? It’s the feeling of spinning totally out of control that compels her to actually voice the question.

“How can you just sit there staring at me like you don’t even care? Say something!”

When he grabs her arm before she can hit their car again in frustration, she’s startled by the iron in his grip. He’s never been less than gentle with her.

“Of course I care.” His words are deep and heated enough to be a caress, but they snap like thunder. He’s still holding her arm immobile, and she’s too shocked to tug it back. “Not everyone lets their feelings rule them, Elizabeth, and it doesn’t make them any less passionate. You think too little of me.” You pay too little attention.

“That’s not true.” She feels cold, and she knows there’s a hint of fear here, buried under her frustration. Fear of losing him, of pushing him too far–fear of the look in his eye while he restrains her. She wants to know this man, she does, but what she’s already discovered heightens her rollercoaster emotions. It’s all ups and downs with Red: flirtatious smiles and sobbing in his arms, vengeful words and selfless rescues.

“I have always appreciated you for exactly who you are,” he says more calmly, drawing his hand back and watching dispassionately as she touches her arm where he gripped it. “However, your habit of lashing out this way puts you at risk. It might be wise for you to practice some control.”

She can’t stop the bitterness from coming out through words that should be said lightly, pleasantly. “I think you have more than enough of that for the both of us.”

Red looks at her, then at her arm, where she can still feel the pressure of his hand. “Not always, Lizzie.”

He shifts away, resting his head in the corner against the window and closing his eyes. “You need to be more careful.”