The misty, gray fog slowly peeled back from the tarmac as his jet made its descent from hours of cruising altitude. Hours and hours. She had become accustomed to hopping time zones these last few months along with the feel of the luxurious plane dipping out of the clouds while she dipped in and out of various states of consciousness. She stirred at the movement, the change in pressure. Her cheek rested against the buttery, soft leather seat, her legs lazily curled under her. The soft flannel blanket he tucked around her earlier was still in place and he couldn't help but adjust it each time he walked past her, making sure her bare arms remained covered.
At least, that's what he told himself. In reality, the pilot needed far less visits and his tired legs needed far less stretching. The chance to touch her innocently, even while she was unaware seemed to be the motivating factor for his ceaseless pacing back and forth.
Not that he'd admit it.
And so he contented himself in his seat facing her as he attempted to unassumingly watch her. He would never sleep and miss the chance to just watch her, so lovely, so peaceful. The paradigm had shifted most decidedly in their favor the moment she pulled the trigger, forever aligning herself with him, placing her in his camp and turning her back on all that she knew. It hadn't made the moments, days and weeks that followed easy, hadn't meant they suddenly found a mutual place of understanding or most necessary of all, forgiveness. What it had done was provide them an intimate proximity of which they had previously not known. Where they had struggled before to get through a briefing without things getting contentious, they now found they could not only stand, but enjoy long stretches of casual conversation or even comfortable silence in one another's presence.
You couldn't ask her, for she wouldn't be able to quite identify the moment when it happened. She had taken a step of faith over a cliff and slowly let her weary head fall to his strong and capable shoulder. From there, many more moments came and strung together, building, like the tide roiling and building up purpose before mercilessly pounding the shore. She was helpless to slow the rising swell overtaking her, the undercurrent of emotions that were finally given freedom to rise to the surface. The truth had changed everything. The lens that she had viewed him through for so long shattered and along with it, her resistance. She was falling for him. Freely.
Her heavy lids fluttered slowly, and though he knew he should, though it would have been standard operating procedure, he couldn't make himself look away. The sight of her waking, her crystal blue sleepy eyes turning up toward him and the warmth it brought to his soul was tantamount to standing in the sun for that first time after those six months in solitary.
"Good morning," he offered, head tilted slightly and a brief quirky smile pulling back a corner of his mouth.
"It's morning where we are? Where are we, by the way?" she inquired, her voice still groggy, the way it rasped doing things to him, causing his mind to wander. She yawned and stretched, her face contorting into an expression he could vaguely connect with the face of a very passionate moment. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, crossing his legs away from her to mask any evidence of growing arousal that she might see. Finally, he looked out the window, looking below and gauging their position.
"Just outside of London, we'll land in a few minutes," he informed her, staring at the vast emerald rolling hills below.
"And are we in costume for this particular stay?" she inquired. She reached into her bag, retrieving something but before he could see what it was, she had bent in half, throwing her head down and letting her hair fall forward. She worked the red, bob-like wig on, tucking stray strands of her own hair up within and then with a confident toss, sat upright and tossed her head back with a shake.
It took him the better part of a minute to realize he was staring at her, lips parted but regrettably no words would come.
"Like it, Red? I grabbed it when we were in Scotland a few weeks ago. It's called "The Gilly," she said with a shy smile, unsure how to take his silence and the uncharacteristic expression he wore.
He cleared his throat, hoping that whatever voice came out next would be more like his own and less like the lustful letch he was starting to feel like.
"Like it, but it's really not necessary for today." For what he had planned, he wanted the real Lizzie, silky lengths of auburn flowing over her shoulders and glinting in the sunlight. The possibility of being recognized was worth the risk in his mind, but that was a thought he would keep to himself.
The wig, sweetheart, he thought to himself, we'll save for another time, in private.
Unaware of the battle raging in him, she shrugged, pulling off the wig and raking her fingers through her own hair to smooth it back into place.
"Do we have any plans for today? There are a few places I'd love to see. I've never been to London," she mentioned.
"I know, and yes, we do have some plans but we have enough free time to see the sights you want to see," he explained, smiling while picturing her eyes gleaming as she gawked at The Crown Jewels of the United Kingdom for the first time. She returned his smile, her own visions of them getting lost in Harrods and wondering just how to thank him for spoiling her rotten.
A long, crimson carpet stretched from the staircase leading out of the jet to a shiny, black hackney carriage. A gloved, sharply dressed, middle-aged man stepped out as Liz's feet hit the ground. A jaunty hat perched on the man's head and she couldn't help but think he was the English version of Red himself.
He ushered her toward the waiting car, his hand in its usual spot at the bottom of her back, lingering as long as he thought he could chance it before she would begin to think it odd. Anything for the contact, even if it wasn't skin on skin.
Their driver chatted them up a bit, trying to gauge the couple's relationship. They sat close and seemed comfortable, but they also didn't seem like lovers. Red asked him to drop them at Piccadilly and told him that would be all for the day.
From there, they began to walk, stopping here and there for Lizzie to dig out her camera and take some shots of old buildings or a fancy garden. He would stop them every so often and point out landmarks he wanted to talk about, mostly World War II related, and she was enamored by him, the way he spoke and his vast knowledge. Not that it should surprise her, he was a well-traveled, well-educated man.
"How do you know so much about London?" she finally had to ask.
"My line of work, if you will, does have its perks, Lizzie. In twenty years, I've been lucky enough to frequent some of the most incredible places on earth."
"It's so beautiful and cultural. So many lush green parks amidst busy city life, coexisting together." She sighed. "I think I could live here."
"Lizzie, allow me to list the problems I see with us living here in no particular order. The bicycles. What is up with all the people on bikes? Pungent Indian food is everywhere. And of course the sticky extradition policy," he replied quickly, but tapered off.
She forced a half-hearted laugh. Had he just said 'us?' She was sure he did. She looked up to see if he knew he slipped but he was doing a very good job of pretending to be a tourist.
"Lizzie! Here's the place I was telling you about, come on," he shrilled, taking her hand and pulling her toward a bookstore across the street. Among a row of quaint small businesses, the shop sat, its emerald green paint showing years of wear along with the inlaid gold lettering adorning the door.
Behind the glass case of worn and well-protected first editions stood the store's owner. A tarnished brass bell hung over the door, announcing their entry.
"Vince, you old such and such!" he boomed, greeting his old friend with a firm grip on the shoulders and a kiss to each cheek. "I see you've given up writing television for selling books?"
"Raymond! What is an old bore like you doing in these parts? And with such a beautiful woman?" he teased, his tell-tale southern Virginia drawl giving him away as an expat, making her feel more at ease immediately.
"Let me tell you. He is anything but boring!" Lizzie chimed, rushing to his defense.
Lizzie left the two to catch up, wandering the aisles and dragging her fingers along the leather bound volumes as she strolled. When she returned to Red's side, the two had finished a hurried and hushed conversation which they tried to cover the evidence of with laughter. All she could do was smile at them, admiring the history or whatever it was they shared.
Red lightly draped his arm around her, gave Vince a knowing wink and led her out of the store. As they reached the door, Red paused, looking over his shoulder once more at his friend.
"Give Holly my love, will you?" and with that, they left to continue their walk, his hand slipping slowly from her shoulder and falling back in place at his side. She immediately missed his warmth, the closeness that was beginning to randomly occur and feel oh so good. Patience, she told herself. Good things come to those who wait.
They continued their way through the west end as he continued to point out items of historical significance and she continued to roll her eyes at him. He'd continue to try to impress her, win her over until he was sure he had. The thought finally impacted her. He had been working so hard to win her trust and maybe even her friendship, but along the way, he won her heart. It was time he knew it.
Taking a chance, she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and caught up with him, the two now in lock step.
She was still looking up at him when a distant sound drew Lizzie's attention away. It was his turn to focus his eyes on her. A melody and the faint sound of drums filtered to her ears and she turned to Red, giving him a quizzical look. Further down the path and around a grove of trees, an orchestra shell came into view, yellow, heavily lit within and radiating warm light.
...Here comes the sun...and I say, it's alright...
The sun, indeed.
She turned to see him smiling down at her and she gifted him with a glowing smile in return. She nudged him with her elbow.
"Red, did you know? I mean, I love The Beatles and Rain is my favorite tribute band," she beamed, her enthusiasm infectious.
"You like The Beatles, huh?" he charmingly feigned an impossible ignorance.
"What can I say, Sam raised me right," she said confidently.
"He sure did," was all he could reply.
From the far corner of the park, a figure appeared that began to make a direct line toward them. As the man grew closer, she realized, it was Dembe. Dembe, whom they hadn't seen in months, carrying a picnic basket. He closed the last of the distance with speed, dropping the basket on the ground and reaching out with both arms to give Red a sturdy embrace. She never doubted their closeness, but in that moment there was an ache in her heart for the way these two have been separated. Separated because of her. Bearing the responsibility of Red being apart from the one constant friend and confidant weighed heavily on her soul. If protecting her meant this would continue indefinitely, that was something she could not settle within herself.
Lost in her own thoughts, she almost missed the soft and restrained conversation the two were trying to have. But before she could get a word in, Dembe bent to embrace her quickly but firmly, he gave Red a final nod and a squeeze on the shoulder and he turned, leaving as quickly as he came.
"Shall we?" he offered, spreading the blanket out for them.
She kicked off her sandals, giving her weary feet just a moment to linger in the cool grass before settling herself on the blanket. He retrieved the basket and sat with her, wasting no time delving into the contents and presenting her with a bottle of wine. Her favorite Cabernet, of course. She nodded her wholehearted approval.
They nibbled exotic cheese, figs and fruit while sipping their wine under the stars. He finally seemed relaxed, more than she had seen him since they left D.C. She couldn't help the rhythmic tapping of her toes, the warmth of sweet intoxication coursing through her veins and most blissful of all, a weightless, dreamlike feeling from just being with him. It was a perfect evening she wished would never end.
The swell of an orchestra pulled her from her thoughts as she drew her attention toward the lights that lowered and focused on the pit where the London Symphony Orchestra was seated. The orchestra played their entrance to "Yesterday" and when she turned to look at Red, he was staring off in the distance, like he was somewhere else. Another time, another place. Without words, she placed a hand over his and he slowly brought his head back around to meet her gaze, soft and understanding. His past. He had been through hell, the unforgiving fire leaving him permanently marred. And since meeting, they had been through fire together and the burn, she thought, has been the most beautiful time in her life.
Forgivingly, the song faded into the background, but his eyes were still locked with hers, the unspoken hanging thickly in the air between them.
It's now or never, he thought, owning that he'd never been one for thoughts quite so cliché. With a small grunt and a shove off the ground, praying his battle scarred knees would cooperate, he stood, taking a deep breath in to steel his nerves. He looked down at her curious expression. The couples scattered across the lawn were all still sitting and the show was surely not over. From this angle, he couldn't help but think things. Things an old, tattered and torn man like him shouldn't think about a young, vibrant woman like her. The hell, he thought them anyway, had for long enough now. Enough now, he told himself and whatever higher power would listen and while he was sending those thoughts out into the void, he begged for mercy. And just one more chance.
A new song was now playing as he extended a hand down to her, intently holding her gaze.
"Dance with me."
It wasn't a question.
Setting her wine glass down, she slipped her hand in his as he helped her to her feet. He cautiously wound an arm around the middle of her back, pulling her toward him and taking her hand in his. They swayed like that for a few unsure moments before she finally decided to meet his eyes, now so close.
...Oh, darling, please believe me...I'll never do you no harm…
He silently wished she could read his mind, his innermost and guarded thoughts. She returned the intensity in his eyes with her own quiet sincerity, then taking their joined hands, she placed them over his heart. The wave of nervous energy that had begun to crest between them both dissipated, and on a whim and a sigh, he pulled her closer still, their bodies now flush. He thought it risky, but she didn't pull back as they moved together, their hips and everything in between brushing and swaying in time.
...Oh, darling, if you leave me...I'll never make it alone…
He leaned in most of the way to her, waiting in his mind for her to close the distance. And she did, without hesitation. Their lips met for the first time, sparking a raging swell of feelings and emotions that only continued to rise and threatened to spill over into a display surely unfit for public.
...When you told me you didn't need me anymore…well you know I nearly broke down and died…
Impulses took over, neither caring who was watching. She slid her wanting arms around his neck, pulling his lips even more firmly against hers as they deepened their kiss. He tightened his grip around her waist, his hands longing to explore her body. Summoning strength, he stilled them right above her ass, opting instead to drag his tongue slowly along her bottom lip, relishing in the lovely sighs coming from her. Their dancing had stopped as their kiss continued to overwhelm their senses.
She pulled back first, but left no more than a breath of air between their now heated and tingling bodies.
"Red," she breathed, cupping his cheeks, "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."
His smile took her breath away, the love, the relief in his eyes. He swallowed at the lump that crept into his throat at her sincerity and for once, was at a loss for words.
"Take me home?"
"Yes, my love," he murmured into her hair as he curled her into his side.
The beauty of the lights and melodies faded softly into background as he led her from the park toward their new home and all the possibilities that lay ahead for them.
A/N: A huge thank you to my lovely friends Literary Bitca and Almcvay1 for their help with this story! If you haven't read any of their work, please go do and leave them some praise! xoxox #gutterbugs4life