A/N: Fully disclaimed. With such a perfect prompt given, I just couldn't help myself. I hope that some form of this comes to pass when the next episode airs. We all need a bedside scene, ASAP! If Red being shot doesn't send Liz into a spiral down "I can't lose him" lane, then I'm going to throw something. These two need to stop being such stubborn babies. As usual, getting into Liz's head is SO much fun. Writing Dembe is fun as well. Don't drown in feels ;)
It wasn't real, she told herself. This was all a dream.
But it wasn't, and as she climbed into the ambulance after him, her whole body was cold and numb.
She sat out of the way and watched in silence as the paramedics rushed to stabilize him as the ambulance screamed down the road. Her eyes stayed fixed on his face, and she took in every detail there as if she would never see it again. The scarlet red of his blood that covered one side of his face was hard to ignore, but she stubbornly made her eyes focus on everything but. His eyes, now closed, hooded and green and not hard to imagine sparkling with life. His nose…those lips that she always caught herself looking at. The shape of his hairline and the line of his jaw. Features that were usually so well put together, now slack, pale, and vulnerable.
Something that she had caused.
Somewhere, the rational part of her brain tried to convince her that it couldn't be her fault. She wasn't the one who pulled the trigger. But the guilt and the sick feeling in her stomach was currently overriding any logical thought process in her brain. If only she had given him that damn Fulcrum when he asked. He had told her it was a matter of life or death now, and she had brushed it off, thinking it was a ploy to play to her feelings and get her to hand it over. Now she saw that it wasn't, and it had taken a bullet to the chest to get her to see reason.
She was stupid. So, so stupid. Her stubbornness had ruled over what her heart had been screaming at her during that phone call, and it had cost him dearly. Now here he was, fighting for his life, and she was to blame.
That ambulance ride was the longest of her life. Minutes seemed like hours, and she willed for them to be at the hospital already, for him to open his eyes and assure her with his usual confident air that it was just a scratch. She would give anything to see those eyes open again, to watch his face light up as he regaled her with one of his stories. He was frustrating and grated on her nerves, but she cared about him, and even his admission about Tom hadn't changed that.
That was another matter for her brain to absorb in this chaos: Tom.
Tom had told her that it was Reddington who had given him the passports. Reddington had told her it was one of his contacts that Tom had purchased them from. Who was she to believe? The man who had lied throughout the entirety of their marriage, or the man who had never lied to her? She believed what she had told Tom about Red never lying to her; he had proved time and again that he hadn't. That didn't mean he didn't withhold information from her, of course, but what he did answer and what truths he did tell her, he did not lie about. So when she had left Tom, she had been determined to find out some answers. To confront Red and ask him point blank if he had given the passports to Tom. She didn't think he had and that Tom was twisting the story to make himself look good, but she had to know for sure for her own sanity.
What she didn't expect was the admission that he had put Tom in her life.
It had been like a slap in the face. She hadn't even been able to process it before she recoiled, protecting her emotions and closing off with a nearly audible snap as she backed away from him. Her mind had been reeling, and she couldn't listen to anything else he had to say. Maybe she wanted to hear him explain. Maybe she didn't. But at that moment, she wasn't able to process any coherent thought, and had simply shoved the Fulcrum at him and run, ignoring his pleading calls. All she could make herself do was run, retreat, something…anything to get away from it all.
Then as he'd turned away, the shot had rang out and everything had snapped into hyper focus as the world came to a crashing halt. She found herself crying out, running to him, trying to do anything she could to help. At that moment, all thoughts of Tom had been thrown out of her head, and all she could focus on was Red coughing up blood and struggling to breathe in front of her. She'd used her scarf to try and staunch the flow of blood, and once that was soaked she just pressed her hands as hard as she could to his chest with Dembe's help. Shooting had been second nature, instinct; she was just shooting in the general direction that she sensed movement, and following Dembe's lead. She remembered him dialing the ambulance, and then endless waiting for the sirens in the distance to arrive.
It was a swirl of chaos all up until the ambulance had arrived, and now as she sat silently next to him on the drive, covered in his blood, her head started to pound relentlessly. How was she supposed to deal with all of this? She wanted to click her brain off from all of this turmoil and emotion. But she couldn't, so she kept focusing instead on just his face, and it was enough to distract her for the time being. Thinking about Tom would come later.
They finally arrived, and the flurry of activity that followed had her functioning like a robot as she climbed out of the ambulance and went with him as far as they would allow. They rushed him in to surgery and she was left waiting with Dembe for news. He had followed them with the car, and looked visibly shaken. She didn't think she had ever seen the man look as distraught as he did now. He cared for Red just as she did, and she knew they had a long history together. Red was likely Dembe's only family in this world, and he was at risk of losing that. Seeing him like this helped to shake the shock from her limbs and her mental processing; she had business to attend to.
She placed a hand over his and gave it a squeeze, and he gave her a nod and a grateful look in return. That was all she was going to get right now in terms of a response, so she gathered herself and walked back out through the hospital doors to make the necessary calls away from prying eyes and ears.
After a brief rundown to Cooper about the situation, she felt relieved when he assured her that they would do whatever was necessary to clean up this mess.
"Agent Keen, are you alright? Do I even want to know what you were doing meeting up with him without approval?"
"Sir, I was just as much in the dark about this as you are. He contacted me and simply told me that he wanted to meet, but it had to be now and I couldn't contact anyone for fear of endangering an asset should the information get out. I believed it to be of the utmost importance to meet with him, and he assured me that I would be able to pass along the information in due time. So I decided that it was in the best interest of the task force to do so." The lie rolled easily off of her tongue, and she didn't take the time to question it. It was basically true. She had just neglected to tell him certain details. Namely that the Fulcrum was involved, and she herself had set up the meeting, not Red. Cooper didn't need to know that, and although she hated lying to him, it was necessary in this case.
"We'll speak about this more later," he assured her. "You didn't answer me before. Are you alright?"
No, she wanted to tell him. "Yes. I could do with some clothes, though," she added as an afterthought, looking down at herself. She didn't need to be stared at more than she was already. Her bloodied clothes were drawing attention.
"I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, sit tight for now. We're working to stabilize the situation." He cut the call off and she sighed as she leaned back against the wall of the building.
The call had brought her back to reality a bit, and she closed her eyes and tried to get a handle on her mental state. She regulated her breathing and tried to think rationally. He was being cared for. He would get the best attention money could buy. He would be okay.
But what if he wasn't? What if she lost him? What if…
No. She would not think like that, would not let her thoughts travel down that path. Steeling herself, she walked back in and found the situation unchanged. Dembe sat there silently, staring at the wall with his hands clasped together. He was just as rough looking as she was, she realized. Satisfied that he was okay for now, she followed signs to the bathroom and went about cleaning herself up. Her hands and arms were sticky with blood, and she scrubbed until the water ran clear instead of red. She scrubbed them so much that her skin was pink and tingling by the time she was done, yet she didn't feel clean. It was hard to erase the memory of so much blood on her hands, both literally and figuratively.
Next she set about washing her face and getting her hair in as much order as she could. Finger combing would have to do for now until she could get a hold of a brush. At least it was shorter now after having cut it a few months back, making it easier to deal with. Looking at her reflection, she decided that she looked as presentable as was to be expected. There was still blood on her clothes, but at least she looked a lot better than she had. The clothes would be taken care of later. They weren't of much importance in the grand scheme of it all, anyway.
Walking back out, she sat down next to Dembe again, and he gave her a cursory glance as he always did. Never failing to be on guard and protecting her, even when all hell had broken loose. She knew that she was safe by his side, no matter how this all turned out.
"The bathroom is through those doors," she said quietly, and gestured to her left down the hallway. He looked at her in confusion, and she pointedly looked at his appearance. "Go clean yourself up. I'll be fine, and it's going to be a while before we hear anything."
Sitting there for a minute longer, he seemed to ponder something before giving her a nod of assent and leaving her alone.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall, trying to weave through all of the thoughts that had been trying to get her attention earlier. Tom's supposed "truth" and Red's admission of putting him in her life. What the hell had her life become that she was debating on which criminal to trust? This was definitely not what she had seen herself getting into when she agreed to work with Reddington and the task force. The past 2 years had been full of so many twists and turns, ups and downs, that she really shouldn't be surprised by anything anymore. Yet, she found that things still managed to surprise her. Would it ever stop? Would she ever grow to accept such insanity?
Perhaps one day she would. But today was not that day, and she had to move past the thought of how ridiculous this all was in order to think clearly. If she was being honest, she was inclined to believe Reddington more than Tom. Perhaps Tom was telling some version of the truth, one that he understood to be true, but she knew that Red was telling her the actual truth. Or at least he was trying to before he got shot. The thought made her cringe, and she stubbornly pushed the visual of him falling to the ground out of her mind. Yes, Red was shot. Yes, it was her fault. Before she started to think about that, however, she had to come to terms with what he had said before all had gone to hell.
He had placed Tom in her life. She didn't know why, but it made her sick to think that he had had Tom marry her in order to manipulate her. How could someone who claimed to care about her do that? She had no idea, but she sure as hell wasn't going to let him get out of telling her. Her reaction to it all had been spurred by emotion and disbelief, and she hadn't wanted to listen to his explanation. The more she thought about it, however, the more she wanted to know. How dare he? How dare he do this to her? Anger fought with hurt as she tried in vain to decide whether she was mad that he was at fault for this whole Tom fiasco, or hurt that he would betray her in such a way. Perhaps it was a bit of both. She figured she was allowed to be angry at him. It looked as though he had expected her reaction, as much as he tried to get her to listen to his explanation. He knew, and yet he still told her anyway.
The thought made her pause. He had told her, fully knowing what her reaction would be, and to tell her anyway…what was his angle? Did he even have an angle? Was it possible he was just tired of keeping things from her? That didn't seem in character for him, but perhaps that was the case. It was always hard to tell with him. She would think he was being genuine, and then doubt would creep into her mind. Maybe it was just her suspicious and untrusting nature at play, she rationalized. Yet he had also done some things to make her always be on her toes around him, so she figured her suspicions weren't totally unwarranted. One thing she knew for sure, though: she trusted him to not lie to her, and she doubted such an admission from him was a lie.
Sometime later, she felt herself being shaken gently awake, and she immediately awoke, all senses on alert. Damn it all, she must have fallen asleep. The physical and mental exhaustion must have finally taken its toll. She realized it was Dembe shaking her, and he was looking at her with wide eyes.
"They have him in a room. He's still unconscious, but they said we can see him."
She was out of her seat before he had finished, and the nurse who had approached them led her to his room, with Dembe close behind.
Instructing them to be quiet and calm so as not to disturb him, she left them alone and Liz found herself standing at the door, unable to move.
There he was, lying in a hospital bed, looking like death warmed over. He was pale and still, pillowed up and covered with a blanket. The various beeps and trills of the monitors connected to him served as background noise, and she felt herself swallow the lump in her throat. He looked so damn vulnerable that she felt an ache in her chest. Feeling vulnerable was the one thing he abhorred most, and it pained her to think that he was this way because of her. She was the reason he was here right now, the reason he was shot. The trigger hadn't been pulled by her finger, but it may as well have been. What the hell had she been thinking?
She must have made some sort of noise, because Dembe placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed comfortingly.
"It will be okay, Agent Keen," he said quietly, but his voice seemed to catch. "Raymond will be okay. Look at me," he ordered, and she turned to look at him. "Whenever the time comes and he is ready to talk, listen to him. He has never cared for someone more deeply than he cares for you. When he tells you to let him explain about Tom, listen to him. It is important. It is not what you think. Listen to him."
It was the most she had ever heard Dembe speak, and he was looking at her with such earnest now that she found herself rocked to her core. If Dembe of all people was telling her to listen to Red, this must be something big. Dembe had no reason to lead her astray, and had always done his best to protect her. Reddington may have ordered him to, but she sensed that he would have done it anyway even if it wasn't his job. She was good at reading people, at least when it came to everyone except Reddington, and she could sense this about him. He was deeply loyal, and committed to those he felt he owed such loyalty to. For some reason, she was included in this, and she found that she trusted him.
Red was a criminal, yes, but he had his morals. One of those was not lying to her, and she had known for a long time without even him admitting to it that she was the exception to all of his rules. He'd given her hints and admissions along the way, enough for her to now finally understand that he would, quite literally, die for her. The realization left her struggling to breathe in that moment, and looking into Dembe's eyes she knew her realization was spot on.
Raymond Reddington was more than willing to die for her, and he would never intentionally hurt her. She didn't know how she felt about him inserting Tom into her life, but when he was ready to explain, she would listen. She owed him that much.
Turning away from Dembe, she strode across the room and pulled the chair in the corner over to his bedside. His face was slack, as if he was sleeping peacefully and not doped up on drugs, and she noticed that this was the most relaxed he had ever appeared to her. The mask was always in place, and she had never been able to see the man underneath what he presented except in rare moments of vulnerability. This was one of those times, even if it wasn't by his own volition. For the first time, she found herself wanting to protect this vulnerable man from all who would bear him ill, just as he had done for her. Protect him from all of the danger that tomorrow would inevitably bring.
Knowing that tomorrow was never assured for anyone, particularly the Concierge of Crime, and finding that she no longer cared what anyone thought, she laced her fingers with his as he lay fighting for his life in the hospital bed.
She would be here when tomorrow came, when he was ready to explain.
And she would listen.