AN: Thank you all so much for your lovely welcome to the fandom and your kind reviews for Choices. It really means a lot. As promised, here is the first chapter of my second story (a multi-chapter fic this time). Please let me know your thoughts. Set post-1x22.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Blacklist. Lyrics are from Billy Joel's "And So It Goes". I do not own that song, either (though I wish I did).
Why she had decided to walk down the hall towards Raymond Reddington's bedroom in the middle of the night she didn't understand. But there she was, barefoot and half-asleep, with a glass of water in one hand and the hem of her shirt in the other. Nervous. She wondered if he could hear the faint echo of her footsteps, if he was awake at all. If he was expecting her. Get a grip, Liz. She shook her head as to clear the thoughts from her mind. When she finally reached the door, she hesitated. Liz could hear his unsteady breathing, his trembling exhalation. So nightmares haunt him too, she thought to herself. Silently, she pushed the door open, took one step, barely crossing the threshold, and looked around. Her eyes traced the ornate paintings on the wall, the mahogany furniture, and finally settled on the bed near the window and the man lying on top of it. Asleep. Vulnerable. Only his legs covered with a blanket, the black waistband of his pajama pants sticking out. His bare back turned towards her.
His back.
His back.
It took her a moment to understand. To fathom the odd pattern, the shadows, the uneven skin.
When she did, her breathing stopped.
And this is why my eyes are closed
It's just as well for all I've seen
He woke up at the sound of glass hitting the wooden floor. It was still nighttime, his room drenched in nothing but darkness and subtle fragments of moonlight. He was facing the window, but he could feel someone's presence behind him. Her presence. Slowly, careful even, and slightly afraid of the sight awaiting him, he turned around. There she stood in the doorframe, her feet surrounded by tiny shards the broken glass had left behind. Her eyes a kaleidoscope of emotions. She had to find out eventually. He could only hope she would give him a chance to explain.
The tears welling up in his eyes whispered a silent apology. They both remained like this for what seemed like an eternity, unable to move far less address what had just happened, before Liz exhaled in shock and stormed out of the room. A few minutes later, while he was still assessing the ramifications of the situation, Red heard the front door slam shut. Betrayed and defeated by his own feelings, but mostly determined to not let whatever they shared end this way, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
"Dembe, get the car."
Elizabeth Keen had once again forced him to change his plans.
But if my silence made you leave
Then that would be my worst mistake
She was sitting in the back of a cab, trying to stop the wheels in her head from turning. Eventually, she gave up. Have you ever had a selfless moment in your entire life? She had regretted uttering the words the moment they had left her mouth. There had been many. And he had looked hurt. She had hurt him. Just now she began to grasp the true extent of the pain her thoughtless comment must have caused him.
She had left him, again. Had gone back to her room as quickly as she could manage, confused and stunned, had changed into jeans and the first sweater she could find, had not said a word. Found herself walking down the street when finally a cab came along that had picked her up.
"Where to?"
"Just…I don't know, just into the city."
And now here she was, alone in a taxi in the middle of the night, looking outside the window as the city lights rushed by like a continuous stream of shooting stars. What now?
"Turn right on the next one, please."
She knew this neighborhood, vividly remembered the events that had taken place here. When the cab passed the inconspicuous little park, she asked the driver to stop and handed him some bills she found in her pockets. He nodded and she got out of the car. She shouldn't be here, not at this late hour. Not in her fragile state. She didn't care.
And every time I've held a rose
It seems I only felt the thorns
She walked towards a small round table in the middle of the park, let her fingers trace the back of the accompanying chair, allowed herself to reminisce. It made nearly dying well worth it. She could still sense his presence, still see his ruminative face in the bright sunlight, his honest eyes hiding under the shade of his fedora.
The blue coat.
The pattern of his tie.
Armor in place.
That's how I feel right now.
Carefully, as to not scare away the lingering ghost of a wanted criminal, she sat down. Let herself have this moment. Indulged in the soft haze of the streetlights, the tranquility of the night.
That's how I feel.
Right now.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Scars.
No.
Burns.
She couldn't get the image out of her head, felt overwhelmed by its implications. It was him who had saved her that night. Not her father. What father? Only him. He had carried her away from the flames, bearing his own suffering in the process. It was her own mind that had deceived her all these years. She felt the weight of the world crushing down on her. She was so tired.
The familiar scent of his cologne surrounded her before she felt his gentle touch on her shoulder. She wasn't quite sure if she was dreaming.