I blame Tumblr for this. I was doing my nightly thumb calisthenics, scrolling through and saw some spoiler pics for 2x18, a wedding dress. I guess that is all it takes is a picture like that and I am dreaming up ways to get these two to kiss. I hope this isn't too out there. Also, because Lizzington Shippers FB is now 1,000 strong. #itsalovestory
Through layers of gossamer the thick and sultry mid-afternoon sun streaked. Her uncertain feet clipped across the cool, burnished cement floor toward where it hung. A contract, a deal made in secret between the two billowing on its hanger, terms of their contract stitched in white. The silhouette cast a filmy glow on the room, illuminating everything except the neglected corners of her own heart.
Though the dress was nothing she would ever choose, she reminded herself it was the thought that counted. It was about appearances. It was about proving to the cabal that she was who he claimed her to be.
Not his daughter.
For years, they hunted her. Followed dead ends and roads to nowhere, planted by Red himself. It became a cat and mouse of how they would catch up to his clues and how quickly he could disperse a few more in their general direction. A man of his intellect often finds himself in need of a challenge, in need of occasional entertainment and they never failed to provide the opportunity for both. He thought releasing her birth certificate proving her Russian birth would be enough for them but they refused to surrender. Classified DNA results from their files were then leaked, further clarifying the absence of genetic connection between them.
Their thirst for vengeance would not be quelled, save for one name: Elizabeth Keen.
This wasn't the first time a faction craved a bite of Raymond Reddington. Wouldn't be the last, but while most would come to realize they were out of their league, this unit was unrelenting. In reckless pursuit of one mission: find Raymond Reddington's daughter and squeeze her for information then use her to lure her cunning father from the shadows.
Only, his daughter had perished in a fire twenty-five years ago. A secret he had so closely guarded even the FBI didn't know. If he had his way, no one would ever know. He would have no one's pity. Of course, releasing that information would simultaneously absolve Elizabeth from the price on her head, but he had his reasons.
She reached up to bring the dress down and gasped at the designer name delicately sewn into the bodice. A name she could never afford to own. It seemed when it came to Red's money, nothing was too good for her. She would only have the finest. A fact she should probably get used to quickly.
Slipping out of her off the rack navy polyester suit, she pulled on the lavish gown. She managed to get all the layers on and in place, zipping it with some awkward maneuvers. There was a full-length mirror behind her but she was afraid to look. She took several deep breaths. She was doing this for Red. She was only doing this for Red.
Giving into curiosity, she finally spun to take in her appearance. Not as bad as she had imagined. Not completely marshmallow. To make this work, to make this believable, she needed a few touches to sell it. Fishing the bobby pins out of her jacket pocket, she carefully pinned up her hair in as much of an elegant twist as she could manage. She carefully threw the veil behind her and started securing it to her hair, a fairly strong sense of déjà vu crashing over her.
Feeling finished, she started out the door and across the hallway to the mirroring room, to the man waiting for her at the balcony. He was leaning over the railing wearing all white, signature fedora firmly in place. The Cuban sun giving him a youthful glow. A sweating tumbler of scotch dangled lazily from his hand at the railing over into the courtyard. It was moments like this that she wanted to capture, create a mental still photograph of. A combined album of precious moments she could keep near her long after he would not be.
A photograph also had the added benefit of not being able to speak. It seemed he opened his mouth to release nuclear bombs and she was always just out of reach of the fallout shelter.
She ought not to trust a man like Raymond Reddington. There was still so much she didn't know, so much she may never know about who he truly was. His motives. When he approached her with his proposition, she was skeptical, anxious. But over the past eighteen months, something else had sprung up in the garden of curiosity she had been so steadfastly tending to. A feeling not yet named had been blooming in the pit of her stomach, so strong, so overcoming that she denied its presence. A feeling that made her screw her gut and go with her heart. She chose trust. Blind, ridiculous, nonsensical trust.
He was still leaning over the railing, so lost in thought he didn't hear her approach. She cleared her throat quietly and he slowly turned toward her.
His eyes could never deny him.
"Lizzie, my, I'm afraid for once, I am truly at a loss for words. You're stunning," he gasped, eyes still roaming, taking all of her in.
"I don't even want to know what this cost," she said, lightly fingering the delicate layers of the gown.
"No, you don't. Can you imagine what I would spend if we were really getting married?" He searched her eyes, thinking he might find the same longing in her eyes staring back at him.
Lizzie on the other hand had felt an aversion to matrimony itself since the true nature of her first fake husband was revealed. It wasn't men, she was sure she would love again. It wasn't monogamy, either. After her divorce, this was just a place she never thought she would find herself in, real or pretend.
"Well, I guess we should get on with it, then. You said it would only be two or three hours at the worst?" she asked.
"Two to three hours at the most. I promise, I will stick to our agreement," he said, sadly, realizing the lengths she was willing to go to follow him. He, a wrecking ball and she, just a wreck. What a pair.
"Okay, let's do it."
He offered the crook of his arm and she slid her hand in, steeling her insides with silent prayers that he wouldn't notice her trembling.
He led her down a winding Spanish tiled staircase into the courtyard where Dembe, Mr. Kaplan and a man she had never seen before stood in the shady canopy of an ancient weeping tree. A second unfamiliar man dressed in black stood off to the side with a tripod and camera gear. She tensed her grip on his arm.
He leaned in and whispered, as if reading her mind, "I hired Cleo, my hat maker, to pose as our clergy and Franc is our photographer. Remember, as convincing as possible."
By now they were within earshot of the four. "And Dembe and Mr. Kaplan?"
"Witnesses," he answered.
"I'm just here for the cake," Mr. Kaplan said dryly.
Ignoring his associate's sass, he positioned himself and Lizzie in the shade in front of Cleo. "Shall we?"
Lizzie nodded her agreement, her voice failing her as Red took both her hands in his. He ran his thumbs lazily back and forth across her hands, feigning attempts to calm her but in truth, just to be close to her.
"Have you the rings?" Cleo asked right on cue.
"Rings? Red, is that necessary?" she asked.
"Lizzie, we haven't come this far to do this halfway," he replied, eyes shining. They had truly come so far.
"Red, place the ring on her finger and repeat after me. 'With this ring, I thee wed,'" Cleo began.
He reached into his jacket and fished out two glimmering pieces of white gold. Taking back her left hand, he placed the diamond on her finger, now trembling himself. "With this ring, I thee wed." His eyes were now burning into hers and she willingly melted under their power. Red was promising himself to her. No matter what they agreed, even if this was fake, something in his eyes cried out for more.
"Elizabeth, place the ring on his finger and repeat, 'With this ring, I thee wed,'" Cleo instructed.
Red handed her a simple band, complimentary to her own. She took his hand a slid the ring on, repeating the promise and clasping his hands as she finished. A tiny tear escaped the corner of her eye. She hadn't expected to feel so overcome by pretending to marry Raymond Reddington in order to throw off the vicious people hunting him. She was so caught up in the beauty of what was and seeing what could be between them that she almost forgot they weren't alone. The rapid firing of the camera shutter to capture her exact reaction pulled her from her reverie. Photographs were taken of their enjoined hands, purposely showcasing the sparkling rings.
"And I'm skipping over a bunch of lines…I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Reddington, you may kiss the bride," Cleo happily announced to Red, his fake bride and their two guests.
Oh.
Well, of course they would need to kiss. Why Lizzie hadn't thought of it until now, she didn't know. She would later analyze that her subconscious denied that any of this would ever really happen. But for now, she needed to kiss Raymond Reddington for the first time. In front of people.
And make it look convincing.
She stepped forward, as did he. He slipped a hand smoothly around her waist and pulled her flush against him. They had held each other before, but it was always under the guise of comfort. This was intimate.
He tipped his head and leaned in most of the way, hoping against everything that she would close the distance. Despite his 'Red' persona, he was still a closeted hopeless romantic. Since the moment he concocted this fake wedding scheme, he was at least hopeful that she would be a willing participant. After all, he was nothing if not still a gentleman.
Springing up on her toes, she closed the rest of the gap, lips landing awkwardly on his. Their eyes each sprang open at the contact and the shock of it made Lizzie unsteady and she rocked backward, ending the kiss quickly. Her cheeks flushed at the awareness of a moment she had only dreamt of, at the awareness of the pairs of eyes focused on her. She had to make this right, quickly.
"I think we can do better than that, you know, for the photographs," she suggested.
"I know better than to argue with you, Lizzie." He leaned toward her again, his hands still at her waist. "It's just you and me, Lizzie. Forget about everyone else," he whispered.
She closed her eyes once more and put everyone far from her thoughts. She pushed Dembe, Mr. Kaplan, Cooper, Tom, everyone far away until it was just her and Red in a precious bubble.
Before she could even make her next move, two solid hands cupped her cheeks, thumbs moving slowly over her smooth, delicate skin. Though her eyes were still closed, she could sense that he was close. And then he was kissing her again. With all the beautiful, pent-up passion of years overflowing in a simple act, translating unwritten volumes between them into that which could not simply be named: love, attraction, fire, bliss. She responded, kissing him back with unrestrained desire and freedom, truly forgetting about everyone else. Sliding her hands up his jacket and around his neck, she drew lazy circles on the tender skin of his neck eliciting a low growl from deep in his throat. She purred back, loving the animal within Red she was rousing.
"You two wanna get a room?" Mr. Kaplan interrupted, annoyed.
The couple broke apart, both stunned into silence and eyes locked on one another. Lizzie's lips bore the clear evidence of their kiss, a wave of embarrassment coursing through her at the realization. She had lost control, lost all sense of where she was, who was watching and what they could possibly be thinking about their boss and the newcomer that she was to their little gang. She raised her left hand to cover her lips as Red's eyes fixed immediately on her ring finger, admiring how beautiful she looked as a new bride and letting the symbolism sink into his memory for just a moment before it would all be over.
"Get a room? Sure, but I think the blushing bride here might have something to say about it," he spoke up, sensing the uncomfortable silence eating away at Lizzie.
"Could I speak with you privately for a moment?" she ground through barely opened teeth, shooting Red a look in the process.
"My, my, only married five minutes and already bossing me around," he chuckled. "Please, excuse us."
He quickly placed his hand at the small of her back and led her inside, away from the prying eyes of the others.
"Lizzie, I must admit, I thought for sure you would get cold feet," he started. He was wont to regale her with marvelous accounts of his globe-trotting travels and impress her with his knowledge of sea life, but she was in no mood for a story. She quickly pressed her body into his and backed him firmly into the wall, hands free now to slide under his jacket and down to cup his ass. She pulled his bottom half tightly against her, drawing another low groan of pleasure from him. He claimed her mouth as his, fisting both hands into her hair and knocking some pins and curls loose in the process. Their hungry and greedy tongues fought, twisted and danced as they continued to take more and more of each other in.
Lizzie was floating, nothing compared to this feeling. Until he took control, grabbing her wrists and turning her into the wall. His strong hand held both wrists in place above her head, leaving the other to finally wander free over her heaving breasts. She threw her head back, giving him enough access to burn a trail of hot kisses over her exposed neck and down to the neckline of her gown.
"Why…why haven't we done this sooner?" she managed breathlessly.
Between kissing and sucking the sweet, smooth skin of her neck, he answered, "Mm, I was giving you space."
She managed to wrench her hands free from his hold and grasped both sides of his face, pulling him from what he was clearly more interested in.
"Okay, well, I think I'm over the whole needing you to give me space thing. Overrated," she said as a Cheshire-like grin spread across his face, lighting up his eyes. God, his eyes. "But for now, we have some guests who have got to be curious about what happened to us and I think I heard something about cake."
He frowned, doing his best impression of a petulant child. "You're right. But I'm not happy about it."
"I never tire of being correct," she said, doing her best impression of Red.
"I never tire of hearing myself quoted back to myself," he joked. "Come on."
They both took a moment to collect themselves, straightening clothing and hair. Again, he led her out to their guests with his hand on her back, a little lower this time. She wasn't going to stop him now.
The afternoon sun was glorious, warm on her cheeks and hopefully hiding how flushed she already looked from the stolen moments in private with Red.
No matter the pretext, it was a day she would always remember and not just for the kisses. He had shown a side of himself to her that she never dared to believe existed. The soft underbelly of a hardened criminal, a man with a heart that lived to beat wildly just for her. As she felt his steadying hand at her back she was reminded, she trusted him, she would follow him anywhere he led.
"So, you think you'll ever really get married again, Lizzie?"
"Don't you think we ought to at least go on a few dates first, Red?"