Injured

by lizzingtonahoy

The contrast between the man in front of her now and the man who was usually in total command of himself and the situation jarred her profoundly. He had always been so capable, so commanding; it was easy to forget that a bullet could render him as vulnerable as it could a lesser man.

Dembe seemed to recover more quickly. He was more accustomed to the lifestyle that had led Reddington to this moment, more mentally prepared for the situation as he'd played this situation in his head many times. Of course Reddington had prepared for such a scenario, but Elizabeth's presence was naturally a wild card. Dembe knew his employer's priorities well and even has he pulled Reddington to the relative safety of car's shadow, he looked around for additional threats, particularly to Elizabeth.

For her part, Elizabeth struggled to recover. She had pulled her pristine cream colored scarf off and thrust it against Reddington's chest, torn between applying all the pressure she could with both hands and aiming one-handed with her service weapon to deter further attacks. Dembe lent his considerable strength to hers, pressing down over her hands to seal Reddington's wound.

There was no trace of the shooter. Helplessly sheathing her weapon, Elizabeth turned to the man beside her. "Dembe!" she shouted desperately, desperate for guidance, desperate for the man whose life was bleeding away under her palms.

"Time is of the essence now, Agent Keen." Dembe urged, jerking his head in the direction of the Mercedes. Shaking violently, Elizabeth nodded in response. Dembe hooked his hands under Reddington's arms and pulled him behind the Mercedes while Elizabeth abandoned Reddington's side for a moment, ducking for safety behind the chassis of the car to open the back door. Dembe settled Reddington into the back as quickly as possible, and ceded his place to Elizabeth who dove into the chassis after him while he hurried around to the front, swung himself into the driver's seat, and started the engine.

Elizabeth's slim frame squatted in the footwell of the car. She was gasping for air and her hands shuddered unsteadily even as they pressed against Reddington's chest. The blood from his wounds had seeped into the fine carpeting and was smeared starkly against the expensive beige leather of the seats. "Red…" she whispered, choking on her fear. Blood marred his usually impeccable tie, collared shirt, and suit. The contrast between the man in front of her now and the man who was usually in total command of himself and the situation jarred her profoundly. He had always been so capable, so commanding; it was easy to forget that a bullet could render him as vulnerable as it could a lesser man.

The acceleration of the car jerked her back to reality. "Dembe, what's the plan!?" Elizabeth inquired, voice shaking as she turned her head rapidly to the front. Dembe snapped his cell phone shut. She hadn't even noticed he was making calls.

"The safe house-" Dembe began.

"There's no time for that, he'll bleed out! Go to Mercy!" She ordered, hoping the firmness with which she desired his compliance would be communicated despite the weakness in her voice. Dembe did not reply, his stare intense on her via the rearview mirror.

"I don't care about the security issues, the FBI will clean up after us, just go!" Elizabeth shouted. She saw the faintest affirmative nod, and it was all she needed. She turned back to Reddington.

"Red… Red!" She yelled. Stay with me, please. Elizabeth was not one to pray or beg, but this situation was different. Oh god… what have I done?

Mercy hadn't been hard to persuade. Elizabeth ran in badge first and ordered medics outside while Dembe oversaw their management of his employer. Turning back to the reception outside, cellphone to her ear, she explained to Cooper that she needed calls made to Mercy explaining the delicacy of the situation now, particularly concerning the ID of their latest patient. She dialed Ressler next, but as she raised the phone to her ear, they carried Reddington in. Time seemed to slow down as the team passed her, and Ressler's greeting fell on deaf ears. Dembe's eyes could not be persuaded away from the body of his employer. Elizabeth's heart caught in her chest as the gravity of the situation hit her anew.

"Agent Keen?" Ressler asked urgently. "Keen – are you okay?"

The moment passed, and Elizabeth turned on her heel to pursue the group. A nurse at the door pointed to Elizabeth's cell phone and shook her head forbiddingly.

"Ressler, I have to go. Red was shot. Call Cooper for details. I'm at Mercy."

"Keen – are you okay?"

"I have to go." Elizabeth repeated, dazed. She ended the call and stuffed the phone obediently in her pocket as she passed the threshold.

They had only been allowed to go so far. Red was transferred to a hospital bed and wheeled away while a team of nurses and doctors descended upon Elizabeth and Dembe, inquiring about the shooting. Elizabeth watched his figure as they took him away, panicked.

Later, she would hardly remembered any of the ensuing interrogation. She and Dembe were finally ushered to a waiting area. Dembe never sat, but stepped out immediately into a nearby courtyard, handling further phone calls. Elizabeth watched him almost enviously. There was nothing she could do but wait, nothing she could do to help.

"I want this all to end – now!"

Her own words echoed in her mind. Her hands flew up to either side of her head, which shook involuntarily. She was overcome with desire to take her words back.

"Lizzie."

Would she ever hear him speak her name again?

Elizabeth could make no sense of her emotions until about an hour had passed. In the intervening time, Ressler had come and gone. He had kneeled on the floor in front of her, strong hands on her shoulders to lend her strength, staring intently into her eyes as she stuttered a halting explanation of what had happened.

She didn't know how long ago he had left to retrieve the van at the abandoned scene of the shooting. Her heartbeat gradually slowed as she tried to take control of the situation, told herself Mercy was a fine hospital, that all the time passing meant they were getting ever closer to stabilizing him.

The scene of the day haunted her, replaying in her head over and over. It struck her that he hadn't touched the damn fulcrum. She had thrown it onto the Mercedes to be rid of it once and for all and he hadn't even gone to secure it. All he'd done was call after her, desperate to explain. She'd seen the pain in his eyes and a part of her had even wanted it, thought he deserved it for what he'd done. But this was more than she ever bargained for, more than she could handle.

A hand on her shoulder disturbed her train of thought. She peered up into Dembe's dark eyes. He said nothing as he took the seat next to her. She had the sudden urge to cry into his shoulder as it occurred to her that Dembe was probably the only one who could empathize with her emotions at that moment; Dembe, who lived to love and protect Reddington.

"Agent Keen?" Dembe and Elizabeth's heads shot up in unison as a doctor strode towards them. Elizabeth rose at his approach, trembling as she acknowledged her name with a nod. "The patient is stable. The bullet passed through his lung. He lost a lot of blood, but… we are hoping for the best at this point."

Elizabeth stumbled back into the chair, exchanging a glance of solidarity with Dembe before she nodded to the doctor. She felt tears in her eyes, tears, she realized, of relief.

"Can we see him?" Dembe asked.

The doctor shook his head. "Not yet. We need him to rest, to move as little as possible."

"Is he conscious?" Elizabeth followed up.

"Not yet, no. The earliest you'll be able to come in is tomorrow - depending on his condition."

Elizabeth nodded and the doctor smiled. "He's in good hands," he said reassuringly, smiling to the odd pair before him, and took his leave.

Elizabeth felt Dembe's eyes on her, but she was afraid to turn her head. She was ashamed of abandoning Reddington at a moment when it turned out he needed those closest to him most; ashamed to look at the man who had loved him better than her. Dembe hadn't needed a bullet to wake him up to Reddington's worth.

"Agent Keen, I will take you to the safe house-" Dembe offered, but Elizabeth shook her head.

"I know you don't want to stray far from him. This isn't exactly the securest location," she hedged. She swiftly brought a hand to her eyes, swiping away obvious tears before she turned to regard him. "Let's stay here." She found she could not bear the thought of leaving Reddington, not after almost losing him.

Dembe rose from the chair, staring down intently at Elizabeth from his full height. "You mistake Raymond's priorities if you think he would prefer I stay here and watch him over ensuring your safety. Agent Keen, I need you to go to the safe house. For Raymond. We have no information on the shooter, no confirmation on what those behind it wanted."

Elizabeth stared back at him, his words froze her heart. They were heavy with implication. She suddenly knew them to be true, that if anyone wanted to really hurt Reddington, the best way to do it was by hurting her.

"I have made arrangements," Dembe reassured her, "he will be safe tonight."

Elizabeth could put up no further argument. She nodded and followed Dembe to the exit, shooting one last glance behind her the operating wing doors Reddington had disappeared beyond.

The safe house was closer to the Post Office than she imagined would be secure. It was in an upscale part of an already upscale neighborhood. There was no explanation this time for the grandeur of the place without Reddington present. She wondered which of his friends or debtors had granted him its use. Dembe unlocked the front door to the grand house, antique furnishings and marble and wooden floors polished and undisturbed. She wondered how this world seemed to go on so undisturbed by the day's events while its master lay close to dying.

"There is a guest room on the second floor, to the right of the stair case. Please make yourself at home." Elizabeth turned back to Dembe, nodding weakly. He closed the front door and locked it, cell phone in hand. "There is a security team here. They won't bother you. I will be back and forth between here and the hospital tonight."

She opened her mouth to – she wasn't sure what. Protest. Beg to join him. But she was silenced by a stern but gentle shake of Dembe's head. "You will get some rest, Agent Keen. It is what Raymond wants."

Elizabeth reached a hand out to his grasp his upper arm. "Thank you, Dembe." He nodded in response. She envied him his sense of purpose, the plan of action he and his employer had no doubt long ago prepared in an event like this. A way to go forward that would surely make things better. As he moved away into the depths of the house, raising his cell phone to his ear, she saw in his other hand the small carrying case housing the fulcrum.

Later, Elizabeth would have no recollection of the guest room. Dembe had called up the stairs that he was leaving, and she yelled back her acknowledgement. She had seen the double doors to the master down the left hallway and she was drawn inexplicably to it. Slipping into the room, she saw the turned down bed. A door of the imposing mahogany wardrobe was open, displaying Reddington's suits ensconced in garment bags or draped in plastic. There were a series of familiar ties rolled on the dresser across from the master bed, and an assortment of cufflinks in a leather catch-all tray beside them. The room smelled faintly of his cologne, and the scent made her dizzy. She stumbled towards the wardrobe and raised a hand to touch a light cream suit he might have worn shortly, what with spring coming.

The orderliness of the scene troubled her immensely, seemed horribly at odds with the turmoil inside of her. She wished passionately it could be true, that the promise of another day and another suit, the selection of cuff links and matching tie, was true. But he would not rise from this bed tomorrow. It was surreal. Elizabeth sank into a winged-back chair in the corner of the room, teetering on the edge of sobbing. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of pictures laying on the side table beside her. She leaned over and saw her young self depicted in them during a birthday party. Probably only Reddington knew how many years ago. How long ago had he been looking at these? Why did he even have them?

There was no measuring the depths to which he cared for her.

He had said a storm was coming. He had said he needed the fulcrum, now. Red said he needed the fulcrum to survive. To preserve her petty leverage over him, she had asked Tom for help instead of Red, kept her hold on the object whose importance she could not have fathomed until a shot proved it to her. She had been playing a game with his life, while all he had ever done was cherished and risked himself for hers.

She had never made it back to the guest room. She found the slightest bit of comfort in the masculine scent, all but too faint on the pillow of the master bed. It afforded her several hours of sleep, but no more.

Elizabeth was up at five in her rumpled suit. It was hard to abandon the room that it seemed like he might walk into at any time, but the promise of actually seeing him at the hospital compelled her downstairs. She tossed her blood stained blouse into the washer off of the kitchen on the fastest cycle. In the meantime, she finally scrubbed his blood off her hands and wrists in the laundry room sink. She watched the red-tinged water disappear down the drain. Somehow, it seemed like another part of him she might not get back. She had barely took it out of the drier and donned it again when she heard Dembe's voice calling her from the foyer.

"Dembe!" She replied, tucking in the blouse hurriedly, her blazer half on as she hurried into the foyer. Dembe's eyes were tinged with anxiety. He wordlessly turned to the door and stepped out. She followed obediently.

In the car, she hesitated before inquiring, stuttering. "News - news from the hospital? Is there any?"

"Mr. Kaplan has been to see him. Under certain circumstances, they can be compelled to alter their visitor's policy," Dembe replied.

Elizabeth nodded, not caring for the moment about the probable means of Mr. Kaplan's entry. "And?"

"And… Mr. Kaplan was concerned, but not unduly. He is not conscious yet."

She sat back into the car. She didn't inquire what had happened to the old Mercedes.

The prospect of seeing Reddington again loomed before her. She didn't know how to process his insertion of Tom in her life. She had thought there was no excuse for it, she hadn't been able to tolerate any attempt at explanation. But events like those of the day before could certainly put things into perspective. She had handed Tom his passports unthinkingly.

"I'll wait outside" Dembe murmured as they approached the door of Reddington's room. Elizabeth's heart was in her throat. Dembe assumed his usual position, leaning up against the door.

"Don't you want to see him, too?" She asked, almost afraid to face him alone.

"Please, Agent Keen. What he needs is to see you."

She put a hand on the door handle, turned it, and stepped in slowly. The beeps of the various machines distracted her from what she wanted to hear, but her ears sought it successfully: slow, gentle breaths. She advanced towards the bed. He was propped up slightly, his strong, broad shoulders testing the elasticity of the hospital gown.

Elizabeth pulled up the visitor's chair and sank into it. Red… open your eyes. How could she have been so selfish? Thrusting the stupid fulcrum on his Mercedes and storming away like she could actually stand it if he went out of her life. Her eyes traced the lines of IVs flowing into his arm. Impulsively, she reached out and rested her fingers tentatively on his large hand. Slowly, she gripped it, turned it in hers. Her eyes traveled up to his lips, which she had stared at so often as they moved in life, jovially calling her name, sticking it to Ressler, telling tales of hideous fish.

"Red…"

She didn't release his hand when the doctor came in, the one from the previous night. "Agent Keen. Our mysterious patient has yet to wake up, but he should shortly."

She nodded. "How is his condition? Anything I need to know?"

The doctor ran a hand through his hair, obviously exasperated. "We usually only reveal this information to family but I understand protocol is to be thrown to the wind in this case, FBI's orders. He is expected to heal, with time. We will only know of any major complications when he wakes up, but we don't anticipate any. As it stands, he will have a nasty scar on his chest, we've done our best to minimize it. There was, naturally, nothing to save on his back given the severity of the preexisting burn scarring."

Elizabeth blinked, nodding slowly, processing new information. "I understand, thank you."

The doctor nodded curtly and retreated from the room. Elizabeth turned back to the man on the bed. There were so many things she didn't know about him, not just about their connection to each other, but just things about him she'd like to know. If he had died yesterday, she would never know. For a minute it struck her what a tragedy it was that such a beautiful, eloquent man, a man so capable of such depth of love, had had his life overturned. He was not the Concierge of Crime because he had wanted to be that way. But what burn scarring? She was afraid to move him and look herself. But the revelation of the scarring stirred something deep in her mind, and she could not quite grasp it.

Suddenly Reddington grimaced in pain, his hand flexing in hers. Reflexively her free hand flew up to join the one holding his, and she stared intently at his face. He was so… handsome. With his eyes closed, she could look at him the way she wanted to, the way she never could when he was awake. Before, it would have conceded too much.

"Red…"

She looked down, feeling broken, eyes filling with tears that dripped on the hospital floor. She couldn't bear to see him in the pain she had caused. She would give anything to hear him speak. She was constantly trying to push him out, wanting equal footing with him. She knew that she was his greatest vulnerability, and she had used that to punish him. What if she had truly lost him yesterday?

She felt deeply, finally, that the losses, the pain of the past year would be nothing compared to losing him.

His hand spasmed again, and she gripped it tightly in response. But his did not relax. She felt his thumb shift slightly, then realize it was done purposefully… he was stroking the back of her hand gently. He was awake.

For Reddington, opening his eyes to the frame of a young woman with her head bowed over his hands was a blessing. Barely conscious, he worked hard to confirm it was her as the sensation of sight returned to him. She's safe… she's here. For the first few minutes, it was all he needed to know. He had bided his time for a while, reveling in the sensation of her hands holding his, gears turning slowly at first then faster in his efficient, thorough mind. But his thumb had moved before he'd really formulated a plan. Much more urgent in his mind was the ache in his heart rather than the pain radiating from his chest. Only she could heal that.

"Lizzie…" he said, his voice lower, if possible, than usual. Gravely. Weak. She picked up her head sharply, unable to pull her hands from his even to wipe away the evidence of her pain from her eyes. She met his half-lidded blue eyes. His mouth parted from its painful grimace when he took in her features. He looked… overwhelmed, somewhat surprised. He searched her eyes gently. "Are you okay?" He asked. Reddington had his priorities.

Elizabeth stared back into his eyes, heart thudding uncomfortably in her chest. Her head swam with a dizzying mix of relief and, at the same time, anxiety.

At that moment Lizzie couldn't have cared less about herself. "Red… Red… do you know where you are? Do you feel any pain?" She managed, gazing intently at him.

Her perfunctory questions had little effect on him. Grimacing with the movement, his arm shaking, Reddington instead lifted her hand to his lips and pressed them against her knuckles. His words were painfully slow: "To think I would wake to this, that I would get you back so soon..." he murmured. He settled back against the hospital bed, an aura of peace and contentment about him. He lowered her hand in his to rest on his chest.

He had thought Tom had finally won. Tom had revealed the terrible truth to her. There was no strategic cushion for the blow; it had all been out of Reddington's control. He had never seen pain on her face quite like yesterday when she was so desperate to get away from him. To delay her, he wouldn't touch the fulcrum, but she resolved instead to thrust it on his car and determined to drive away. She had not heeded his desperate calls of her name, his attempt to explain. When she closed the car door, he had turned away, his suffering writ on his expression. He looked at the fulcrum. It was useless now. What was the point of a talisman to keep him alive if he could not be in her light? Tom revealing the information at such a delicate time had no been something he bargained for, and he was not sure any amount of damage control could salvage her feelings toward him.

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth whispered, lips quivering with the effort to restrain her tears. She was overcome with emotion on hearing his voice, on hearing his first words were so gentle to her. She was certain of one thing. No one had ever valued her as much, had ever treasured her quite like this. He had nearly died but his first concern was her safety. The fact of her presence at his bedside clearly brought him immeasurable peace.

"Only a bullet could save me from revealing the truth about Tom to you." He closed his eyes, lips set.

He had never released her hand, and his thumb continued its tender ministrations. She looked at the muscles in his forearm as they tensed and relaxed with his motions. She didn't want to talk about Tom right now. It didn't matter right now. "Are you in pain?" She whispered.

"Pain…" he repeated. "You walking away from me yesterday was hell, Lizzie. This… this is pleasant by comparison," he averred. He squeezed her hand gently.

Lizzie swallowed hard. She didn't deserve this, not after everything that had happened.

"Dembe took you to the safe house? Nothing amiss since the incident? You are okay?" He asked presently, opening his eyes with the last question to gauge the sincerity of her response to it.

"Of course. And yes, we are all safe," she replied.

"Thank you for listening to Dembe." How could he have known she would put up a fight about the safe house? The man knew her too well. He loved her despite her selfishness, her childishness. He understood what the past year had been to her, moreover, he felt responsible for it.

"Now… let me explain" he said slowly, with no further introduction to the topic. None was needed. The words were like a spell now. She had denied him the request the previous day, and she had never regretted something so much.

"I'm listening, Red."

He closed his eyes and thought for a moment.

"Tom was never supposed to insert himself that deeply into your life. He was supposed to watch you, keep you safe. Berlin offered his handler more, changed Tom's orders, made it something more." Reddington opened his eyes, and his gaze was intense. She could see it hurt him to talk, to breathe. "He wanted Tom to get close to you, to have leverage over you so that it translated into leverage over me..." He seemed to want to say more, but his speech till then had already cost him. "Know this: it has never been, will never be, my intention to hurt you."

Elizabeth could not look away from him. "Red… I want you to know that doesn't matter right now." She felt the tears coming back, and she hated to show them to him. Her reflex these days was to hide emotion, as if that could keep her safe. But it hadn't. And she realized she hated more that he suffered so much from the only asymmetry and leverage she had in their relationship: denying him herself.

"I didn't ever intend to come into your life, to expose you to all… this" he continued, heedless of the pain speech caused him, looking around the hospital room as though he detested anything unpleasant happening to her. It was the same way he had looked around the ship after Tom had escaped, pronouncing the affair a filthy one he detested her involvement in. "To expose you… to me." His voice was a low growl.

"No, Red…"

"If it hadn't been the case that your survival, and mine, ultimately depended upon it, I would have spared you… everything."

Elizabeth felt a surge of strength. She shook her head vehemently. "That doesn't matter now, Red. What matters is that you're fine now. What matters is that you're here with me. You have the fulcrum now…" She said it like a prayer, like if she said it enough, the fulcrum would be enough to keep him safe. "I can't believe I denied it to you, that which could have prevented all of this… you nearly died!"

"The fulcrum… you must realize the fulcrum becomes worthless to me if all it can do is preserve me a life devoid of you."

She sat at the edge of the chair and pressed her forehead to their clasped hands, crying openly now. Her shoulders shook. So this is what it felt like to be perfectly open to someone, she thought distantly. "I was so stupid…" she confessed.

"Lizzie—"

"No, Red. Don't apologize for coming into my life. No one has ever…" she struggled for a moment, "… no one has ever cared for me like you do. I know that. Now, I just want to be worthy of it."

Her words were healing. Reddington struggled against their power for a moment. There was so much blood on his hands, so much darkness had been cultivated in his being. She was all light and innocence, purity. He did not want to sully her with his influence. Keeping a distance from her for so many years had made it possible to honor this noble wish inside of him. He cherished this, his one act of selflessness, as proof that he could be redeemed, that he was not totally lost. But to have been so close to her now for so long… he loved her too much to deny himself continued proximity, to deny himself the pursuit of further intimacy.

Especially if her angelic lips conveyed a desire for him to do so. How could he deny his Lizzie anything?

His free hand crossed his chest to smooth through her hair. She wondered how the same man who presided over one of the deadliest and most lucrative criminal operations in the world could be so gentle when it came to her, so powerless when it came to her. She hoped he would never stop, maybe they could just stay like this.

"Look at me, Lizzie."

She slowly picked her head up and saw his eyes were wet with tears as well. He was showing her something, something she wondered if anyone else got to see: Raymond Reddington, vulnerable.

The sight empowered her to do something she had been tempted to do for a long time. She leaned forward slowly, watching his eyes, testing his reaction. He did not move or look at her askance. She pressed her forehead to his and withdrew her hands from his to place them on either side of his face.

Red tilted his head forehead against hers and closed his eyes. He breathed in sharply. "My Lizzie… no one is, no one could be, more worthy…" he whispered.

Her thumbs stroked his short, clean sideburns. His use of the possessive, combined with the depth of his voice, sent a shiver through her. She relished the closeness for a minute, then leaned in and pressed her lips carefully to his.

It was the briefest moment. She savored it carefully.

She barely pulled away, and looked up at him through her lashes. Reddington said nothing, but his lips were parted and his breath had picked up somewhat. She felt his hand on the curve of her jaw suddenly, and he stroked his fingers along the line of her jawbone until he gently held her chin between his thumb and fingers. His gaze drifted down as he extended his thumb and traced it languidly over her bottom lip, pulling ever so gently on the soft skin. Resting his thumb on her chin again, he tilted her head down and kissed her forehead once. Twice. He hesitated before releasing her, and she could feel his labored breath on her forehead. She pulled back slightly to measure his response. He looked… blissful.

Absently, Elizabeth slipped her hands down to grasp his shoulders. She leaned forward again to press her cheek against his. More confident now, she tilted her head and kissed his skin. This is what she had been denying him in their game, this was her leverage. If she had known it had felt so good to give it up, she would have done it much sooner. Her left hand slipped up to cradle the back of his neck. She pulled back again, looked into his eyes briefly, then down to his lips again. She wasn't in a hospital room anymore, she was somewhere else. Showing him the affection she truly felt was healing for her.

For Reddington, however, it meant that and much more. "Don't tempt me, Lizzie…" he growled.

She sat back slowly into the chair, staring into his blue eyes to prove her sincerity. "Now… god forbid this ever happens again… I will have one less regret," she whispered. "I want you at my side, Red. From now on, if you want to keep me safe, if you want to spare me pain, you'll have to do a better job looking after yourself."

He tilted his head in his characteristic fashion. "That's all well and good, Lizzie, but… might I ask what else were you regretting?" He murmured with some of his usual humor and irreverence restored.

Elizabeth smiled genuinely, for the first time, she felt, in months. The corners of Reddington's lips turned up slightly, his gaze turned warm and almost reverent, as though he beheld something infinitely precious to him, his Lizzie. Finally, she was his Lizzie.