"Wait, what? You're saying the guy we just handed over, the infamous terrorist, Zal Bin Hasaan, is Samar's little brother? The one she thought was dead?" Liz asked, incredulous, brow furrowed in disbelief.
"Yes." Red answered with no hesitation. "I was unaware that you knew of her brother."
"We talked about it that day in the airport when we were infected and quarantined," she replied, barely paying attention as she sat down on the edge of the bed, focusing on slipping her shoes onto her feet as quickly as she could.
"What are you doing, Lizzie?"
"I have to go, Red. Look, I'll be careful, okay? But I have to go," she replied, not meeting his eyes, reaching for a gun and tucking it into the back of her pants.
"Lizzie…" But he gave up on talking her out of it as he watched her disappear through the door.
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Her hood pulled low over her head, almost covering her eyes, Liz slipped into the alley beside Samar's apartment building, hiding in the shadows, pressing herself against the brick as she pulled out a burner phone and dialed Aram's number.
"Hello?" she heard him say on the other end.
"Hey, it's me. I need a favor. Do you know Samar's apartment number?" she asked.
He didn't ask questions, he simply answered her, she thanked him, and that was that. Liz was grateful.
She returned to the front of the building, picking the lock easily, then quickly maneuvered herself inside, shutting the door behind her. The lights in the hallway were dim, and the walls could definitely use a good cleaning, she noted as she glanced around.
"3C," she whispered to herself, beginning to creep up the stairs as quietly as she could. At the third level, she began to walk down the hallway, noting the various numbers and letters labeling each door.
When she got to 3C, she paused, unsure whether she should knock or just go inside, but she quickly decided that Samar was the type of person who, when emotional and vulnerable, would definitely ignore a knock on her door in order to remain alone. Liz hadn't done all of this only to be ignored, so she deftly picked her second lock of the night, quietly closing the door behind her and turning to take stock of her surroundings.
The lights were off in the main living area. She slipped off her shoes in order to make less noise and crept down the hallway, farther into the apartment, giving her eyes time to adjust to the darkness. She didn't want to scare Samar if she were home by turning on lights.
As her eyes adjusted, she noticed two doors at the far end of the room. She moved toward them, opening the first. A bathroom. An empty bathroom, thankfully. That was definitely not the kind of reunion Liz had in mind for the two of them.
She slipped to the second door and peeked inside. No lights. No people. Nothing. She stood, studying her surroundings, listening to the stillness.
Samar wasn't here.
So Liz would wait. She flipped on a small lamp sitting on the table next to the couch, set her gun next to the base, and settled in, tucking her bare feet beneath her for warmth.
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About forty minutes later, Liz was startled out of her bored reverie by the sound of keys rattling in the lock. She sat up straight, placing her feet on the ground, then decided it was best to stand. Her nerves were thrumming now – what had she been thinking? She wasn't respecting Samar's privacy. They were barely friends; she probably didn't want to see anyone right now, especially the woman making her job a living hell.
Samar stopped immediately upon pushing her door open, noticing the lamp emanating soft light across the otherwise shadowy room, and a split second later, the pale, small woman standing in front of her couch.
They silently observed each other, Samar's eyes wide with surprise.
Samar took in the blonde waves tumbling down onto Liz's shoulders, her creased brow, the concern in her ice-blue eyes.
Liz studied the way Samar's eyes were puffy, rimmed in red. The way her entire face seemed to be recovering from the swollenness of a lengthy bout of crying. The way her hand holding the keys was just barely shaking. The way she swallowed heavily before opening her mouth to speak.
"What are you doing here?"
Her voice was rough, ragged, and it tugged at something in Liz's chest. Liz bit her lip, then cleared her throat. "I, uh. I heard about what happened today and I needed to see if you were okay."
"Why?"
"Why?" Liz echoed, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"Why would you come here? I could arrest you. You've spent weeks running from us. From me."
Liz could tell that Samar was trying to come off as her usual cool, unaffected self, but her voice was still rough, a little shaky.
Liz smiled at her, a smile filled with sadness and regret and care. "You won't."
"How do you know that, Elizabeth? You don't know anything about me," Samar replied, continuing her act.
"That's not true, Samar." Liz shook her head, taking a step forward. "I know that you're strong, that you fight for what you believe in."
Another step.
"I know that despite that strength, you're human, just like the rest of us. And any human being would be devastated after today."
And another.
"And I know that you gave up your brother to Reddington to help exonerate me," Liz continued, her voice trembling slightly. "So, as I said, I came here to see you. Because you're my friend and I care about you. And I wanted to say thank you."
As she finished, Liz could see Samar's eyes glistening with more tears, even after all the crying she'd already done that day, her body trembling with the effort of holding them back.
One tear slid along the curve of Samar's cheek, and the feel of the warm salty liquid marking her skin broke her. She stepped backwards, leaning against the wall, unable to support herself as her eyes closed, her face twisting in pain, her hand flying up to cover her mouth in an attempt to catch her agonizing sobs before they could spill out.
Liz rushed forward, keeping Samar from sliding down the wall, pulling her close, then led her to the couch, bathed in warm, cozy light.
"Come on, sit down, okay?" Liz murmured, gently guiding a weeping Samar down onto the couch, her body folding, collapsing in on itself.
Liz didn't say anything else. She simply sat down next to her, sideways, so she could face her, placing one hand reassuringly on Samar's knee and resting the other on her shoulder.
Samar pulled her hands away from her face to speak, staring straight ahead, unable to meet Liz's gaze. Her body was shuddering with the force of her sobs, but she controlled them long enough to get some words out, needing to say them out loud. "It took me years to mourn him. Years. And now I have to do it all over again." She squeezed her eyes shut, a fresh wave of tears spilling from them as her face collapsed in grief.
Liz leaned forward, taking her in her arms, shocked that Samar was allowing her to witness this, that she hadn't been ordered away, even more so that she was being confided in. She stroked Samar's hair softly, letting her cry, her tears soaking the sleeve of Liz's shirt.
She cried and cried and cried for what seemed like hours, horrendous sounds being wrenched from deep inside her body, as if her grief was going to consume her, destroy her, make her do something insane like explode or rip off her own skin. Liz's arms remained wound protectively around her, keeping all the jagged, broken pieces from falling apart.
When Samar's body was physically exhausted from the effort it took to produce those endless sobs and tears and wounded sounds, she took deep, shaky breaths, trying to speak again. "I thought I got him back, and I was so happy. I couldn't believe it; he was right there in front of me, alive." Her voice broke, but she kept going. "How could my baby brother become that terrorist, that monster? I lost him years ago, long before I thought I did, long before the bombing I thought killed him." She shook her head, swallowing.
Liz felt like her heart was breaking at the look of utter desolation on Samar's face. She knew what this felt like, to be deceived. To think your life was simple, safely labeled and easy to understand, only to find out it was anything but. Shahin's death was simple. Tom's love, his identity, was simple. Finding out that your brother was a terrorist? That your husband was hired to enter your life, had been pretending to love you? Those things weren't so simple. She wanted to voice these thoughts to Samar, but before she could assemble the right words in her mind, Samar was speaking again.
"My job with Mossad, for years, was to work on a task force with the specific goal of hunting Zal Bin Hasaan. He killed my partner and he almost killed me. And all that time, I was hunting my own brother." She paused, gathering the courage to look into Liz's eyes before speaking the truth that she had been terrified of admitting even to herself for the past several hours. "I don't know how to come back from this. I feel broken. Empty."
Her gaze flickered back down to her lap where her hands were now folded, tightly clutching at each other, her knuckles white. After a moment, Liz's pale hand slid over top of hers, warm and comforting, gradually relaxing the muscles in her tensely clenched fingers. Samar looked up into her watery eyes.
"I know," Liz told her, smiling softly, reassuringly. "That's how I've felt since Tom. It's not easy thinking your life is one thing only to find out it's so much more complicated than you ever could have imagined."
Samar sniffed, nodding her head. She tried to smile back at Liz, but it came across as more of a grimace. She didn't know what else there was to say. Liz understood her; she didn't need to say anything else.
Liz scooted closer, leaning into the back of the couch, resting her head on Samar's shoulder. "We're gonna be okay, Samar. Someday we're gonna be okay." She could feel Samar nodding against her, her hair tickling her forehead.
Samar focused on Liz's solid, warm presence, the comfort of a person who cared about her tucked snugly against her side. They were silent, content to be together, as Liz listened to Samar's steady breaths evening out.
Liz pulled away gently, not wanting to disturb her, but Samar lifted her head from the couch cushion, alarmed, sleepily blinking at Liz and grabbing her hand, unwilling to let her escape. "Where are you going?" she mumbled, her eyes drifting closed once her fingers were clasped around Liz's and she was sure Liz wouldn't be able to leave.
"I'm not leaving, Samar," she promised, squeezing her hand. "I'm going to get you some tissues so you can clean yourself up. And a pillow and some blankets so you can just go to sleep and not get up, okay? You've had a long day; you're exhausted."
Samar nodded, letting her head fall back against the cushion once again, her grip on Liz's hand slackening.
Liz smiled softly at the weary, sleepy woman in front of her, then whispered, "I'll be right back."
She returned a minute later, a stack of pillows and blankets in her arms, topped with a box of tissues. She plopped them down on the far end of the couch, and Samar inhaled sharply, startled out of her dozing state.
Liz grinned, handing her the box of tissues, watching as she wiped the remaining dampness from her face and blew her nose. She reached out for the dirty tissues, and Samar handed them to her, one brow raised in surprise.
"I'll go throw these out. If you don't want to sleep in your clothes, I'd suggest stripping while I'm out of the room," Liz tossed over her shoulder as she walked toward the bathroom.
Samar decided that was a logical idea, so by the time Liz returned thirty seconds later, her tank top, pants, and bra were in a pile on the floor and she was tucked underneath the blankets wearing only her underwear. She was lying on her side, cheek pressed against a soft, cold pillowcase, her dark curls a mess, sprawled everywhere, standing out against the white fabric.
Liz turned the lamp off and sat down on the table in front of her, watching as Samar pulled the blankets further over her bare shoulder. "Do you need anything else?" she asked quietly.
Samar's eyes opened for a moment, just barely, and she shook her head against the pillow. "Thanks for coming," she mumbled, burrowing further back into the cushions, getting more comfortable and sleepy by the second. "I didn't want to be alone."
"Anytime," Liz replied with a smile, gently pushing away a strand of hair that had fallen in Samar's face. Her hand lingered for a second, and then she brought it back into her own orbit, placing it on her lap.
She listened as Samar's breathing began to even out again, pulling her back into sleep, and then suddenly the silence was broken by a quiet, mumbled, "Liz?"
"Yeah?" she whispered.
"The man I turned over to Reddington wasn't my brother. Not really," Samar murmured, her eyes remaining closed, far too heavy with sleep to even attempt opening them. "Giving him up for you wasn't even a question."
The corners of Liz's eyes stung. She closed them and took a breath to compose herself before reaching out to smooth Samar's curls in reply. She watched Samar's eyes twitch under their weight, their exhaustion. "Go to sleep. You'll feel a little better once you sleep," Liz whispered.
Samar's head barely moved as her body struggled to follow her tired mind's command to nod. "Will you stay?" she managed to get out, a nearly inaudible mumble.
"I have to go before you wake up, but I'll stay for awhile," Liz replied quietly, continuing to stroke Samar's hair.
With the reassurance that Liz wasn't going to leave her alone in the next ten minutes, Samar's body quickly gave in and she was asleep. Liz's fingers soothingly moved through her curls for a few more minutes as Samar's breathing deepened. When she was sure she wouldn't wake her, Liz removed her hand, sitting quietly, her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands, watching Samar's face as she slept.
She didn't want to leave. But it was best for both of them if she weren't there when Samar woke up in the morning.
She sat there on the coffee table for almost two hours, looking at Samar and intermittently resting her eyes, her chest simultaneously heavy and light, then forced herself to stand up and walk to the door, slipping out of the dark apartment and back into the night.
Back into a life on the run, away from the woman she really wished didn't have to chase her.