I Prefer The Dark

Disclaimer: They're not mine, I own nothing, and I make no money from this. I'm paid purely in reviews and comments. :)

Author's Note: During a discussion with almcvay1 after seeing the first blonde picture of Liz yesterday, we were both simultaneously bitten by this plot bunny. She has to dye her hair, and she's on the run with Red. What if he participated in the process? Rather than get territorial about a prompt that we'd most likely write up very differently, we quickly agreed to both write it, not tell the other person our more specific story premise, and reconvene in 24 hours to see what we'd each come up with and both post simultaneously. This is mine. When you're done, if you haven't already, go read hers! "The Dye Job" by almcvay1. It's wonderful and adorable, as all of her stories are. :) Also, all credit for my fic title goes to her. I was struggling, and she had the perfect solution. :)

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They'd managed to get past all road blocks and into the relative safety and obscurity of the rural countryside by disguising themselves as police officers. They'd quickly changed out of the uniforms and ditched the police cruiser just past the city limits, and had continued in a non-descript silver SUV, Liz laying down across the backseat behind tinted glass, and Reddington driving in a baseball cap.

They didn't talk.

It was well after dark, and Liz was having difficulty keeping her eyes open by the time Reddington finally pulled off the road, the sound of gravel under the tires. The car stopped, and the engine shut off.

"We're here," Reddington said, not turning around.

"Where's 'here'?" Liz asked, pushing herself up to a seated position and peering out the dark window, unable to make out any shapes in the blackness beyond.

"Our home for the night. We'll have a new vehicle and a new destination tomorrow." Reddington opened his door and stretched as he exited the driver's side of the car. "Among other things," he added under his breath.

He opened Liz's door for her, and she gingerly stepped out onto the gravel. The first things to go had been their cell phones, or else she would have attempted to use the flashlight feature to illuminate something—

"This way," Reddington said, starting off to the left. Liz followed silently, just able to make out the dark shadow of an old structure in front of her now. Reddington had parked the car behind a large stand of trees, which had obscured the structure before.

There was a decent deadbolt on the door, and all the windows were boarded shut. Once they were inside, Reddington found a lone battery-operated lantern, and checked the rest of the house (of which there was very little), before returning to where Liz had waited for him in the dark front room.

Reddington, having been alert and tense all day, finally came to a stop, several paces in front of Liz. He placed the lantern on a small wooden table, and let himself actually look at her. She stared back at him, her face tired.

"How are you?" he asked, his voice low and serious.

"I feel like I just stepped off one of the moving walkways at the airport. Everything that happened in the last few weeks has seemed...sped up, somehow. And now..." Liz shrugged, gesturing around them. "Now we're just...here. I don't know what to do next. I feel like I still have this...momentum...and there's nowhere for me to use it."

Reddington nodded his understanding. "There are a few things in boxes in the bedroom and bathroom for us." He paused, and tilted his head, his eyes roaming over her face as if he were memorizing the shapes. "We're going to have to change your hair color," he said gently. "Do you want to do that now, or in the morning?"

Liz sighed. Of course she'd need to alter her appearance. "The hair dye is already here?" she asked. Reddington nodded. "I'll sleep a lot better if I've had a shower. Might as well do it now," she said in a flat tone, following Reddington into the back half of the house.

She'd already stripped off the borrowed, over-sized sweatshirt to reveal her basic white tank underneath by the time she stepped into the small bathroom behind Reddington. He had walked straight in toward the small cardboard box balanced on the sink that held scissors, various toiletries, some make-up, and the hair dye. He picked up the package with a picture of a blonde woman on the front and turned to face Liz, who was effectively blocking his exit. "Think you'll have more fun as a blonde?" Reddington said, his next words stolen by the sight of Liz stepping out of her pants with business-like efficiency. Reddington swallowed, and moved to squeeze past Liz to afford her some privacy. She side-stepped in front of him, bringing him up short. He moved to walk around her to the left, but she blocked him again. Reddington kept his eyes trained on the ground as Liz said in a low voice, "I could use some help. It'll be more convincing if I get an even coat." She looked up at him, but he didn't meet her gaze. "Besides, we've only got the one light, right? I'm not going to make you sit out there in the dark."

Reddington nodded, and stepped back, putting as much distance between them as was possible in the tiny bathroom. Liz stepped up to the dingy mirror and opened the hair color package quickly. She followed the directions, combining the contents and shaking them in the bottle provided.

Reddington sat on the edge of the old bathtub, watching her work. When the mixture was ready, Liz grabbed a towel and tossed it at Reddington's feet, kneeling next to him on the threadbare linens. She handed the bottle to him, moved closer until her shoulder was pressed against his hip, and bent her upper body over the edge of the tub. "Start here," she said, raking her fingers through her hair at the back, pushing it up to reveal the hairline at the top of her neck.

Reddington only paused a moment before he did as he was told. He was fairly familiar with the application, having needed to change his own hair color in the past in similar situations.

Once he'd applied the mixture to the hair at the back of her head, she stood, pushing up from the lip of the tub. He assumed she would take the bottle from him, since she was able to reach the front of her hair to do the rest herself. Instead, she climbed into the tub and sat down, her knees drawn up in front of her. She looked up at Reddington expectantly, and explained simply, "My legs were starting to hurt from kneeling on the tile."

Nodding, Reddington motioned for her to scoot closer to him, which she did, and he finished applying the mixture to the rest of her hair. As he worked the dye through the length of her hair, she closed her eyes, and he couldn't help but notice how evenly her breaths came, causing her chest to rise and fall in a perfect, blissful rhythm.

Still perched on the edge of the bathtub, Reddington had twisted so he was almost facing Liz, and he threaded his fingers slowly through her hair on either side of her head, working his way gently toward the base of her neck, until he almost had her head cupped in his hands, her face turned up toward his.

"You're still wearing your watch?" Her eyes still closed, Liz's voice broke the quiet, and Reddington's hands stilled.

"Yes," he answered, his voice low.

Liz pulled back from his grasp, and he lifted his hands reluctantly. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "You don't have to stay in here. There's not much ventilation, and I know the smell is strong." She glanced toward the door. "You can take the light. I don't need it." She looked down at her hands, folded around her drawn-up knees. "Just let me know when I get to rinse."

After a moment, Reddington stood, picked up the lantern, and walked back toward the front of the house, leaving Liz in near total darkness.

In less than a minute, he reappeared in the doorway, two bottles in one hand, the lantern in the other. He placed the lantern on the closed toilet seat, and slowly lowered himself to sit on the floor next to the tub. He held up both bottles, offering them to Liz. One was water, the other was scotch.

She took the scotch.

As she unscrewed the lid and took a mouthful of the alcohol, Reddington asked, "Why didn't you leave with Tom?"

Liz quickly tilted her head back up and pulled the bottle away from her lips, surprised. She looked at Reddington and swallowed. While he waited for a reply, he took the bottle from her. Once he'd had a mouthful himself, he carefully placed the bottle, uncapped, on the floor of the bathtub in front of Liz's feet, the glass making a noise against the porcelain that was louder than seemed correct in the small room.

"Why did you call me and not him?" Reddington asked. "When you needed to run. Why aren't you on his boat right now?"

Liz said nothing, her eyes still trained on Reddington's face in the dim light.

"Where were you last night, Lizzie?" he persisted gently. "You weren't at the motel. You never went home."

Liz's expression faltered slightly, the look in her eyes slipping, her eyebrows knitting closer together as she pressed her lips into a thin line.

"But you'd changed clothes," Reddington noted, reaching for the scotch again. "Whose black shirt were you wearing when you called me for help?" He took a swig and replaced the bottle at her feet again before looking back to her face.

Reddington took a deep breath and propped his arm up on the side of the tub. "You slept with him?" he asked, his tone rhetorical.

Liz said nothing, but the look on her face darkened. She watched the light from the lantern play off the muscle in his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

"I would have told you that was an inadvisable move," Reddington continued, looking at the bottle of scotch again but not reaching for it. "But I suppose you get to make your own choices—"

"Rarely," Liz mumbled darkly.

"—I was just under the impression you two were...finished." Reddington said, his focus back on her.

Liz reached for another drink and said tersely, "It didn't count." Frustrated, she took a long pull on the bottle, and then another. She didn't replace it on the floor of the tub in its earlier position, instead keeping it held lightly in one hand. "And I don't understand why this is even a topic of discussion. I had sex with Tom more times than I can count while we were married; I figured one more would just be a drop in the ocean." Reddington remained silent, sensing that she'd continue if left uninterrupted. He didn't have to wait long. "I just needed to feel good and turn my brain off for one…single…goddamn moment. Where else was I going to get what I wanted that night? Who else could I have gone to? It's not like there's been a lot of men in my life since Tom left," Liz finished bitterly, raising the bottle to drink again, taking two swallows and coughing slightly as she lowered the bottle. Reddington took it from her.

"I had nowhere else to go, and it was easy. It was familiar." Liz looked up at Reddington, her discouraged expression crossed with a hint of helplessness. "I just needed…" She shrugged as if she were conceding to something. "Where else was I supposed to go?"

Reddington held very still, and said nothing. Liz frowned suddenly and tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at him. She wished she could see his face more clearly, because backlit as he was by the lantern, his expression almost looked like—

Liz inhaled and opened her mouth to speak, but held her breath, suddenly unwilling to voice her guess out loud. After another ten seconds of silence, however, she gave in. "You. You're not disappointed in me because I went back to Tom. You're disappointed because I didn't go to you."

Reddington remained motionless, holding Liz's gaze steadily for a long moment before breaking his silence. "No," he answered gravely. "While I can't say I'm not disappointed that—" He broke off, his jaw working ineffectually, and restarted. "I don't think it should have been me."

"You've always said you don't lie to me, Red," Liz said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Reddington shook his head. "That wasn't a lie. I wouldn't have slept with you if you'd come to me that night."

"Wow." Liz gave a harsh laugh that seemed to echo off the dirty tiled walls as she pulled the scotch from Reddington's hand and took another drink. "This is great. From admonishment to rejection in two-point-four seconds flat. Might be a new record for me." She went to take another drink, but Reddington caught the bottle and twisted it sharply from her hands. She glared at him as he placed the alcohol down next to him on the bathroom floor. His hand immediately reappeared, and presented her with the bottle of water.

Liz let out a frustrated breath, and looked for a moment like she was going to protest, but as Reddington watched, her shoulders sagged, and the tension seemed to leave her body as if she'd given up on the idea of fighting anymore. Her face relaxed into an expression of despondency, and she accepted the plastic bottle offered to her. She didn't open it, but held it lightly, balanced on one knee.

"This rejection has nothing to do with how I feel about you, Lizzie."

Liz looked back up sharply.

Red sighed, wondering if keeping anything from her at this point was worth it. He was exhausted, and her knowing wouldn't change his plans or expectations anyway. "It's not about denying you. It's more about denying myself something I—" Reddington stopped abruptly, running his tongue absently across his teeth and wincing. He hadn't realized voicing the truth would be physically difficult.

Liz took a deep breath and tilted her head to one side, frowning. "I'm something you...want?" she asked quietly.

"Yes." Reddington's voice was tighter than before.

"And...for the sake of argument…you're denying yourself this because...?"

"Because that's not... something I'm allowed to have," Red explained, choosing his words carefully.

"'Allowed'?" Liz asked. "Who's not allowing you?"

"Me," he said, looking her in the eye. When Liz's confusion deepened the crease between her brows, he sighed and went on, "I've lost count of how many lives…" He paused and restarted. "...of how much blood is on my hands. I've lived a life according to the idea that the end always justifies the means, but those means have often been brutal, and wretched, and…truly terrible." Red looked earnestly at Liz, as if willing her to understand his meaning. She was an arms length away from him, and it almost hurt to look at her as he spoke. "I know I should be punished for the things I've done in my life, and I'm quite sure I'll inevitably meet a...sticky end... as a result of some of my actions. But—while I wait for that—I feel like it's only right that I be denied something in the meantime. I've done too many terrible things, Lizzie. I shouldn't get to have everything I want. Especially the one good, pure—"

"I shot and killed my father and the Attorney General of the United States," Liz interrupted. "I'm going to go out on a limb and say 'good' and 'pure' aren't adjectives you get to apply to me anymore."

Reddington let out a breath and wiped a hand over his face. "This was never supposed to happen to you. This was exactly the outcome I wanted to avoid." He shook his head, and dropped his eyes to the floor in front of himself.

Silence reigned for several long minutes until he felt fingers ghosting over the back of his hand and encircling his wrist, her fingertips pressed in at his pulse point. He looked up at her, but as she tugged his hand toward her, he realized she was looking at his watch. He sighed. "Time to rinse," he agreed.

She stepped from the bathtub, joining him standing in the middle of the room. She spun the handle on the tap in the tub and pulled the lever to switch the water from the faucet to the handheld shower. "Hand me the shampoo from the box?" she asked, kneeling again on the tile just outside the tub.

She leaned over the edge and picked up the shower head, tilting her face to the side and closing her eyes against the splash. As she rinsed her hair, she felt Reddington change position, his shoes coming to rest on either side of her knees, the inside of his legs pressing against the back of her hips. With her eyes closed, she could tell he was standing over her, and just as she was about to ask for the shampoo, she felt his hands smooth over her head again, working his fingers through her hair, somewhat more roughly than she would have anticipated. He lathered her hair thoroughly, and pulled the shower head from her hand when he was done. Liz moved to straighten up, but a strong hand on her upper back firmly pushed her down again. He rinsed the soap from her head, the warm water running over her face ensuring she couldn't open her eyes. Finally, the hand in her hair let up, and the water was turned off. She felt the loss of pressure from his legs as he stepped back from her, and she raised her hands to wipe the water from her eyes. When she turned to blink up at Reddington, he held out a towel, and offered her a hand to help her stand.

He pulled her to her feet, and she found herself once again standing incredibly close to him. She held the towel limply at her side, her wet hair dripping unhindered down her neck and back. Her tank was almost soaked through.

She leaned in slowly, her breath on his skin as she hovered, withholding contact for another moment as if giving him ample time to refuse her and back away. His back was to the door, and she wasn't blocking his exit in any way.

Reddington didn't move.

Liz leaned in and ghosted her lips along the corner of his mouth before withdrawing slightly. When he didn't react, she repeated herself, letting her lips linger slightly the second time before she backed away again.

Reddington lifted both hands and threaded his fingers again through Liz's wet hair, drawing her towards him, but stopped her from closing the distance at the last second. She watched his face contort, blurred by the dim light and proximity.

"While I can safely say there isn't a single thing in the entire world that I want more right now..." Reddington's whisper trailed off. She was so close. "And please don't take this as an indictment of your choices...or character..." He pushed away from Liz. He allowed himself a moment to run one hand through her hair again, but pulled back as he imagined Tom's hand performing the motion years before he ever did.

More often.

Most recently.

"...but regardless of the extent of what you might be willing to—" He couldn't even string a whole sentence together. He was turning her down. He couldn't fathom a universe in which he turned her down. "I'm going to need more than 48 hours between Tom…" He took another step back. "…and me."

Reddington thought this must be what it feels like to stab oneself in the gut.

Liz wasn't sure if he could see her flush in the feeble glow of the lantern as he backed out into the hallway, but she figured if he could, the embarrassment was well-deserved on her part.

Reddington swallowed thickly and took a deep breath. "Take as much time as you need," he said, gesturing to the light. He looked back up at Liz, now backlit, and was grateful he couldn't see the details of her face. "I'll wait in the front room."

"Red—" Liz reached for the lantern.

"Keep it in there with you," Reddington interrupted her quickly. He took another step backward, obscuring him more from view before he turned and disappeared completely.

From somewhere in the blackness beyond the door frame, Liz heard his voice, farther away, but still clear and determined. "I think I much prefer being in the dark right now."

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TBC… maybe.