A/N: This one is a "mirror" fic to Elizabitca's "I Prefer the Dark"(which you should go read without delay); we were bitten by the same plot bunny and decided to share it. Unbeta'd and disclaimed as usual. Hope you all enjoy!
"Lizzie, do be still!" She shifted again on the folding chair in the kitchen of the safe house. Raymond Reddington was dying her hair. What was her life becoming, really? She tried to find a comfortable position on the hard metal surface that was currently tormenting her. Red tsked again and gave her hair a tug.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Red?"
"Of course Lizzie, this is hardly my first rodeo. But you have so much hair, it's a little trickier." She glanced up at his face, the picture of utter focus and concentration, his brow furrowed, just the tip of his tongue visible as he applied the blond dye to her dark locks. She was skeptical of his color choice, but he was the expert in running from the law. If this went badly though, she was a little worried she was going to have to shave her head. She closed her eyes instead, allowing herself the pleasure of his hands in her hair, warm and strong as they transferred the color.
This was the…third week, and the tenth safe house? Lizzie had lost count, since the first weeks had been a blur of planes, cars and hotel rooms until they were sufficiently under the radar. This was the first time they had significantly changed her appearance though. A run through a drug store had snagged the golden blonde hair color and a bottle of self-tanner, but Lizzie's eyes had widened at the bright printed Lilly Pulitzer dress he pulled out of a bag she'd never seen.
"Red, we're supposed to blend in. That? That is not blending!" He looked at her as though she was a particularly unintelligent fish.
"Well no, it wouldn't blend in here, of course. No one in Minneapolis wears Lilly. But, Lizzie, the art of staying hidden, is to not hide at all. This will fit in just fine where we are going."
"Okay, Red, where are we going?"
"West Palm Beach, of course."
She smiled to herself as she watched him clean up the bottles and brushes from their little salon session. The timer was set for fifteen minutes, so she settled on the threadbare couch to read.
When the timer sounded, she followed Red into the tiny bathroom so he could wash out the product.
The safe house lacked a detachable shower head, so Red conducted a brief search and turned up a plastic pitcher in a cabinet. He had to suck in a breath as he walked back into the bath to find Lizzie bent over the edge of the tub. In jeans. Without her blouse. He actually had to stop and turn around for a moment to collect himself.
"Red?" her voice echoed like a bell in the tiled room.
"Right here, Lizzie. Let's get this done, shall we?" He plastered on his best jovial expression and set to work. He was just going to pretend he couldn't see all her skin, except what was covered by a thin cotton bra. He was going to take no notice of the way her ass pressed against him. He was going to act his age, for God's sake.
The first indication that something had gone awry came as he poured the first pitcher of water over Lizzie's hair. It seemed…an odd tint. He had dyed his own hair a number of times, well, back when he had hair, but this was different. He continued to rinse, and then added the conditioner, hoping it would tone down some of the brassy color, but to no avail. Lizzie's hair was a rather alarming shade of orange.
Red held his breath as he considered what could have gone wrong. She had said something in the store about the color being too light. Perhaps she was right, but all he had worried about was that it looked different enough for them to move about freely.
"Red? How does it look?" Her voice was muffled under the towel he had draped over her head as he began to wring the water from her hair. She was going to kill him when she saw this. He had worked so hard to win her trust; he was hoping to win her love eventually. But it didn't look like today was the day that would happen. The best he could hope for was to duck her wrath and try to fix the mess he had made.
He left the towel in place, and stood up, wincing a little at the pain in his knee. Next safe house was absolutely going to have better amenities.
"Lizzie, I'll just duck out now so you can put your shirt back on." He made a hasty retreat, already pulling out his phone to find a solution to the rapidly approaching problem.
'REDDINGTON!" the angry shout made him flinch, and he ducked out the back door. An excellent time to take a therapeutic walk; Dembe would be so proud.
Lizzie stared in the mirror, horror-struck. Her hair was orange. At first she had thought it was just the light, or her eyes playing tricks, but no, it was orange. She had warned him, hadn't she? That blonde was too light, her hair was too dark, but did he listen? He did not. Now, instead of being a suitably sophisticated fellow criminal, Red was going to be on the run with Bozo the Clown!
She closed her eyes and sighed, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the realization that his opinion mattered to her. She cared what he thought; she had…feelings for him. She had tried to deny it, tried to hide it, but in the end it was there, staring at her like her orange hair. Lizzie swore under her breath, she was not going out in public like this. She didn't care if she was number one on the FBI list; she was fixing this monstrous hair.
She stomped out into the living room, ready to read Red the riot act for messing up her hair, but he was gone. She had a moment of panic until she saw the note on the coffee table, next to a stack of cash.
"I've made you an appointment with Yvette at Panache salon, two blocks down. I'm so sorry for not listening to you Lizzie."
Lizzie couldn't stop the smile from working its way onto her lips. An apology from Raymond Reddington, perhaps there really was a first time for everything.
She was still smiling as she gathered her coat and hat and left the safe house, Red watched her from the swing in the garden, and sighed in relief.