Another AU after 4.10. Just a little collection of scenes to boost my muse. For posterity's sake, Liz kicked Tom out when he put Agnes in danger and everyone made some different decisions through the whole Kirk debacle.
I.
He sleeps a lot, afterwards.
Doesn't look at her as often as he used to.
Disappears when she's around.
He's a ghost in her grandfather's home.
Dembe had stolen him away the moment Red introduced her and Agnes to Dom, and Liz isn't sure she's ever seen Red move that slowly, gingerly, carefully. She only ever sees him out of the corner of her eye these days; disappearing into another room, going up the stairs, closing the door on the porch to walk outside.
There are moments when she thinks to call after him but Dom's grumbling gives something away about that venomous, murky past she is starved for, and draws her attention away.
The third time Dom distracts her she thinks he's doing it on purpose.
The fourth time she's sure of it.
She has yet to figure out why he's shielding a man he seems to only tolerate being in his home.
II.
Sometimes, late at night when Agnes wakes for her feeding, she hears the piano downstairs and leaves the door open to let the placating sound infiltrate the room while she rocks her baby girl back to sleep.
Other times, she finds him shut away in the workshop.
Liz snoops, because she's good at that and it's been a week without so much as an entire sentence said between them let alone any indication of his health. That fact alone is enough to flood her stomach with a burning anxiety, and when she thinks of him collapsed in that chair there's a tightness in her chest. A band that constricts and causes her fists to clench. He's fine. He always ends up just fine. This must be a good sign, that he's out here. Little does she know how sacred this space is, how much it soothes and torments him all at once.
The smell of the forest and sawdust surround her when she finally gets a look at what he's been making. The curved legs and the pale cherry of the rocking chair whisper of the special meticulousness that surrounds his life.
III.
It's all quiet looks from him and smiles he reserves for Agnes. It's passing moments where she finds him reading, and it reminds her of moonshine in Hemstead's apartment. It's not-so-quiet bickering between the two men until one of them smirks, usually Dom. But the first time she and her grandfather go off at him together, is the first time Liz thinks Red doesn't know what to do with the truth.
Tell me.
Tell her.
That's why she's here, to learn.
Dom tells Red that she's better off without him. Red is gone by the next evening.
IV.
Two weeks after he left her there, pallets of lumber started appearing by night.
By day, men and women arrived to scope out the land just south of the property; gesticulating randomly at a tree here, pointing to the ground there, and scribbling something down after a few thoughtful nods. This silent movie played out no matter what the weather brought them. From the front windows, cradling and entertaining her daughter, Liz would watch them.
By the time fall had really set in, where the mornings were frigid and a fog would roll in from the river, the land had been cleared away, the foundation set, and nearly all of the framing and electrical had been completed. She would walk through the incomplete rooms, pause in the area where the kitchen would be, draw in a deep breath of wood and dust and the loamy smell left over from a few miserable, rainy days.
It takes only a couple of months for Red's crew to finish the cabin. The day they leave, Dom hands her a set of keys adorned by a red gift tag with her and Agnes's name written on it.
V.
"You're not building her a house here, Raymond." Liz never recalled a moment where Red's name could be used like a wall. But there her grandfather was, wielding his name as if he had personally created the word; deftly, sternly, with finality.
"I own the surrounding land, and she'll be far enough away that you won't have to see her, speak to her." He sounded so resigned, so detached, and even though she can't see him from where she presses herself against the wall in the dining room, she knows he's lounging on the couch, one arm placed along the back of it as Dom trudges back and forth, his agitated pacing a habit when Red came to call.
"That woman hates me for what I did, for what I let you do."
"If it's any comfort, she hates me just as well, now. I have no where to put her, Dom. If I trusted her, I would keep her with me, but circumstances being as they are, that is impossible. As it stands, she needs time to heal and become strong. She won't be your responsibility."
"Just how many more cabins do you plan on building out here for those of us you need kept away from the world, huh?"
"You're hardly a kept man, and Elizabeth is getting what she always wanted, maybe not on her terms but certainly in the safest manner possible."
"She deserves more than a derelict grandfather and you." Liz hasn't quite figured out the depths of Dom's bitterness, nor the grudge he has when he remembers that he's harboring it. The oddest things will set him off when it comes to Red.
There's silence after his words, a ringing, uncomfortable beat in the conversation that leaves the universe hanging.
"No one in this life was ever going to get what they deserve." He's moving. The next few seconds are consumed by the complaining couch springs, the distinct sound of his fingers smoothing the brim of his hat, and the way his feet fall when he walks. "Same construction team as last time. They have to start before Winter really sets in. If you don't recognize anyone, you know what to do. They start building at 0600."
"Wait," All sounds of movement cease and Liz wonders if Dom has physically reached out to stop him. The air seems charged somehow, the derision in her grandfather's voice palpable. "You aren't going to say hello?"
"Elizabeth has enough to worry about besides playing hostess."
"Leaving her alone after you failed to stay away does not count, Raymond. She's asked about you. You should let her thank you for the house." She has an intense need to leave, to flee this house where men bring her up in conversation without warning. There's something about the two of them talking about her that makes her heart pound.
"I'll handle everything the builders need. They should be gone in no time." A door knob is gripped, the old hinges and springs grind as it's twisted and the front door screen whines when it's pushed open. Everything seems so much louder than it should out here in the woods.
"And Katherine?" It's like ice water has been dumped on her.
"Kate will be moved in covertly after the finishing touches have been added. I expect the cabin to be done within the next three months, if not sooner."
"And what? I should just expect you to come knocking whenever you damn well please?"
"No, the more I come here, the more it puts you all in danger."
"Isn't that the truth..."
"Ah! I almost forgot." There's a rummaging, some locks are undone and Liz recalls a moment in a storage shed when all of this was still beginning; where he brought sandwiches and withheld vital information about hiring Tom from her. She remembers yelling at him, lashing out at his gifts, and, by extension, him.
The dull thud of the messenger bag against itself resounds in her ears and then a familiar intrigue floods her when she hears the rustling of paper. "Tell Elizabeth to call me once she's looked these over. I'm not going to have time to do it myself as well, so she'll need to do a full report on their possible pathologies, inclinations, behavioral patterns, the works." There's a heavy sigh from her grandfather, and she moves, musters the courage to round the corner, and can't help but notice the way Red's eyes drop once he meets her own.
Guilt and pain flash across his expression - like lighting in a dark room.
"You're leaving again?" There were other questions she wanted to ask. Other questions that begged for answers. But, somehow, this one seemed to own her just then. Red's lips purse a little and he eyes the papers in Dom's hands. There's a silent, heavy beat in the conversation, an impending drop of confirmation neither wants. Her grandfather looks between the two of them and sighs.
"Who knew I would be the odd man out in my own home." The words mutter themselves into the silence, and he turns towards her with a crookedness to his lips. "Here. To you, from him." As if satisfied by his offering, he drops the files in her hands and leaves the two of them to their own wayward toiling. She doesn't dare watch her grandfather go, can't help fearing that if she turns away Red will bolt again. Vanish again. Be unreachable.
Though, by the hard lines on his face and the resolute slope of his shoulders, she'd say he was fairly unreachable anyway. She lets the silence drag on and Red blinks at her, his eyes roaming to the papers in her hands, to the way her finger taps the edge of it.
"Fine." She presses the papers to her chest and heads toward the back door. Hours afterward, staring out into the darkness from her kitchen window, it isn't his silence that makes her eyes tear up so much as her own naivety in believing that he would always chase after her.
VI.
Driven purely by spite, she'd been able to abandon the files Red had left her for three days until curiosity got the better of her.
A deceased commercial real estate agent from Toronto.
A restaurant mogul from Hong Kong.
A professor of agriculture from Oakland, California.
The other two files held similar circumstances: death, money, secrets, and lies.
It took her six hours.
"Listen, I appreciate the gesture, but-"
"It's not a gesture, Lizzy. This situation has been plaguing my-"
"But, if this little love triangle, murder mystery is your idea of utilizing me, you're going to have to not give me things a teenager could figure out." She presses the phone to her ear a little harder. It's raining wherever he is. She can hear the hiss of a car go by on a wet street in the background, and there's the distinct pitter of drops on an umbrella.
"Perhaps you don't give yourself enough credit, Lizzy. My client winds up dead and I could barely make heads or-"
"Just stop." It's a clash of steel; her sword against his armored placating and flattery. There's silence on the other side of the phone, and she draws in a deep breath; a rush of nerves flooding her stomach. Having her own suspicions was one thing, it was another thing entirely to investigate those suspicions. Especially, when those suspicions required vulnerability. "If you want an excuse to talk, ask me how Agnes is doing."
In the few, agonizing breaths it takes for him to answer, she imagines him against the gray backdrop of the storm he's in. She imagines the shadow that cuts across his face from the edge of his fedora. She imagines Dembe glancing at him, the whisper of concern in his eyes when Red tucks his chin to his chest and exhales quietly into the phone.
When the profiling jobs he'd given her had turned out as easy as they had, she'd gone with her gut. Either he just wants to distract her...or he wants an excuse to talk to her. And while she hates that they have to resort to this to have a half-way decent conversation, there's a glimmer of hope in her that adds warmth to an otherwise bleak and chilly day in the woods. Whatever he says next, whatever move he makes in their grand game of chess, she figures she'll know how to proceed a little.
"Does Agnes like the rocking chair?"
Liz smiles.
VII.
"Why don't you want Mr. Kaplan here?" She spoons a mouthful of eggs and glances at Agnes in her bouncer.
"I knew you were too quiet this morning." Dom moves his eggs around his plate, and gives her a look that halts between mischief and a grimace. "Pass me the pepper." She hesitates for half a second, and then moves the pepper a little closer to him.
"I was," There's a steadying breath, another mouthful of eggs, and then, "Eavesdropping on you and Red when he was here last." Her grandfather only shrugs a little, her confession, shaking a little pepper on his eggs.
"Do you think I care what you overhear?" She opens her mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. Was his act all a ruse to draw information out of Red? Did he know she was spying on them that night? Why didn't he ask any real questions? Why did he let Red leave if the whole point was to- "Well?" Her eyes focus on him and it's her turn to shrug. "Do you?"
"If you don't care what I overhear, why won't you give me a straight answer?" Dom stares at her for a moment, eyes softening just a little before he shakes his head and scoffs. She only has enough patience in her to wait until he finishes his next bite of eggs before she slams her fork down on the table; rattling their plates and glasses. "What did you help Red do that she hates you for? What don't you want me finding out? What am I here to learn? Is it a lesson? Is it information? Because if it's information, why won't anyone just tell me?" Her voice had slowly risen with every question she asked, and by the time she was done, she found herself standing; leaning over the table towards him as if to tower over him. Dom had only grown quieter, his eyes studying her from across the table. She watches his eyes slide to her chair behind her, and he shakes his head.
"Sit down, Masha." Liz feels herself swallow, and though she has no intention of sitting, she finds herself slouched back in her chair a few seconds later; deflated and empty. He eats the rest of his breakfast in silence, and Liz can't muster the nerve to leave the table. There's an ache in the back of her throat, and she hates the way he looks up at her when she has to glance up to keep from crying.
Since day one, she'd wanted answers, she'd wanted to know about her past, she'd wanted to know why there were gaping errors in continuity in her life. Why was Red still here after he got the fulcrum? Why did he help her after she shot Connolly? Why did he rescue her from Kirk after she betrayed him? Why couldn't she find any real answers about her past? Could she trust her mother's diary? Was anything Kirk said true? Who the hell am I?
All of her frustrations seemed to be pressing in on her in this abysmal quiet her grandfather has plunged them into. And if she hadn't been zoned out, she might have noticed the way he placed his milk glass back down a little louder than before. Startled, her eyes go from his glass to his face, and she finds Dom frowning at her.
"I don't need anymore reminders of the past, and," He leans back into his chair, one hand still on the table to fiddle with the napkin beside his plate. "Raymond told me what she helped you do." Though his admission is soft, he fixes her with a hardness about his face that makes her think of stone.
"I was scared for my baby." Liz can't help the vitriol that accompanies her tone; defensiveness like a rabid dog within her. But all of that defensiveness feels useless when Dom scoffs at her.
"Well, I suppose running should be expected from someone raised by a thief." The comment cuts into her and she finds that, beyond her shock, there is only rage.
"Sam wasn't a thief." She grinds the words out, voice shaking a little. Her hands are sweating where she clenches them together under the table. Dom gives her a dubious look and shrugs.
"Not while you knew him." Blunt and designed to jar her, Liz feels disoriented. This isn't a new truth, by any means, but the fact that Dom knew Sam, the fact that her grandfather seemingly disapproved of her placement with him, brought a whole new set of questions to the forefront of her mind. She doesn't know how they got here, to this topic, to Sam, to her tendencies...And suddenly Liz barks out a laugh at him.
"You're doing exactly what he does!" She's so beyond exasperated that her voice breaks, and, this time, she can't help the tears the gather in her eyes. "You throw up these stupid half-answers, these stupid comments, meant to, what? Rattle me? To throw me off the scent?" She can't believe this is happening. One answer. Would one answer kill them? "God, you two are unbelievable."
"He came here to tell me you had died, Masha." He spits the words at her, matching her fury step for step. "You have no concept of what that news did to me, what it did to Raymond, and then the two of you show up out of the blue, and you've been walking around here as if it never happened."
"I didn't know you existed, okay? Red didn't tell me." She bites back, swiping away the tears on her face.
"What does knowing of my existence have anything to do with it?" And the volley's keep coming, it would seem. To this, though, Liz has now answer.
She remembers the way she felt after giving birth. She's justifying all the reasons she'd come up with for agreeing to do what she'd done. Kate's plan had been a light in that dark place, a light that used to come from Red when she'd been in trouble, when she'd been cornered, trapped, and hunted. But everything seemed to be turned on its head since she was beaten in that parking lot; her opinions fogged by bitterness, by exhaustion, her heart mangled by paranoia and feelings of inadequacy. What life did she have after she was exonerated? What life did she have to go back to when the bureau couldn't hire her? A desk job? Teaching? Counseling? Fighting in Red's war?
Everything had spiraled as her pregnancy continued, and it seemed every choice she made was a choice made in fear, by fear, and because of fear. Every little thing made everything worse. Every stress. Every vague response from Red. Every worry she had because of Tom, because of the baby, because of her desire for a normal life, for the war Red told her was on-going, for her mysterious role in it..."You weren't there. You don't know how terrifying it is to give birth with a mad-man hunting you and your child down. I made what I thought was the best choice at the time."
"I know exactly what it feels like." There's a very real sorrow stealing over him. Liz watches her grandfather clench his jaw, and she wonders what he's thinking about, what exact moment places the shadows she sees in his eyes when he looks back up at her. "Everyone is scared for someone, Masha." He stands, picks his plate up, and reaches for her own; the rest of her breakfast cold and abandoned on her plate. "If there's anything you can learn while you're here it's that you don't get to be like your mother. You don't get to leave all the rest of us behind to pick up the pieces."
And then he's gone.
VIII.
Kate moves in across the property a month after Winter sets in, and Elizabeth avoids her. It's not that she doesn't feel grateful, but there's an underlying sense of foreboding that accompanies the older woman's presence. There's a willful desire to remain ignorant of Mr. Kaplan and Red's falling out; to not know the nitty gritty, to leave them to their squabbling, to drawback from the weight of guilt she feels over the whole ordeal.
Elizabeth knew she'd torn a bond apart that was less like amputating a limb and more like separating a body from its soul.
Through the frosted windows in her family room, Liz can see Kate every now and then moving steadily around the kitchen. Red has set his former confidante up just within the tree line to the west, the farthest point from Liz's own cabin with her grandfather's home acting as an ill-equipped barrier.
Movement on Dom's porch catches her eye, and she stares at the puffs of white that come from her grandfather's nose as he stands looking out across the driveway towards Kate's cabin. After a few moments, he turns and sees her standing at the window, and he gives her a barely discernible nod through the dark. No matter the tension between them after that conversation, he had yet to shun her.
Agnes makes a noise from her swing by the TV and Liz turns to scoop her up. The drowsy expression her daughter gives her is one of striking resemblance and she feels sorrow lance into her heart.
"This was the most unkindest cut of all." Liz tucks her daughter into the crook of her arm and sways lightly, watching Agnes's eyes drag heavily; weighed down by sleep and the ease of an innocent life. "Someday, Shakespeare will be appropriate bedtime story material." Though, she thinks, probably not until she's at least ten. The politics, the corruption, the betrayals, and tragedy all rang too closely to her life, and by extension, she knew those themes would inevitably touch her daughter's life as well. She's crying before she even realizes that the tears are falling. "And maybe someday he'll forgive me...for agreeing to Kate's plan...for treating him the way I did..."
Kate's plan. She sits in the dark watching Agnes sleep from the rocking chair, thinking about how easily she'd made Kate's plan her own; how she agreed, and acquiesced to Kate's suggestions about using Red's own resources to smuggle Agnes and Tom into Cuba.
How easy it had been to betray him. How blind he was to its source and machinations. A true blind spot. And somewhere around the room, echoing in the shadows, the walls, the floor, resonating from the very chair she sits on, she swears she hears Red's voice,
"I am dying, Egypt, dying."
IX.
She's reviewing some files Red sent to her about potential recruits when there's a knock at her door.
11:47pm
There's no way it's Dom. Liz glances at the door, wonders how long it would take for Mr. Kaplan to go away if she just stayed where she was-
"I saw you through the window while I was walking up, Elizabeth." The muffled sound of Kate's voice beyond the door drags up all the guilt she feels towards the woman and all the shame she feels in duping Red and all the gratitude she feels for Kate who gave up everything to try and give her and Agnes something that wasn't apart of their world.
Liz closes all the files and slides them under her couch before going to open the door. Mr. Kaplan had been looking off into the darkness, but at the sound of the door opening, she turns, and Liz afforded a good look at a nasty scar on the older woman's face. It carved a red line from her right cheek to her ear, notched in the middle.
"A graze, dearie," In Liz's shock Kaplan pats her arm and moves into the house without much protest. "Nothing that won't heal."
"Hey, wait a second." Liz closes the door, and turns to follow after the woman as she meanders her way through the cabin. Kate finds her way to Agnes's room, and Liz can't find a good enough reason to stop her from approaching the crib to look down on the little girl for whom they did what they did.
"She's so big, now." There's a wistfulness about Kaplan just then, a tremulousness to her voice that draws Liz a step closer. "I almost forgot how fast they grow."
"Why are you here?"
X.
Liz handed a steaming cup of tea to Kaplan and settled on the opposite end of the couch to study the tension she sees in the older woman's face. Her eyes keep snagging on Kaplan's scar, and in the silent moments that pass by, while Kate blows on her tea to cool it down, Liz's stomach flips.
"Did he do that?"
"Yes," Liz watches Kate draw a finger around the rim of her cup, looking down into its contents as if there was something less regrettable to be found there. "He did."
There's a mixed sense of horror and responsibility within her; a need to beg for forgiveness before her. But all she can summon at this late hour is a soft, "I'm sorry." Of all the people in this world, it had seemed Liz found herself in a small group of people Red would never harm; the most prevalent being Kaplan and Dembe. "Red said you needed to recover, but I didn't think..."
"Raymond and I come from a different world, Elizabeth." Kate sets her mug down on the coffee table and crosses her legs. It's only by this small movement that Liz notices how dressed down Mr. Kaplan is out here where being fashioned as an executive wasn't required of her. Jeans and sweater...Kate could easily pass as anyone who lived in the surrounding area or towns, and maybe that was the point. "Betrayal always includes life and death."
"I didn't want to betray him."
"Neither did I, dearie."
They sit there, each of them with their own transgressions and the all the consequences of their actions laid out before them. Liz tells Kaplan of what Don said, of everything it implied about her mother, and she pulls from the older woman enough details to paint a picture of the grief she caused the hearts of those she loved.
By the end of it, when Liz musters up the courage to ask about Red and how he was after they faked her death, she finds that the answer was far harder to brave than the asking.
XI.
"So, did Cooper hire Matthews or Yousif?" Slightly out of breath, Elizabeth leans on the axe she'd been using to chop firewood when Red called.
"Matthews, per your recommendation." He sounds tired, a just a touch nasally, but there's a warmth in his voice that hadn't been there a few months back, and she lets her hope build more than she should. "So far, she's been an excellent addition to the task force."
And there it is, that stab of jealousy out of nowhere. He hasn't been around since the end of Summer, and there is an irrational amount of envy that comes with the knowledge of this other woman getting to work cases with Red.
"Yeah well, tell her not to get to comfortable." Her voice isn't as light-hearted as she wants it to be, and she finds herself clearing her voice as if to draw his attention away from that fact. "I won't be gone for too much longer." There's a sigh on the other end of the phone, and Liz is about to change the subject, about to divert him from whatever regrettable thing he's about to say, but he says her name and she finds herself waiting desperately for that regrettable thing.
"I know we agreed that you would come back before Christmas, but we uncovered a faction in the greater echelons of the Cabal that's working avidly to find you, and with Solomon still in the wind, we can't risk it." The image of Red's map flashes before her mind's eye and with it comes the disbelief that Solomon could still possibly be alive and that Tom would have been so careless as to leave him so.
"I'm going stir-crazy, Red." Liz pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep, but quiet breath to keep herself from arguing with him.
"Did Dom show you the creek?"
"It's basically frozen over, but yes."
"And the lake?"
"Also frozen."
"The trails through the woods along the creek and the lake?" Liz rolls her eyes and laughs.
"Red, is it Winter where you are?"
XII.
The end of November stretches into the middle of December and Red hasn't called.
He'd warned her when they finished their last conversation that he might be out of touch for a few days, but a few was not fifteen. Under no circumstance was she to call anyone but Red or Dembe and neither were answering their phones. She told Kaplan, and while the woman expressed her worries, she advised her not to break the protocol she'd agreed to on account of Agnes.
"A safe haven is a real gift, Elizabeth. Wait a few more days. If they don't call, then we can start worrying."
Three days pass with nothing but a weather service announcement about a snow storm for their area and no amount of chopping wood can ease the nervous energy within her.
"If I had a dime for every time Raymond disappeared, I'd be a rich man." Dom was sitting at the piano with Agnes in his lap.
"Elizabeth, they could be compromised. If what Raymond told you was true, it could be for your safety."
Liz had been pacing for a good thirty minutes while her daughter and grandfather negotiated terms for their piano "lesson", which mostly consisted of Dom chuckling at Agnes as she banged sporadically on the keys. It wasn't until a few minutes ago, when Kaplan came by to ask if there was any word, that they all stopped to discuss the possibilities.
"What if something has happened? What if they're in danger?"
"There's no use worrying about something you can't change, dearie." But that was just it, she could change it. If she showed her face. If she offered herself up as bait, this current threat from the Cabal could be over. They could go home.
"I can't just sit here and do nothing anymore." While she understands the need for precaution in case there were prying ears in the bullpen, Liz found herself ready to dial Ressler when headlights filtered in through the trees beyond the yard out front.
XIII.
They kill the lights as fast as they can.
A rifle is passed to her by her grandfather from a compartment beside the stairs, and Dom takes up another while ushering an already armed Kaplan down into the cellar with Agnes.
The car is just lurching to a stop in the drive when Dom situates himself near the kitchen door to cover the back. Liz levels her sights on the vehicle and tracks the movement in the car as the driver's side door flings open and out tumbles Aram.
this is now a two-part one shot because otherwise it would have been super duper long. I'll post the next part within a few hours. I just have to re-read it :)