Disclaimer: You'd get definitely more drama feels if I owned the Blacklist. Lizzington would have all the screentime in the world. Just saying. ;) As for now, they still belong to Jon Bokenkamp.

Great thanks to my beta folks. You helped and I hug you for that. 3

To all my reviewers for 'heartbeats'. Thank you so much! I love you all so very much for leaving me the greatest reviews.

A/N: My dear readers, I strongly believe Red is neither good nor bad. I think he has a goal and is way darker than we all might think. I very much enjoy his dark side. It is a reason that actually attracted me to this ship, so I will explore it in my fics. I love to push them and I think they need to be pushed hard to admit the draw they have towards each other. It's a strange and honest game they play yet they deceive each other whenever they can. And I wonder how far he would go if she endangered his plan, betrayed him. If she was the one burning his house down.

~ I always write while listening to music. Usually one specific song inspires most of the story. When I first saw the scene of Red talking to Newton in 1x11 right before killing him and 'line of fire' by Junip played I had goose bumps all over my skin and BAM the fic idea was born! The songs crawls under your skin and you can't shake it off ~

...

Line Of Fire

...

It was snowing. Silently the flakes fell down one by one forming a soft blanket on top of the grey buildings. The city vanished with it and fell asleep under the white.

She didn't feel that much different, fading into the same silence as the room around her. She could leave of course, but where would she go anyway? Did it matter?

Indifferently, she looked down at her wrists, still slightly red from the ropes that had restrained her; looked at her arm, still pinching from the pain of inserted needles. And she drifted off to all that had occurred just hours ago. Memories that were foreign seemed so familiar and familiarity had turned into a stranger. Red - her vision blurring for the hundreds time under a layer of tears.

...

"Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie, you have been bad."

It was the first thing she had remembered him saying; in a foggy haze of memories buried somewhere in the back of her mind years ago. And it was the emotion of utter fear that connected these same words with the present, as he appeared like a ghost, right behind her in the kitchen, while she was cooking dinner for one.

"Nice idea, the SWAT team in my backyard." Dangerously low he spoke into her ear, invading her personal space. Like he had done a hundred times before. A hundred and one time convincing her that she was safe with him, that she mattered.

Not now. The tiny hair in the back of her neck were rising with the awareness of a threat.

"Red!" She turned around quickly, terrified and knowing that secure was far from the truth when it came to him. And even though she had hoped differently, deep down she had known he had somehow escaped and would come for her eventually, to collect on this debt. Never betraying his ultimate plan, to even the score. An eye for an eye, a daughter for a daughter.

"Let me guess?" His breath fanned bitter sweet over the paleness of her cheeks. "You learned something unpleasant about me investigating our last case. Did 'the Postman' talk?" And his body was entrapping her as he spoke utterly calm and even. "What did he tell to convince you I was way safer dead to you than alive and breathing?"

She looked at him with sincere but the contours of his face seemed to be carved in stone. Hard and unmoving his gaze pierced her own. His golden lashes now the only soft spot visible in the mask of his.

"I... I didn't..." but her words died right there. He knew!

So instead she searched for compassion in his eyes, letting her fear bleed into him. Surely he must care still. Maybe just a little bit? It couldn't have been all a lie.

"Please, Red." Go away. She whispered, blindly searching for the knife behind her back.

But his hand reached for her wrist, stilling her movement as he leaned further into her. His face remained unreadable, serious, unfaltering.

"In the eye of an opportunity, our choices seal our fate. And betrayal is perhaps one of the greatest motivators and a guide in search for the truth."

'Detached' was the word she was looking for, his voice so hollow and empty. There appeared to be nothing left of the man who had put her life above his own. And slowly it dawned on her that losing her somehow seemed worth it to him now.

She swallowed audibly. And the question arose on its own, fleeing her mouth, for it was obvious he would not disappear again.

"Are you going to hurt me?"

Thick with worry her voice carried through the silence of her kitchen. And he looked at her, trying to decipher the girl who had trusted a criminal and believed his accusations about a person who was no less a criminal. A man who had chosen her to seek revenge for a crime over 20 years ago.

And while observing her innocent careful blue eyes, that glanced haunted back at him in fear and equal betrayal, a thin layer of salt and water started to glisten. And just for a second his lips twitched a sad smile. How truly sorry he was, for what was about to come. How much it hurt him as well, being the man that would put an end to her search, like numbered heartbeats thumping away in uncertainty.

"Lizzie..." His eyebrows furrowed and he concentrated on her face. A moment of remembrance before his decision seemed final. And his fingers slowly encircled her throat, rubbing his thumb lightly up and down her thudding pulse. "If you would have come to me, I could have explained it all to you." His words quiet and dangerous, like a lullaby played on an abandoned instrument, to scare rather than croon the child into sleep. "We could have avoided all of this."

Then a moment of quiet followed. His finger resting on her lips and sealing away every word she had spoken.

The imaginary picture painted by him was not lost on her. A mirror of what would follow. The birds, who sang, drew attention to those that listened closely: A lure that brought both friend and enemy to the inviting doorstep of our house.

She started shivering slightly and her bottom lip quivered, pulled downward upon the heaviness of her feelings. Her pulse increased further and her breathing became erratic.

Terrified of the man who had made so many disappear, all she was able to do was close her eyes and brace herself. She was afraid of Raymond Reddington for the very first time. And the fear upon discovering the truth was weak compared what he must have planned for her, knowing she had out ratted him.

So she waited for gun to be pointed at her, or a plastic bag to be wrapped over her head. He was the lord of crime after all, a killer, and a puppet master on his quest to revenge. She knew that now. Had she ever forgotten?

His hand slid gently through her hair. "But now we can't." He whispered. "We can't avoid it any longer." A promise in his words as he put one hand over her mouth and another around her abdomen to take her away. Her legs suddenly airborne as her mind became dizzy.

Dizzy, like the moment she had heard the story told by the Blacklister. Her mother murdered by the man in the fedora, and her father murdered by the same. The one, that also set the house on fire. There was a brother once and a nanny she had learned. All gone, all dead, all murdered in cold blood.

Numbness was like the rushing of blood in her ears, noisy yet paralyzing. And upon not believing all the lies told to her that day, there was one truth she could not brush off. The sizing feeling in her gut. The unshakable tingle that she sensed something real in those stories. And it was a moment of shock and hurt and shredded tears that she believed. Not the Blacklister, but herself. Because a memory was not just pictures, it was voices, feelings, colors and smell. And even if the trigger was still hidden in her subconscious mind, she knew it existed and would unbound the mystery. So it was the anger of being just a valuable figure on this grand chess board of his that had made her turn to Cooper and Ressler the very same day, to change his game and to voice a lie. Calling off his deal, so that he shall suffer for all his sins that he had done to her in the past.

The anger now was absent though. She struggled, but weak compared to his strength. Her surveillance team was probably long gone and the bugs in her house disconnected. Red had made sure of that. Nobody would hear her screams, for nobody was meant to come to her rescue. Eventually it had to come to this: Their journey ending in shards. Fate always smoothed the edges, so the river would flow undisturbed to find its course in the end.

"I am sorry, Red, I truly am." She begged him when they made it through the living room. "Please?"

But he didn't falter in his movement. Not after she squeezed his arm and not after her withheld sob left her throat. He didn't stop either, when a tear dropped onto his skin and the trail vanished under the collar of his shirt.

"You always wanted answers. You wanted to know how and why we are connected." More raw his voice yet still low and calm as he carried her away from the house. "And you'll get them. But I get something in return!"

It was all wrong, all black and white. And his breath too hot compared to the winter outside. She whimpered and chills ran down her spine. His closeness both feathered danger and security. It was a strange intertwining of emotions at play as her heart hammered restless against her ribcage in fear.

Once more she fought him, kicking her feet, but it was no use against his tight embrace as he put her gently in the back of a van.

She looked around, then she looked at him, but his eyes avoided hers now. Deep in thoughts he took a breath and worked his jaws as he strapped the seat belt over her.

And as she watched him in defeat, it appeared to her that he seemed to be somebody else entirely, no personality of Red she had yet encountered. And it made her all the more uneasy for his face gave nothing away.

Still, she could almost sense the fight he was having. They had gotten close over those last months. And once upon a time he had made her believe beyond any reasonable doubt that she was truly everything to him.

It was so unimaginable to fathom the other.

So she observed his hands and watched his mouth; the flick of his tongue and the pressure of his fingertips. And it between the roughness of his skin and the hardening of his lips she almost dared to detect it: The carefulness within not caring, the want to protect and while wanting to claim, the need to salvage when there was no way of saving.

And for a reason unknown, it did not make her feel any more at ease for a threat lingered just the same. Like a volcano brooding on the inside, still deciding if it was to bury the village at his foot or just smouldering its inhabitants with smoke; all the while knowing that it must choose somehow, for it would collapse into and destroy itself otherwise.

Yes, it was exactly that: Him or her. Selfish or unselfish. Live or die.

But it was a glimmer in the dark, hope, and a spark to light with a chance to connect. So she tried what the book has always taught her to do: Talk, profile and be a part of the development. Be the unforeseen obstacle in the well sorted plan. Distract!

"Where are you taking me?" she asked quietly. Once, twice and a third time. But it was as if he hadn't heard her.

Lost in his own thoughts he just closed the door. The house of his mind save from the madness outside.

"Red?" Her voice, a bit desperate, was still searching for her guardian in him as he locked and sealed the van shut closed.

It was too late. The glass muffled the sound and the inside was dark.

And it was that very moment, when she saw her hand reaching out to him, that she braced herself for the unthinkable. Abducted by the Concierge of Crime as the only person he had ever traded his life for. And if all he had told her was neither lie nor the full truth, she might know too much to ever return.

"This will be a longer drive." He muttered, to himself or to her, she wasn't quite sure.

A tear dropped down as she heard his steps, loud and clear on crunching gravel, as he walked with force to the driver's side and started the car with a roar or pride.

…

To Be Continued…