AN: This is a continuation of another fic, 'This isn't Andy Warhol's Factory'. Formerly TiAWF's Chapter Four, it's now Chapter One of Lizzie Lazarus.

The title is a play on the Sylvia Plath poem, "Lady Lazarus" (and parts of it are dispersed throughout chapter two). The theme of repeatedly being resurrected/revived, poked and prodded, and the center of attention, is rather fitting IMO.

You don't HAVE to read This isn't Andy Warhol's Factory in order to pick up on this, but I'd recommend giving it a try.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! I hope you guys like it!

-...-...-...-

One week later...

"I still can't believe Dembe commandeered Braxton's chopper," Liz gushed, shaking her head incredulously.

Red grinned and turned his head towards his friend, currently seated near the front of his Gulfstream, wearing headphones and watching a John Hughes film. "Dembe is a closeted Renaissance man. He has many talents!"

"But he's a little less boisterous about them than some people," she replied wryly, eyebrows arched in suggestion.

"Now, that's not fair, sweetheart. I never bragged about my best talents before you got to experience them first hand, did I?"

"Brag? No. Reference? Yes."

"'Referencing' and 'bragging' are not the same thing."

"Fine. Fine," she conceded.

With an abruptly-somber tone, Liz changed the subject. "Do you really think this will work?"

He shrugged and sighed, wary to disclose the next potentially-catastrophic puzzle piece.

"Honestly, I'm not very hopeful. The outcome is dubious at best."

"So it's our hail mary."

"More or less... I'm surprised that you haven't asked how I know Dr. Gillette."

"Just sparing myself another round of frustration. I didn't think you'd answer." She looked away as she said it, avoiding the reactive expression that her mind's eye could see perfectly.

Through a stiffened jaw, he replied, "I suppose I deserve that... On a related note, I do need to share a few things with you before we go into today's procedure."

Liz's shook her head. "And you waited until we were in the air to tell me, so I'm guessing it's something bad."

"I'll let you be the judge of that."

"Spill it!"

"Lizzie, there's a reason that you can't remember anything before the fire. All of your memories were intentionally erased in a procedure that was essentially the reverse of what we're doing today, and by the same man."

Her lips parted as she absorbed the information. "But who would do that? Why?"

"Your nightmares."

"My nightmares?"

"I put Sam in touch with Dr. Gillette."

"But you want The Fulcrum. You were going to come back for it after your recovery. Why would you even..."

So, she'd been intentionally robbed of her identity? Was he in fact more concerned about something other than The Fulcrum? Was there something else, something bigger, that he did NOT want her to recall? If the reversal procedure worked as well as the original, she'd find out soon.

"Sam and I were much closer back then. We spoke almost every day, even if only by phone. After taking you in, much of our conversations turned to you... He told me about your nightmares, but they were worse back then, so much worse than you can even recall. He was worried sick."

"The music box you- that's why you knew about The Anniversary Waltz..."

"We didn't know how well it would work, or even if it would work at all, but it was considered a low-risk procedure. Our only goal was to block your traumatic memories, not all of them. Not your whole life."

He held her steady gaze, his rheumy eyes pleading for understanding.

Continuing, he added, "I set up the meeting, and Sam brought you to him. Afterwards, you were remarkably unrattled by the confusion of not knowing anything, 'almost like a newborn,' as Sam described it. I was in Western Angola at the time, but that was before I bought my Gulfstream. I was unable to go with you guys."

Liz seemed to have suddenly developed the ability to hear him out before exploding in rage.

After a grateful pause, Red continued, "And while the outcome was unexpected, it also became clear that we we'd been given an opportunity to better protect you. It was far safer for you to not know anything at all, and by that time, Sam had come to care for you a great deal, so he decided to keep you in the dark. That meant that I had to back off and stay back, but it was Sam's decision, and I respected it. Every trace of me, every talisman, save a few well-hidden photographs - he either gave them to me or threw them away. Over the years, I stopped by occasionally to visit, but always while you were either in school or Summer camp."

"So you became my anonymous benefactor."

"I did what I could. It was more than Sam ever asked, but always less than I wanted. You can't suture any kind of wound with money, and certainly none as deep as ours - not unless money itself IS the wound."

"But why? Why would you risk never finding The Fulcrum?"

"That wasn't the difficult decision that you seem to think it was. At that age, my daughter thankfully suffered very few nightmares, but I witnessed her fear. I held her. I consoled her. I ached for her."

As the tears began to well up in her eyes, mirroring his own, Red relaxed only the smallest bit.

He continued, "But besides that, I accepted the potential loss as your retribution. Had I not been there, your parents wouldn't have died, at least not then. I owed you. Having a small beacon of hope to possibly help, how could I not?"

He took her hand in his, and though she didn't pull back, she also didn't move it at all, leaving it limp in his fingers.

The revelation made her struggle to articulate her thoughts. "But Sam, he..." she leaned forward slightly and canted her head. "How do I remember the song?"

"You remember it like you remember anything else from childhood."

"No, I, I mean... He hummed it when I had the nightmares, so if all of my memories were erased, then why do I remember it?"

Red squeezed her hand. "Because the procedure didn't make the nightmares go away. Your darkest memories cowered where they could, in the darkest recesses of your mind, and only in sleep could you subconsciously mull it over. Like I said though, they were far worse before. According to Sam, as soon as you returned home, they dropped off sharply."

After an interminable moment of both silence and stillness, Liz finally squeezed his hand. "I just need to work it over in my mind."

As much as it pained him, for her sake, Red asked, "Would you like a moment alone? I can move to another seat, if you'd like."

Radio silence.

Was she trying to say "yes" without verbalizing it?

Reluctantly, he shifted his weight to stand.

At his movement, she immediately sprang to life to stop him. "No! Stay, please." With a heavy sigh, she snuggled closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

Red's eyes flooded in relief, but a swift succession of blinks kept them from overflowing. With their minds racing in tandem, another long silence took over.

Little did she know that he still had another enormous revelation-an even bigger one, perhaps, but he'd keep that to himself for at least another day.

"So, tell me... assuming this works and we find The Fulcrum, then how exactly will we extract the intel?"

"I have no earthly idea, but I do have someone to handle that for us. Do you remember Boracove? You met him during the mole hunt."

"Um, vaguely. The shredder man?"

"Yes, among other things. He's one of my best computer-technology-mumbo-jumbo guys. Reliable. Loyal. Indebted to me."

"Hah!" she huffed, "Who isn't?"

Red didn't miss a beat. "You."

Yeah, she walked right into that one.

"While we're having such a frank conversation, I also want to thank you, Lizzie, for saving my life on that freighter gulag. I should have told you that sooner."

"But you're still mad that I showed up in the first place."

"Mad? No. I'm distraught." The crease in his brow suggested that he meant it.

"You can't blame me for wanting to balance the scale. One day, you're gonna have to accept my gratitude for saving me first."

He shook his head. "Don't hold your breath."

"Then maybe YOU should get YOUR memory of the fire erased."

"Hah!" Red chuckled mirthlessly. "Maybe I should."

-...-...-...-

As they clambered out of the jet Lizzie surveyed the landscape through the open hangar. She tightened the belt on her parka and shoved her hands into her pockets. "You know, it's pretty funny trying to imagine Sam carting a little girl around Nunavut."

"It was part of The Northern Territories back then," Red replied.

Smartass. "You know what I mean."

"I do, but I think you'd be surprised. He wasn't allowed in the room during the procedure. Would you like to know what he did in the meantime?"

Oh god.

"I don't know... Do I? Um, sure. Tell me before I change my mind."

Red laughed and tipped his head far enough to the side to kiss her without bumping her with the brim of his hat. "Nothing sordid, I assure you. He met a mute woman who only communicated via throat singing. He never got her name, never understood a thing she tried to say, but he found her hypnotic."

"Uh, throat singing?"

"They only spent three hours together, but he was quite taken by her."

"Throat singing?"

This man. Maddening.

He ignored her again. "You know, Bjiork once collaborated with an Inuit throat singer."

"Every time you tell me a story about my dad, I find myself thinking that you knew a completely different man. Your Sam sounds a lot more like you."

"We're all multi-faceted, sweetheart."

She gently nudged his ribs and grinned. "Some of us more than others."

They forged their way across the bumpy, icy airstrip, upwind and on foot. Liz found it hard to believe that the region was accessible by plane. A chopper seemed better-suited for take-offs and landings.

"But why here? Why Nunavut?"

"You didn't think Dr. Gillette's research was legal, did you?"

"Of course not! Don't be silly. I know you, but this is pretty extreme."

"The facility's research is incredibly advanced. One day, Dr. Gillette's discoveries in particular could rock the world of neuroscience, and soon after, make a permanent impact on mankind as a whole. Until then, protecting it from the wrong hands is paramount, and I doubt you need me to explain why. The brain is called 'the black box' for a reason."

"But what if he dies first, before his research is complete?"

"His research will never be complete, but his wife and children are part of his team. They'll continue working on it without him."

She pressed her lips together and nodded. "I hope they're more trustworthy than my family... except Sam. Um, that came out wrong. I just mean, you know, since I didn't know them, is all."

Red gave her another kiss, but despite the very brief contact of his lips, through them she could feel the tension of his jaw. "I understand," he replied.

Roughly fifty yards ahead, she spied an enormous, bearded man watching them. "Tell me Paul Bunyan over there isn't our doctor friend."

"No, relax. That's just Pukulria. He owns the snowmobiles." Red pointed to a nearby lean-to and placed a hand on the small of her back. "They're in there."

"'Pu-kul-ria?' Interesting name."

"It means 'bone chewer'."

"How reassuring."

When the man was only twenty yards ahead, Dembe gently pinched the back of her parka, signaling her to pause while Red continued walking towards him.

"So," she began, "You spend every day with The Concierge of Crime. Never a dull moment, is there?"

The often-stoic bodyguard grinned and shook his head. "Never."

They watched while Red warmly greeted the bear of a man with a suitable bear hug. Within a minute, he strutted back with two sets of keys in hand. Linking arms with her, he declared, "All set!"

"So... you know how to drive a snowmobile?"

"Agent Keen, your apprehension is insulting."

She nonchalantly shrugged and looked away. "So.. it's like a jet ski, I guess?"

"You'll love it, but I do wish you'd taken my advice about wearing better gloves." He tossed a key to Dembe and mounted the nearest snowmobile. Liz smiled and watched him start it, nonchalantly gripping the handles as if he did it every day.

She had an idea. A good one, too.

Christ, did he really have to look so sexy all the time?

She swung her leg over and settled in behind him. "Oh, I'll be fine." Nuzzling her cheek against the back of his head, she wrapped her arms around his waist and shoved her hands into his coat pockets.

"Very well played, Lizzie."

She wiggled her fingers and moved her hands everywhere that she could reach. Normally, she was a little jealous of men for having larger pockets. She could barely fit a tube of chapstick into some of hers.

Now, on the other hand, she found herself presented with an opportunity to tease Red, and yes, she was more than happy to take it.

The ride wasn't as smooth as she'd expected, but it was exhilarating. Red was right. She loved it. For almost the entire forty-five minute ride, she toyed with him mercilessly.

When they arrived at their destination, rosy-cheeked and tingling, Red grabbed her hands and twisted around to growl, "You're going to pay for that."

She leaned in and lightly flicked her tongue over his earlobe as she replied, "Good. I was counting on it."

He held her hand as they crossed the short distance to a man standing guard at the door. A wave of apprehension washed over her. "I don't have to do it alone, do I? You said they didn't let Sam in for the procedure."

"No, I'll be with you from start to finish, even if Dembe has to hold a gun to the doctor's head the entire time."

Liz hoped that the guard hadn't heard Red over the sound of the blustery wind. Her eyes shined as they searched his and she simply replied, "Thank you."