AN: Do you ever find yourself racking your brain for a title and nothing seems to work and then something pops into your head that you dismiss right away but you end up coming back to it anyway in a, "Well, crap, I'm going to have to call it that, aren't I?" kind of way? *points to title* Yeah. Anyway, this is a quick UST-y hurt/comfort two-parter set during and soon after the last few minutes of 1x18.
Liz tried as hard as she could to remain clinical and detached, to treat the timestamped footage playing in front of her like any other piece of surveillance to be analyzed by an objective observer, but it made her stomach churn nonetheless. She knew the wisest thing to do would be to skip segments like this one—she had been present, after all, so there was nothing to be learned from it—but like the train wreck it was, she couldn't look away.
She had never seen herself this way before, never dared to take naughty pictures or videos, because there was always a small voice in the back of her mind reminding her that nothing digital was truly secure and it could very well come back to bite her someday. An even smaller voice whispered an appallingly practical warning that if her relationship with Tom ever went off the rails, she would be better off if such a thing didn't exist.
Their relationship had gone off the rails, all right, in a way that made infidelity or simply growing apart seem like a fairytale ending. The fact that this particular footage existed because someone had deemed it necessary to install multiple spy cameras in her home and watch her every move for months only made matters worse. So much for her circumspection.
As things between her and Tom progressed on the screen in front of her, the breathy gasps and moans caused a rising tide of rage to swirl dangerously in her gut. Her disgust was so all-encompassing, she couldn't hear anything over the rush of blood pounding in her ears, not the polite knock at the door or the snick of the lock disengaging when she didn't answer.
Red swept into the room only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw her.
"Oh, I didn't realize you were—" She watched in horror as his gaze shifted from her to the screen. Time slowed to a crawl; his eyes widened and she fumbled with the keyboard, managing to crank the volume and replay part of the video before finally stopping it, which only added insult to injury. She closed the video player as quickly as she could before the freeze-frame burned itself into her memory—or his—more permanently.
She looked up at Red again, utterly mortified, and found him still gaping at the screen, with two spots of color high on his cheeks. His ears had even gone pink under the brim of his fedora. She might have found humor in his reaction if the circumstances were different. Raymond Reddington, flustered and speechless—she never thought she'd see the day. She just wished it hadn't taken a surveillance video of her screwing her husband to do it.
"I'd tell you to take a picture because it'll last longer, but…" She trailed off, the feigned nonchalance tasting bitter and wrong on her tongue. This had been her unspoken worry when he brought up the recordings after all, that he'd seen segments like this one. She had to take his word that he'd only watched what he needed to watch and had respected her privacy as much as possible. Judging by his reaction now, perhaps he had.
Red's mouth snapped shut hard enough she could have sworn she actually heard his teeth click together. He looked at his feet and cleared his throat, making several false starts before he managed to tell her he'd brought lunch and a fresh supply of coffee for the machine she stashed in the corner. He excused himself and turned his back to brew a pot and when he returned with her travel mug refilled, he was for the most part back to normal, if not a little stiff and reserved.
She felt a twinge of disappointment when he gave her back her mug without his now-customary hand on her shoulder. She'd gotten used to his more relaxed, casual contact since the night she learned the truth about Tom, enjoyed it, even. It was a shame that this little incident sent them right back to square one. Worse than that, even—he had no problem at all touching her in the beginning. That had come later.
She needed every bit of genuine human connection she could get lately, because every touch she shared with Tom made her skin crawl. She tried to tell Red how much the idea of playing loving wife to that duplicitous asshole turned her stomach, but to him it was all a necessary evil on the path towards the truth—the end justified the means.
Or maybe the precarious position she was in did bother him. Maybe that's why he avoided her eyes when he told her to stay the course.
Early evening found Liz on one of Red's borrowed doorsteps once again, this one attached to an old elegant house much too cavernous and impersonal for his taste. It felt more like a museum than a home. He wouldn't sleep well here.
Red took one look at her when he opened the door and ushered her inside, his hand hovering over the small of her back without touching her. She felt the warmth of it through her clothing, or she imagined she did, at least, and chastised herself for being that needy.
"Are you all right? Were you compromised?"
"No," she said, not bothering to specify which question she was answering. "Tom came home while I was hiding the key again, but I don't think he saw me. I didn't want to tip him off that anything was wrong, so I—we—" Her voice died in her throat and she took a deep breath before she continued. "He said we were newlyweds."
Red's jaw clenched when her voice cracked on the last word.
"After, I made a quick excuse about an undercover assignment and took off. There's nowhere to sleep at the storage facility, so I figured…"
Liz knew she just as easily could have chosen a hotel and left Red out of this completely, but she very much needed to not be left alone with her thoughts right now. It wouldn't be the first time they spent the night under the same roof, she just hoped he would be receptive to the idea of her crashing on his couch, so to speak, after the awkwardness of the afternoon.
She needn't have worried. He wasn't about to turn her away. In fact, he looked like he wanted nothing more than to reach out for her, but he was hesitant about it, the shadow of what he saw earlier still hanging over them both. He didn't want to overstep, which was strange for him. All he ever did was overstep boundaries.
She stepped over this one herself, wrapped her arms around him slowly, cautiously, inhaling deeply to fill her lungs with his pleasant, spicy scent rather than Tom's drugstore cologne that seemed to have embedded itself in her nostrils. Red's arms came up around her just as cautiously and she tightened her hold on him as soon as they did.
Red was solid and warm and strong. Hugging him was comforting instead of claustrophobic and intimidating; he didn't dwarf her, make her feel helplessly small. So often lately she found herself assessing Tom for his potential strengths and weaknesses in a fight and just his greater reach alone made her cringe internally and relive her nightmare from months ago about him strangling her. In a fair fight, she could hold her own. If he caught her unawares…
She shuddered and burrowed her head further into Red's shoulder. She couldn't help the tiny, unconscious smile that tugged at her lips when she felt him press a kiss to her hair. She sighed, almost—almost—content for the first time since the night he gave her the music box.
"It might not always seem like it," he said quietly, after a while, "but I am truly sorry you have to go through this. If I could have gotten to you first—" His lips brushed against her skin through her hair and they both froze. "Lizzy, I—"
"I need your shower," she said in a rush, interrupting him before he had a chance to say anything she didn't want to hear. "If I can't get the smell of him off me, I'm going to go crazy."
He stiffened in her arms and pulled back, looking apologetic and slightly green around the gills.
"The plumbing in this place predates the Roosevelt administration. There's a tub, but no shower."
"It'll have to do."
He searched her face for a moment before pointing her towards the bathroom. She hitched her overnight bag back onto her shoulder and headed down the hallway.
"Lizzy?" he called after her. She poked her head back into the room to find him standing exactly where she left him, looking troubled. "Not too hot, OK?"
She felt Red's understanding like a weight on her chest. Did he have experience with this? Is that why he was being so… odd? She hadn't wanted to shower at home because she was afraid she'd scrub too hard or too long, and somehow Tom would notice her lingering as she tried to wash off the metaphorical filth she felt from his touch.
She nodded and Red tried to smile in return. He failed, but he tried all the same.
