A/N: I started not to write this; so many beautiful stories have already been done. I'm still working out my feels, though, and writing is cathartic. Also, I may have taken some liberties with the layout of Liz's house, and I can't hide behind the AU designation with this one. Bear with me.
Also, I am jessahmewren on Tumblr. Please check out my blog at jessahmewren dot tumblr dot com.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Blacklist or any of those beautiful words in 1x11. Just taking them out to play.
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Red stood under a dull street lamp in the thick dark outside her house, looking at her through the window. There were few lights on inside, and her silhouette moved in and out of the ambient darkness of the house until he could only make out the pale outline of her hand as it rested against her forehead.
He flexed his hands at his side and waited. There was no one on the street; Dembe had dropped him off with instructions to return in twenty minutes.
He approached the door and stood on the welcome mat. He had the lock picked within seconds. Red had never made a key to Lizzie's house; even with all of the liberties he had admittedly taken with her personal space, it seemed somehow inappropriate. When she welcomed him in that way it would be on her terms, not his.
The lock whispered free and he opened the door without a creak. He stood in the narrow foyer, his polished shoes shining in the dark, and listened.
She made no sound. The house was as still and quiet as if it were empty.
Red took a step forward, not really sure how he would approach her or why he was even there. He caught his reflection in the wall mirror and adjusted his tie, smoothed the collar of his latest pinstripe shirt. He had not reconnected with his old tailor upon returning, and the suit was not quite to his standards, but it would have to do. It was the first time he'd truly dressed in weeks.
Red put his hands against the table below the mirror and closed his eyes. The cool tabletop felt good against his palms, and for the first time since their phone conversation he felt centered. He could see their faces still-Grey, the others. He saw Grey most of all.
But he did not feel remorse. He felt betrayal. He blinked away the sting of it, took a deep breath, and walked into her living room.
"Thank you for coming back. I don't wanna fight Tom let's just talk-"
He turned into the thin sound of her pleading voice and looked at her. She stood before him, her mouth slightly agape. Her eyes were wide and blank with shock.
"Tom's at the airport." And probably on a plane to Nebraska by now, he thought. It satisfied him.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
She still stood facing him, her body rigid. The only movement was the slight parting of her lips, then closing again, as if she'd forgotten how to breathe.
"How did things go with your case?"
He watched her as she closed her lips once more, finally remembering to inhale through her nose.
"Congratulations, I'm proud of you."
She looked at him a moment more, and then she saw him. She saw that it was Red, that he was standing in her house and what that meant. She saw him and her face changed.
He knew then why he was there. He had been so focused, so intent on plugging the leaks, on exacting personal vengeance, that he had forgotten the way she made him feel.
She stepped forward, motioning to him in one fluid step to sit, and he did so-on her couch and on her terms. He settled onto the couch that belonged there, but not to her; among the wall art and throw pillows and decorative plants that were pieces in a facade at an interior design floorshow, a trendy fusion of modern and vintage suburban bliss. She dwelled among these things hoping to believe the lie they represented, but they were not hers.
Liz settled in the chair across from him, her eyes no longer bearing the numb shock of his initial appearance. In its place, traces of hopefulness. "Does this mean you're back?"
He shook his head dismissively. "I dunno."
It was a loaded question. So much had changed. After all he had endured he had long thought he was impervious to change, but the death of Luli and the betrayal of Grey had shaken him. Not to mention the call...the phone call that had needled him for so many weeks.
"My house is clean. But yours...is not."
She looked at him deeply, somewhat stricken. He surmised that she might have thought then of his warning, of the enemy with whom she shared her bed. No Lizzie, your house is not clean at all, he wanted to say. Not at all.
"What does that mean?"
"The deficit that I found in my organization could not have supplied all the knowledge required for the incursion to take place. That would've been supplied by someone with far greater access."
She nodded. "Someone on the inside."
"It would seem so." He looked away, realizing he had missed the stability of their relationship, the way they were before. He looked at her, a small, almost wistful half-smile at the corner of his mouth.
"Therefore, we're back where we began. Me speaking with you."
Watching the relief bloom on her face was like watching a sunrise. Her eyes first, and then her lovely mouth followed suit by fading into a soft smile. He could see that she had missed this too.
"Well then. Welcome back." She looked at him, bemused. "Where have you been, anyway?"
He gave a huff of a laugh; the blood on his hands of late denied him further mirth. "Out and about."
She smiled. "Did you bring me anything?"
So she had enjoyed her treat from Cuba, after all. She'd never mentioned it. His laugh was as black as a tomb, and he said nothing at first. Lizzie didn't want any mementos from his recent travels, he thought darkly. None at all.
"Yes," he finally said. "The next name on the Blacklist."
She nodded, then set her mouth in a firm line and seemed to close down some. He sensed the change immediately, but did not attempt to dissuade her.
Whether he admitted it or not, things were different. They had been different, at least for him, ever since she'd asked him that wretched question.
Logically, he understood. He knew why she would've asked him that; she was so desperate to make a connection, to have someone, and she had just lost Sam. In the saga of her life the romantic lead was already cast, but there was an opening for a father figure. He got it. But it had affected him all the same.
The only thing that kept him from completely obsessing over it was the staunch belief that she didn't look at him that way. That she couldn't.
"Are you ok Red?" She was looking at him curiously, and the line of her mouth had softened.
He didn't understand, so he merely looked at her.
"I don't know what he did to you," she said quietly. "I mean, who took care of you?"
Ah. Anslo. He worked his mouth, finally ciphering her meaning. "I took care of myself, Lizzie. Like I've always done."
She looked like it pained her, and her eyes were moist. They had darkened to sapphire and seemed to absorb the light.
"I tried to find you," she said. "Mr. Kaplan and I-"
"Lizzie." He said it a little more forcefully than he intended, but he wouldn't sit there and watch her shoulder more blame. She did that enough.
"That was my doing," he said simply. "Anslo Garrick came there for me." His eyes lost their steel set, influenced by the warmth of hers, and his voice deepened. "Put you in danger...because of me."
For several moments they simply looked at each other, and he watched the inner conflict as it played out on her face.
"You saved my life Red."
He recognized it was a statement, not a realization. It was a maxim she was well acquainted with, had ruminated on many times.
"Yes," he said simply.
"You gave your life for mine." Her voice was strong, but her eyes were slightly clouded, as if even now she found it hard to understand.
"Yes."
She set her mouth, never looking from his face.
"You should've let me die."
It struck him as palpably as if someone had delivered him a physical blow. He looked at her, his ears ringing, and he narrowed his eyes.
"What did you say?"
She stood then, turning away from him. "You're too valuable," she said flatly. "Anslo could have killed you." She turned to face him and she had tears in her eyes. "And what then Red? How many hundreds, thousands of people would've died because of the people on that list of yours that we didn't catch?"
He stood, but did not cross to her. He held his fedora at his side as if prepared to leave. Indeed, Dembe was probably already outside. "You're worth more than any list," he said quietly. He thought of Frederick Barnes. Burn down the world...
Her eyes flamed, and a few tears streaked unbidden down her face. "You don't get to decide that!"
He only looked at her. "I do, though," he said. He gave a sardonic little smile and then met her dark eyes. "My list, my rules."
She looked at him, then down at her hands. "Is that what this is to you Red? A game?"
He said nothing. He crossed to her and looked at her fully. When she had calmed, when the blush had receded from her cheeks and her breathing was even, he leaned in close.
"Is it so unthinkable that I would give my life for you Lizzie," he inquired in her ear. "Surely by now you must know how I feel. Or do you still believe I'm your father?"
She turned away from him, embarrassed. "I know you're not my father," she said miserably. He gave her time, allowing the shame to burn out of her face. He touched her elbow and gently steered her toward him.
"Because I told you so?"
She followed his smooth voice up to look into his eyes. In the dark pupils she could see herself mirrored in the depths.
"No," she breathed. "Not because you told me."
He smiled and brushed his thumb over her elbow, through her clothes. His warm fingers encircled her arm, and she leaned into his touch.
They could start over, he thought. Begin again. With the air clear and with no misunderstandings. It eased some of his earlier disquiet.
"I'll be going now," he said.
He broke the contact and it shook her awake. She nodded numbly, watched as he palmed the fedora and flipped it smoothly onto his head in one graceful movement. He left her there, staring after him as the door swung shut on the first meeting of their new partnership.
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This is stubbornly from Red's perspective, but I would be open to doing a Liz chapter ala "Reflections" if time and muse allows. That may not be necessary. As always, I would love to know what you think. :)