AN : This chapter gives an emotional, more-detailed account of Lizzie's flashback.

Oh yeah, and while the story and the flashback are derived from canon hints, lines, and events, none of it runs perfectly parallel to the show.

Flashbacks are in italics.

The lines of poetry are all from Lady Lazarus, by Sylvia Plath.

Thanks to all who read and review! I love you guys :)

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING, and I'm not profiting from this monetarily either.

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

It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day

To the same place, the same face, the same brute

Amused shout:

'A miracle!'

That knocks me out.

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

After passing through security, the trio was met in the lobby by Dr. Gillette himself. While perfectly polite, business-like greetings were exchanged between the men, the doc was positively giddy about seeing Liz again.

As he lead them through the mostly-underground, labyrinthine building, Liz slowed her gait in order to put some distance between herself and the others, knowing that Red would follow suit. She whispered into his ear, "Is it just me, or does he look like Alan Fitch, only twenty years younger, and a few inches taller?"

"Lizzie, it is ALWAYS just you," Red purred. "It is for me, at least." He paused to wait for her usual 'you know what I mean!' response, but she wasn't in the mood to play along, so he relented and gave his real answer. "He does."

Most of the rooms they passed had either plexiglass observation windows or open doors, and were furnished sparsely, without any discernable purpose.

Institutional.

Monochromatic.

Cold.

One particular room stood out from the others. Enormous in size, it appeared to be part indoor playground and part classroom. Inside, Liz spied three young children climbing up the wrong end of a slide while a beautiful, middle-aged woman looked on.

Odd. Children were the last thing that Liz would have expected to see in a remote neuroscience research facility, but on second thought, she was also a child on her first visit, regardless of the fact that she couldn't remember it.

"Would you excuse me for just one moment, please?" Dr. Gillette asked without waiting for a reply. He stepped into the large room and addressed the woman, "Anya, have the children eaten yet?"

She turned towards him, smiled, and shook her head. She had very high, wide cheekbones, caramel-colored skin, and raven-black hair that hung to her elbows. Though her eyes were small and deep-set, their piercing, crystal-blue corneas stood out from a distance.

"Weather's nice today. After lunch, I'd like you to take them outside for a little while, and bring Miska too. They could all use some natural vitamin D."

(This is considered nice weather?)

She nodded.

"Thank you, Anya."

She nodded again and smiled.

Dr. Gillette redirected his attention back to the group. "We offer free daycare for our employees' children, but most don't have any. It's a small crowd in a big place. Does any of this look familiar to you, Elizabeth?"

Liz shook her head. "No."

When they arrived at her room, Red paused at the door to have a word with Dembe. "I'll call if we need anything, but you're free to go anywhere or do anything you'd like. You could also stay here, if you'd prefer."

After a moment of consideration, he chose the former and offered a reassuring smile. "Good luck, Agent Keen."

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

There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge

For the hearing of my heart—

It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge

For a word or a touch

Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.

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

Both Red and Liz underestimated the amount of time needed for preliminary paperwork, data collection, and testing. For each action, Dr. Gillette provided a detailed commentary on what, how, and why it was being done.

The reason for his exuberant greeting soon became clear. "So far, recovering memories after an intentional erasure hasn't produced many optimal results, and none have ever been attempted with a twenty-plus-year gap between them. Please don't be discouraged, however. Your memory removal was the most effective trial to date, and your mind still appears remarkably pliable. We may have another unprecedented success today."

"Pliable?" Red asked. It sounded insulting, somehow.

Like gullible.

He didn't like it.

"Sensitive. Highly reactive. Intuitive. Manifestations of the pliable mind are many and highly varied."

As Red took the liberty of asking questions on her behalf, Liz realized that he'd never actually asked to stay by her side. He simply made the decision for himself and followed through, but it worked out in everyone's favor.

"I'll use this central line to administer the injections needed as we go along, guiding you through and pulling you back to the present when necessary."

She swallowed and nodded, accepting while not quite understanding.

"Now," he continued, "If you have something tied to the memory, or to that night- something tangible to use as a visual focal point, it could prove helpful."

"No. I don't."

"Will her eyes be open?"

"At first, yes, but they typically close at some point, while the mind stitches memory fragments back together."

"If we'd known that, then we would have found something to bring along," Red replied. His tone was level, but Liz caught the brief, telltale spasm below his left eye. He was pissed. She didn't blame him.

"It isn't necessary."

"Well, I was there. She can use me." He lifted his chin to meet the doctor's eyes, silently daring him to object, or else.

"Okay Elizabeth, just pick one specific part of Mr. Reddington to focus on, rather than all of him. This reduces the amount of visual information to be processed."

Red threw her a knowing smirk that seemed to say, 'should I just stand up to make this easier?' but he held his tongue. She narrowed her eyes and stifled a giggle as she watched his smirk turn into a smile.

How quickly their moods could change!

Seconds later, he sombered both his tone and expression as he gave Dr. Gillette his last question, "Okay, should we get started?"

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

So, so, Herr Doktor.

So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,

I am your valuable,

The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.

I turn and burn.

Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

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

"I'm going to take you back to that night, and as we go along, you'll fill in the details, with the goal being to find The Fulcrum." Dr. Gillette directed.

Red scooted closer, holding her hand in his own, stroking her scar with his thumb. Gradually, he leaned in further, his eyes hovering only inches from hers. He intentionally relaxed his focus, making her features blur so that hopefully, she could look deeply into his eyes without arousing either of them.

He likened the effort to holding one's breath while running.

Flying in the face of a biological imperative.

It wasn't easy.

"Elizabeth, let's go back to the night of the fire, twenty-six years ago, but before it started... I want you to relax all of the muscles in your body... Pretend that you can float... As you float, all of the tension leaves your body. Tension floats, too, but it floats away from you... Now, I want you to breathe in...and out. Good. All of the tension is floating away... You can't even feel it anymore..."

Without first-hand knowledge of Dr. Gillette's success, this was the moment in which Red would have discounted him as a charlatan. That little hypnagogic incantation sounded as if it had been pulled from every theatrical performance on the subject. It seemed so... contrived. Clichéd.

"All you can feel is yourself, making the image of yourself clearer and clearer... Focus on that image of yourself- Only it's not you today. It's you twenty-six years ago. You can see her perfectly, that little girl. I'm going to ask the little girl to look around. Are you ready? Three... two... one."

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

Ash, ash—

You poke and stir.

Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—

A cake of soap,

A wedding ring,

A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer

Beware

Beware.

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

"Where are you right now?" Dr. Gillette asked.

Lizzie's response came back soft and airy. "House."

"Where in the house? What room?"

"Coat closet."

"What do you see?"

"Can't."

"Do you hear anything?"

She nodded, "Yelling."

At that, she began to whimper, tightening her grip on Red's hand as her face crumpled like scrap paper. She opened her mouth as if to scream, but no sound came out, and she slipped in deeper.

***After a loud, persistent knock on the front door, Lizzie was scooped up by a strong, faceless man. He spun around in a panicked circle before hastily placing her in the nearest hiding spot- the coat closet.

"Lizzie, this is extremely important. I need you to STAY IN HERE."

She clutched her stuffed white rabbit to her chest, lips quivering... silent.

"No matter what, DO NOT COME OUT. Stay right here until I come back to get you." His voice was barely discernable over the continued pounding at the door. ***

"Can you tell me what they're yelling about?" Dr. Gillette asked.

Though her eyes had closed, Red rested his forehead against hers, as if he could smooth the process by directly transferring his own memories.

"Me," she replied.

***Every inscrutable white noise vanished suddenly, reducing her world to only the sounds of the man and woman having an argument. Sitting on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest, Lizzie alternated between pressing her ear to the door to listen, and covering her ears while humming to block it out.

Woman: Did you really think I wouldn't come for Masha? Did you think you could get away with this? That I wouldn't find you?

Man: Her name is ELIZABETH.

Woman: MASHA!

Man: You can stop. She's not here.

Woman: Listen, you're in big trouble.

Man: Because of you!***

"Just listen. They can't find you and they can't hurt you, but maybe they can tell you where to find The Fulcrum." Dr. Gillette instructed.

Liz pulled her knees up to her chest and rocked back and forth, shaking her head.

Red had to back off slightly in order to prevent her from accidentally head-butting him and hurting herself. He placed a hand at the back of her neck, fingers threaded through her hair.

He tried to ground her.

He tried to soothe.

As far as he could tell,

he failed.

(Privately, in his mind, Red stared down the demons from twenty-six years ago, one of which was himself, and another, the fire. 'IF YOU WANT HER, YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO FIGHT ME. FIGHT ME!')

The monitor's low whir was suddenly replaced by an insistent, loudly- beeping alarm.

"What is that? What's happening? Is she okay?" Red asked, eyes widened and brow creased with worry. Stress tugged at the corners of every syllable that slipped from his lips.

"Her heart rate and BP are elevated a little higher than we want, but it's okay. That's my signal to bring her back and give her a break." He emptied a syringe into the line. "This will only take a few seconds."

The thrashing stopped, and Liz stretched her legs out, still panting heavily, catching her breath.

Red closed the gap between them once more. As her eyelids began to flutter, his widened further.

The present-tense came into focus, and her eyes, now opened wide, delved into his in search of more clues. "Who... who's Masha?" she asked.

"You were."

"Elizabeth, you're doing great. For now, I don't want you to speak or ask any more questions. Just try to breathe and relax. You don't have enough pieces yet to get the right picture, but we're getting there. I'm going to fetch you some water, and in a few minutes, we'll start again." The doctor's tone was well-practiced but reassuring just the same, and she nodded.

Noting the thin sheen of sweat covering her face, while waiting for the doctor's return, Red used a small cloth to blot across her forehead and cheeks, mindful of the electrodes and wires placed at her temples.

When she finished the water, he leaned in to give her his eyes once again, this time allowing himself to stare back. Another small syringe was emptied into her line, and as the world around her slowed, Liz quickly slipped back under.

"Okay Elizabeth, we're going back to the night of the fire again. You're still hiding in the coat closet, listening to an argument. Can you hear them now?"

Again, her face crumpled as she nodded. "Yes," and her eyes closed.

***Lizzie squeezed the stuffed bunny against her chest and bit her lip until it bled. The metallic sting barely registered.

Man: You told them!

Woman: YES, I did. I told them.

Man: You were spying on me? It was your job to spy on me?

Woman: Yes. NO! I didn't mean to. I was trying to protect you because I love you.

Man: Protect me?

Woman: You have to give them The Fulcrum.

Man: If I do, they'll kill me.

Woman: They'll kill you if you don't.

Man: Well, it's not here. It's the only thing keeping me alive. They're coming now, aren't they?

The sickening, splintered sound of a wooden door frame splitting was recognizable to even a four-year-old. ***

"Elizabeth, are they still yelling now? Can you hear them?"

She threw her head back, but didn't answer. The monitor began to beep again, but not so loudly, this time. As her body started to tremble, Liz shouted out loud, "THEY'RE ALREADY HERE!"

"Why is it beeping now? Does she need another break?"

"Heart rate and BP are up again, but not too high. It's just the body's natural reaction to trauma. She's re-living it."

Red nodded and stroked his thumb across her wrist, from the scar to her radial pulse, and then back again. "You're sure? It's not harming her in any way?"

"She's fine."

"Okay." But Red wasn't quite so trusting of the machines. He wrapped the rest of his fingers around her wrist, resting his thumb over the scar, and his index finger on her pulse, counting and keeping track for himself.

"Elizabeth, who is 'already here'? Are they in the house with you?"

"Men," she whispered, afraid of being heard by the apparitions from her memories.

"Can you see them? Do you recognize them?"

She gasped and shook her head.

***Another Man: WHERE IS IT?

Woman: Split up, guys. Start in the basement and work your way up. Go through EVERYTHING.

She held on to the bunny and squeezed it harder and harder. They'd soon find her. She knew it. From the other side of the door the argument between the woman and the first man seemed to have stopped. All she could hear was frenzied scuffling and rummaging sounds coming from several directions at once.

Until

Another Man: I don't think it's here.

Woman: KEEP LOOKING.

The sounds drew nearer.

She knew that Daddy had said NO, but she had to go. She had to get daddy and go NOW before they found her.

Before they found her and The F- OH!***

"You have to go. They'll get you. You have to get out," she sobbed, apparently talking to her younger self.

Red knew what she'd find if she kept going that way, so he tried to intervene. "No, Lizzie. Don't. You don't want to go out there. Please. You don't want to see that. The Fulcrum isn't there. You need The Fulcrum. Where is it, Lizzie? GO BACK. GO BACK."

Her only response was to squeeze his hand even harder, and he knew that there was nothing else that he could do about it.

She had heard him though.

She did.

He was almost certain.

But she was ignoring him, searching for her own truth, searching for the things that he didn't want her to know.

***She opened the door and ran to the kitchen. A gunshot sounded, and though she couldn't see who was holding the gun, she witnessed its target's jerking motion and collapse on the floor.

Her little feet froze just in time to keep her from running into him as a blood-red stain bloomed across his chest and the stove behind him burst into flames. "DADDY NO!" She screamed, retreating back to the coat closet.

She crouched down on the floor, trying to hide. On the other side of the door, she could hear the flames roaring, lots of indistinct shouting, and the scrambled shuffling of feet both above and below. Smoke began to billow through the cracks in the door, and she clutched the rabbit against her face, sobbing and soaking it with tears, tracing her fingertips along the cube-shaped object inside.

Man: But I JUST HEARD HER! I'm NOT GOING TO LEAVE HER.

Another man: I DON'T CARE! IT'S NOT WORTH IT. I'M GOING.

Less than a minute later, the closet door opened, and two large hands grabbed onto hers, lifting her up and into his arms, but she dropped her stuffed animal in the process, and howled for it. "I DROPPED MY BUNNY!"

He leaned down to pick it up for her, and collapsed on the ground.

Lizzie screamed again, and within seconds, another pair of arms scooped her up and moved towards the door. Looking over the man's shoulder, she made out the shape of her would-be rescuer, just barely moving while his coat caught on fire. She screamed again, louder and harder, squirming to free herself.

As soon as they stepped outside, the man loosened his grip and Lizzie escaped, running back inside to grab her bunny and try to rouse the burning man. She couldn't be sure, but she guessed that he was the one who had claimed to have heard her.***

Liz's head rolled back and forth across the headrest and tears streamed down her beet-red cheeks. "GET UP! YOU HAVE TO GET UP! COME ON!"

Red's bottom lip quivered as he started to cry as well. Nothing could have prepared him for this moment. He didn't know how vividly it would all roll over him, watching her re-live it all, but he was there.

He was right there with her.

***Like an oven mitt, she thought that she could extinguish the flames by swatting at them with the sleeve of her pajamas, but her mistake was instantly evident, and she screamed in agony until two men came back to drag both her and the burning man out onto the lawn.

Her eyes and lungs stung from the smoke, and burned too much to allow her to really speak. Crouched down on the grass beside the man who was no longer on fire, she clutched the rabbit in one arm and gazed down at her wrist in disbelief. Her red, poly-blend nightgown had melted and embedded itself in the wound.

Behind her, the surviving men argued about what to do next, but she couldn't make out most of the words.

Man: Forget 'em. It's done. We'll be killed for fucking this up. They'll kill us for not getting it. We have to run.

Other man: But they're alive.

Man: Yeah? And if we try to take them with us, WE'RE DEAD.

She closed her eyes and clutched the flame-singed bunny while the men rifled through the burned man's pockets, and by the time she opened her eyes again, they were gone.

She grabbed the burned man's hand and and put her palm on his cheek.

His red-rimmed, grey-green eyes.

The smell of his burned flesh, pungent even over the burning house.

Was he a good man, or a bad one?

Either way, he was all she had.

"What's your name?" she whispered.

"You can call me Red." ***

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

Out of the ash

I rise with my red hair

And I eat men like air.