Liz woke with a throbbing headache and a cramped neck.
The pain was so intense that she cried out, immediately waking up Red, who was lying beside her, one arm carefully draped across her abdomen.
Wherever they were, they were moving fast.
Red was silent, gazing at her with open fascination as she took in her surroundings. She was lying down, in a bed, beside one of the FBI's Most Wanted. Judging by the speed, she figured they must have boarded a sleeper car with Amtrak. Or rather, he had boarded the train, toting her unconscious body, for God's sake!
How the hell does he get away with stuff like this?
Seized by an onslaught of panic, Liz clenched her eyes shut and counted to 10, all the while taking deep, steady breaths. Red's eyes flashed with some unreadable emotion as she gradually progressed to a state of serenity. She slowly opened her eyes, and began to drum her fingers on Red's tightly possessive arm. It was a nervous habit; one Red probably already knew she had.
She rubbed the skin of his forearm, gently at first, and increasingly more forcibly. Abruptly, she took hold of his arm in both hands and wrenched the skin multiple times, causing Red to cringe and utter a pained grunt. He backed away from her a bit, frowning down at the bright red imprints of her fingers, the skin around it already turning various shades of blue and purple.
"Goodness, Lizzie, that wasn't very nice." Red traced the bruises with his fingertips, wincing and baring teeth. "Why did you do that?" He was more curious than angry. "Have I hurt you in some way?"
"No." Liz shook her head, taking hold of his arm again. "You didn't do anything. I have a crick in my neck, and I think I'm getting a migraine. Should I even ask how long I've been asleep?"
"I'm sorry you're in pain, dear. You have not been asleep very long ― perhaps two and a half, three hours. It is no surprise to me, considering you didn't sleep a wink last night."
Liz considered asking Red how in the heck he knew that, but realized that the question was fat-witted. Instead, she continued examining Red's arm, gently tracing over the angry red marks she had made on his otherwise perfect skin. "Sorry."
She frowned sheepishly, unconsciously poking out her bottom lip. Red resisted the urge to reach over and touch her lips, thinking such a gesture would only be greeted with hostility. At this point, at least.
Red secretly cherished the thought of what she had said, confessing that she'd had lustful thoughts about someone other than her husband. There were only two possibilities: himself, or that loathsome blond, corn-pone pretty boy. Judging from Liz's body language, obvious relief to hear from him again, and the fact that she had point blank asked him if he were her father, Red was inclined to assume the former. This in mind, Red couldn't help smirking, a somewhat arrogant gesture that went entirely unnoticed by Liz as she further surveyed the damage she had caused.
"It's not bad," she declared, letting go of his arm. "Nothing a little ice pack won't fix. Do you want me to go get some – ice, I mean? I can wrap it up in a cloth or something. Nothing doing." She attempted a smile, but it came off as more of a grimace. "I'll go ahead and check."
She quickly stood up, desperate to get out, but a sudden wave of vertigo stopped her cold. "Ow!" she yelped and clutched her head, unceremoniously slumping back down on the bed. "Jesus, that hurts!"
"Lizzie . . ." Red cupped her face in his hands, gently massaging her temples with his thumbs. He moved them in a slow, circular motion, sliding his remaining fingers into her hair to massage her scalp. Slowly, the pain lessened. Liz blinked sleepily, and took hold of Red's bruised arm. He allowed her to turn it over, placing a gentle kiss where she had marked him.
"Thanks," she murmured, "I thought I was a goner there, for a minute."
"No need to be so dramatic, Liz. You've had migraine headaches before, haven't you?"
"Yes, but not for awhile — it must have been at least a few years. And hey, don't preach to me about being dramatic. You're the one who basically lured me into a church so you could kidnap me!"
"I resent the implication. I hardly kidnapped you. If you had been conscious, I've no doubt you would have joined me willingly."
"That's just the point, Red. I wasn't conscious."
"That is inconsequential. I did not lure you anywhere: I sent an invitation, and you accepted. Simple as that."
"Oh my God, Red! Normally I'd try to argue, but I'm too tired to now."
Sitting up, Liz turned her attention to the window, where she could see whirring blurs of green, grey and blue. Trying to make out anything only served to worsen her headache. "Ugh," she turned her back to the window, meeting Red's (frustratingly) unreadable gaze. If the man were a book, Liz thought, he would be comparable to Finnegans Wake.
She let him look her over, idly twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she waited for him to say something. When he finally did speak, he was smiling: "Your hair . . ."
"My hair?"
"What are we going to do with it?" Red smirked and handed her a mirror, a small white compact he had on hand (a freebie generously provided by the perky brunette stewardess who accepted their boarding tickets.) Liz gaped in horror at her reflection: her normally lustrous, beautiful brown hair was now drab and hideously tangled, looking as if it had been made a nesting site for rats, or hadn't been washed in a week. "Oh no!" she wailed, feeling that she was about to cry; "What the hell happened?"
"That, my darling, is a rather interesting story ―"
"No, wait, I change my mind! I don't want to know. What am I going to do about it? I guess I could cut it off . . ."
"That is absolutely out of the question. You've been growing your hair out for too long. It would be a shame to let it all go to waste."
"What else am I going to do? I can't have it looking like this!"
"You won't have to for much longer. We just need a way to get it out of the way for now."
"Great. And how do you think I should do that?"
"You don't have to do anything. If you don't mind, I will braid it for you. The stewardess was kind enough to provide you with a goody bag, complete with a hairbrush and pack of elastics, along with that compact in your hand. The foundation isn't really your color, but it was nice enough of her to give it to you, don't you think?"
"Um, okay. Whatever. . ." Liz tried to picture Red accepting the bag from the stewardess, as he held Liz's sleeping form in both arms. She wondered what he had said to her, how he had convince her to let them get onto the train.
Hello! Liz, this is Raymond Reddington. He could murder a person in broad daylight and get away with it, if the cop was a woman and he put on his cultured, oh-so-debonair act. Okay, maybe that was a little unfair but still, the man was a manipulative bastard.
Liz scooted forward, her feet resting on the dark blue carpet. Red shifted behind her, moving so that his back was pressed against the wall. "I can't quite reach you. Do you mind scooting back a bit?" Shit. Liz complied, sliding back on the bed until her backside made contact with Red's leg. She crossed her own legs, sitting Indian-style as she expected he was.
She heard Red rustle around in the bag, and struggled not to flinch when she felt him take hold of her hair. With one hand, he brushed out the tangles and snares, separating it into three sections with the other. His touch was infinitely gentle, professional, almost. Liz yawned and closed her eyes, relaxing under his careful ministration. When he successfully braided her hair, twining the plain black hair bow around the end, Liz found herself wishing it had taken longer.
Lazily, she leaned back against him, resting her head on his chest. Her earlier reservations had evaporated. After all, they had evidently slept in the same bed. It seemed silly for her to worry about propriety at this point. And Red certainly didn't mind.
Putting the brush back in the bag, he wrapped his arms around her. "Lizzie . . ."
"Hmm?"
"As much as I'd love to sit here and hold you― "
"What?"
"I was just going to say that my leg is falling asleep." He laughed softly, the undulation shaking her. Liz pulled out of his embrace, lying on her side and turning away from him. "Sorry. Wouldn't want that to happen."
"Elizabeth." Red lay down behind her, pushing the plastic bag back against the wall. "You poor child, I've upset you. What's wrong?"
"Nothing!" she spat through gritted teeth. "Nothing's wrong. Everything's wrong! I don't know . . ."
"Aha." Red reached over her, pulling her back against him. "I know what it is."
"How? How can you possibly know what 'it' is? There is more wrong here than just one little 'it!' It's this: you, me, here, whatever the hell we're doing! It's you, telling me to be cautious of my own husband, knowing some dark insidious secret about him that you don't feel obligated to share with me. Sending me an 'invitation' as you so called it, quoting the two verses in the entire Bible that mean the most to me. Posing as a priest, for God's sake, kidnapping me from a church! A better question in this situation is, what is right?"
Red said nothing, letting her vent her frustrations, her fears. He simply held her. After awhile, she quieted, and he spoke only three words:
"I am here."
Liz woke to find that Red was gone. She sat up numbly, convinced that she had to be dreaming. Why, after everything they had been through, after all of the promises he'd made to the contrary, would he all of a sudden decide to take off? He was not the kind of man to ever break a promise.
If he had not left of his own volition, someone had to have somehow coerced him to leave. To do that, a person would have to knock him out cold; either that, or explicitly threaten to harm her if he tried to resist. There were very few people who even knew about her connection to Red, as far as she knew.
Sudden dread hit her like a brick when she remembered the list. That goddamned list! Who knew how many dozens, how many hundreds of people Red had on that list? And sooner or later, they would find out about her. Either through direct contact when Red chose to have them apprehended, or through the insidious underworld grapevine that seemed to have sprouted in the last few weeks.
Liz wondered if she should call Kaplan, check in and see if maybe she had heard from Red. As she was becoming more and more frantic, Red abruptly opened the compartment door, bearing a tray laden with food: pancakes drowning in syrup, topped with strawberries; scrambled eggs; bacon; sausage biscuits; and a small plastic bowl of sliced peaches. On the corner, balanced somewhat precariously, was a quart-sized carton of milk.
Liz was so relieved she could have wept. Thankfully, she was able to suppress her emotion, the sudden urge to grab hold of him by his shirt collar and slap him across the face. Instead she smiled, nodding in Red's direction. "Good morning."
"Good morning, Lizzie." He graced her with a crooked half-smile, setting the tray down on the side turndown table adjacent to the bed. He sat down and, taking a fork and butter knife out of the silverware napkin, began to cut the pancake into small pieces. Liz noted that there was only one pair of silverware, and wondered if he expected her to eat after him. The thought seemed to have not crossed his mind as he speared a slice of pancake, catching a bit of strawberry, and held the fork out to her. "Try this. I think you'll like it."
"Okay. . ." Liz took the proffered fork, noticing when she brought it to her mouth that she was starving. In short order, she put away the entire pancake, and set about eating the eggs too. Red watched her in silent amusement, congratulating himself for guessing the correct foods that Liz enjoyed. True, he might have gone overboard, but at least he had the certainty that all of the food would be eaten in the remainder of the trip. "Slow down," he advised mildly, indicating the unopened carton of milk. "Don't you want something to drink?"
"Mmm, yeah." Liz reached across the table at the same time he did, their fingers brushing together. The slight contact sent a surge of warmth shooting down her arm, and blood rushing to her face. She mentally cursed, disgusted with herself for having such a ridiculous, obvious reaction. It made no sense.
Here she had shared a bed with the man at least twice, allowed him to spoon her, for God's sake, and now she was acting like a giggling schoolgirl with a crush just from a casual brush of their fingers? Liz nervously began to fidget, scratching the side of her head, the wispy strands of thin baby hair above her ear.
Until Red grabbed her hand, none too gently, holding it immobile. His expression darkened, his lips turning down. "Stop that," he commanded, scolding her as if she were a child. "Do you know how bad that is? You could pull your hair out, not to mention make your scalp bleed and mess up your braid."
He looked over her hand, frowning at her thin, ragged nails, bitten down to the quick. He laced his fingers through hers, hoping to put her at ease. It seemed to have the desired effect. Liz's embarrassment faded. She continued to hold his hand, holding the fork with the other to keep eating. She finished the eggs, and started in on the bacon. Red released her hand and opened the milk carton. Liz watched with interest as he tilted his head back, taking a series of long gulps, coming up for air (so to speak) after the third.
Red set the carton down, smacking his lips and grinning mischievously. "What was it you were about to do? Weren't you going to drink some milk? I think you ought to go ahead, dear, before it's all gone." "Right," Liz picked up the carton and took a few perfunctory sips. God, it was good. Liz looked at the carton, and noted that it was a pure, high-quality, organic blend. It cost over $5 at the supermarket.
Much as she liked it, Liz knew she was going to have to stick with buying the gallon of 2% at Aldi. For all the milk she drank, she would rack up quite the tab should she choose to switch brands. For now, though, she was going to drink it and by God, she was going to enjoy it.
She took a couple long swigs before replacing the carton on the table. "Are you going to eat? You know this is too much for one person to eat – for me, at least."
"Thank you, dear, that's considerate, but no. I had some coffee and a biscuit before bringing you your food."
"Why did you bring so much then?"
"I wasn't quite sure of exactly what you would like. Except for the pancakes, that is. I gathered what I assumed you would enjoy, and plenty of it. It has not escaped my notice that you have not eaten in 18 hours."
"Speaking of how long it's been, how long have we been on this train?"
"Oh, about 12 hours or so. We're en route to Chicago by way of Capitol Limited. I'm not sure yet if we're going all the way to Chicago, or if you and I will get off at the stop in Cleveland. That depends upon your preference."
"You're asking me where we're going? Since when do I get to decide?"
"Since I realized that you have not had the pleasure of going on vacation since . . ."
"That's not true! There was that trip Tom and I went on to Boston ―"
"Yes, and look how that turned out."
Red snorted derisively, reaching out to pick up the milk. "Un-uh!" Liz slapped his hand away, scowling petulantly as she slid the milk across the table away from him. "I think you've had enough. I'm going to drink the rest!" Ugh, what the heck am I doing?! I sound like an idiot – a spoiled little brat! Why am I getting like this? Why do I only act so childishly when I'm with him?
Liz shook her head rapidly, loosening her carefully woven braid and resembling of all things a dog shaking off droplets of water after a bath. She leered at Red, hating his arrogant smirk, wanting to reach across the table and physically wipe it off his face. "And whose fault was that, I wonder?"
"Darling, I thought that was all water under the bridge. I've already told you that you can trust me."
"Trust? Is that what you think the problem is here – trust? Red, you proved to me that you were trustworthy the minute you allowed Garrick to take you hostage, tie you up and do God-knows-what to you in order to save me . . . the problem is you won't tell me anything! You've proven that, whatever else is going on, you're on my side. And you don't know how much that means to me, I can't – I literally can't fathom why you've been so loyal to me these past few months. You know, though, and that's what hurts me. It's like you don't trust me. How long are you planning on keeping me in the dark? If you would just sit down and tell me one fucking thing, I'd —!"
"Elizabeth!" Red uttered her name with such vehemence in his voice that she flinched, backing away from him, pressing up against the wall. Seeing her terror Red sighed and cleared his throat, assuming a softer tone when he next spoke:
"Lizzie, I am sorry if I've frightened you. But you must understand, I only reacted so strongly because I care for you. For one, I am shocked to hear you use such vulgarity – young women should not speak with such ill manners. Second, I do trust you. Whatever information I withhold from you is for your own protection, not an attempt to make you fearful or suspicious. In time, you will know everything that you need to. Can you be patient with me for just a bit longer?"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"Alright. Now that that unpleasantness is out of the way, where shall we go?"
"This might sound crazy, but . . . can we go to Washington?"
Seeing his horrified look, Liz quickly elaborated: "Not the capital! Oh, no. I meant somewhere in Washington State. Why don't we go to Seattle?"
"Why not? Alright, Lizzie. We'll ride Capitol Limited to Chicago, and from there take another train to Seattle, alright?"
"Alright."
