The first night, there were no dreams, but hangover she had the next morning told her that the alcohol was entirely responsible for that.
She awoke in a particularly uncomfortable position on her back, limbs splayed haphazardly, mouth open, pillow wedged underneath her. She sat up gingerly, wincing, realizing there was a crust of drool trailing down the side of her mouth and wiping it away, disgusted. Her head was pounding and her stomach was boiling. She put her head in her hands and tried not to think about vomiting. So caught up was she in post-bacchanal misery, the sound of a throat clearing made her jump and look up.
Red was sitting ever-so-casually at the table with a book, freshly showered and not the slightest bit hungover. Damn him.
"Good morning, Lizzie!" he crowed, snapping his book shut and letting it drop with an excruciatingly loud thud to the top of the table. She groaned and put her head back in her hands. "I trust you slept well."
He stood, purposefully allowing his chair to scrape across the floor in the harshest sound known to man, and poured a glass of water.
"At least," he continued, "I'm assuming you must have slept well—I know I would undoubtedly wake myself up repeatedly if I snored that loudly."
She groaned and tried to hide under her covers, pulling her pillow over her head. Red chuckled and procured a bottle of ibuprofen out of the med kit on the shelf next to him, shaking it far more forcefully than necessary as he fished out the correct number of pills.
The lump in Liz's bed made a strangled sound.
"What was that, sweetheart?" he came to stand at her bedside. "I didn't quite hear you." He lifted the pillow off her head and smiled down beatifically at her glaring face.
"You're a real bastard, you know that?" she grumbled up at him.
Red grinned at her.
"Sit up a bit," he instructed, and when she did, he handed her the cup of water and the pills, which she accepted gratefully. "Do you think you can keep something down?" She nodded, gulping the water and ibuprofen and allowing some of the haze and pain to dissipate.
Red pulled a box of cereal from the shelves and a carton of evaporated milk. Putting a small but well-ratioed amount of each into a bowl, he handed it to her with a spoon.
"Thank you," she said, then proceeded to carefully try a few spoonfuls to see what would happen. Thankfully, her stomach seemed okay with it, and she began to eat in earnest.
Red busied himself with making coffee. He filled a teakettle and placed it on the hotplate, filled a french press with a few generous spoonfuls of ground coffee, and when the kettle began to steam, he poured its contents into the chamber with the coffee and put the lid on.
"Nothing like coffee from a french press, eh Lizzie?"
She agreed wholeheartedly.
He poured her another glass of water while they waited for the grounds to steep. Seeing she had finished her first bowl of cereal, Red held the box up to her with a question on his face. She nodded affirmatively and held out her bowl in a manner reminiscent of Oliver Twist. Red smirked and shook the cereal box over her bowl, then deftly poured a dollop of milk in with it. She smiled up at him in thanks, and he cocked his head to the side and smiled back at her, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
The were a picture of domestic bliss, as she practically inhaled the second bowl of cereal and Red poured fresh coffee into two mugs.
Her ability to move and function somewhat restored, Liz stretched and sat up. She straightened her bed around her, pulling up the covers, repositioning her pillow and smoothing down her hair, which she was certain must be sticking out all over the place. She was still fully clothed, the bed was comfortable, and she felt no need to come out from under the covers…like a lazy Sunday morning.
Luckily, Red seemed more than happy to fuss over her. She watched him prepare her coffee exactly how she liked it—of course he didn't need to ask her, he already knew. She felt a sudden wave of appreciation for him. When he approached her with his mug in one hand and hers in the other, she accepted the proffered beverage, tucked up her feet, and patted the foot of her bed in invitation for him to sit.
Red hesitated for a split second before handing her his mug to hold. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and slid back until his back was flat against the wall. He crossed his legs in front of him and settled in comfortably. Liz returned his coffee mug to him. She raised her mug slightly in a small cheers, which he reciprocated.
One sip, and the world already felt a million times better.
"God, this is good," she groaned.
"Mmm, agreed," he rumbled.
"Did I really snore last night?" she asked him bashfully.
"Oh yes," Red confirmed, eyeing her with a wicked grin. "Most enthusiastically."
"Why did you let me drink so much?" she teased, leaning back against the wall and curling her legs up under her.
"There was no stopping you," he chuckled. "Besides, it was warranted…a necessary catharsis."
She groaned and massaged her temple briefly.
"How are you not in just as bad shape as me?" she grumbled. "You had double what I did…of hard liquor, no less."
"Practice," he smirked. She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Relax Lizzie, all you did was snore. It could have been much worse…there could have been hair-holding involved."
"Good point," she sighed. "I'd much rather you hand me the Tylenol than the trashcan."
They clinked mugs in solidarity and drank.
After their breakfast, Liz showered and dressed. Red was surprised to see her crawl back into her bed afterward, but made no comment. He held up the French press questioningly, and she nodded, still nursing her hangover
"We should probably turn on the TV…Get an update of some sort…" she muttered, as Red handed her another cup of coffee. He sighed and nodded in agreement, knowing that whatever they were about to see would likely be unpleasant. He turned on the television and retook his seat on Liz's bed.
The reports were as expected. Liz searched the scrolling headlines for some sign of how things were going for the task force, wondering what was happening with Cooper especially, but there was nothing. The sensationalist aspects of their escape and ongoing manhunt were far more likely to boost ratings, and so every channel was plastered with pictures of herself and Raymond Reddington, and the reporters told and retold the same inflammatory narrative, milking the story of their misdeeds for all it was worth.
Liz found herself shaking her head repeatedly in disgust. She was clutching her pillow to her chest, back against the wall, legs crossed Indian-style. She couldn't stop fidgeting. Finally, Red reached over and covered her knee with his hand.
"Quite a spectacle we've elicited, hmm?" he patted her consolingly.
"It seems so useless just sitting down here and waiting," she huffed in frustration, not taking her eyes off the screen lest she miss something.
"Unfortunately, it's the safest, smartest thing for us to do at the moment," Red sighed.
"I know, I know, and I'm not complaining…It's just that…would it kill them to report on something else besides us? What happened to all the stories from the Fulcrum?"
"Likely they're being suppressed by the Cabal…as least for now, since they have more salacious fodder to push," Red quirked his eyebrows at her as he said the last part. Liz snorted and covered his hand with hers, gripping it tightly. Only Red made it possible to laugh about these things.
They sat like that for another hour, huddled together on her bed, watching the "news" and viciously mocking their portrayals while drinking the last of the coffee.
"Ugh, one might think they could find a better picture of me than the one on my "Most Wanted" poster…I look like a hobo," Red lamented.
"They can't show you in one of your three piece suits and $5000.00 designer sunglasses, Red. You'd make crime look too good, and a Top Ten Most Wanted criminal can't appear successful without the F.B.I. looking weak."
"You forgot my jaunty head wear," Red intoned. "Crime looks downright seductive in a fedora."
Liz chuckled, but didn't disagree. She looked over at him now, dressed as he was, and marveled again at the discrepancy. The man on the screen was not the real Raymond Reddington, and she was one of the few privileged people in the world to know that fact. It was a powerful thing to know that she would never have to fear him as others did. It was an even headier thing to know that Red would always have her back, even as he mercilessly schemed and plotted against others…
"You know, it's not polite to stare, Lizzie," Red chuckled, "But I won't protest if you're enjoying the view…" he preened slightly, clearly delighted by her gaze. She snapped out of her reverie and blushed.
"I can't help it…I was just picturing that seductive fedora," she shot back, adopting some of the innuendo he always seemed to have for her in spades. She felt a small thrill of victory at the look of surprise on his face. Before he could recover, she abruptly changed the subject…another trick she'd learned from him. "Tell me about the Troll Maker."
"Yes, well," Red began, clearing his throat…did she really have this much effect on him? "He'll be ready to help us get moving by the end of this week. He's a computer genius. He and his team of hackers are preparing several red herrings to aid our escape, digitally adding our images to security footage all over the city and preparing a number of very enticing and complex false trails for the FBI to follow. Once unleashed, there won't be any law enforcement left to catch us as we make a discreet exit…which is why we must stay down here for a bit—by the time the Trollmaker is ready, the FBI will be desperate for fresh leads," he explained, then pursed his lips and looked over at her apologetically. "Unfortunately, you may have to wait awhile before you see me in your favorite hat again, sweetheart."
"Ah, well," Liz acknowledged his words with a completely straight face. "I hear good things come to those who wait."
Red's expression was priceless. She grinned at him wickedly and soon he followed suite.
"Indeed they do, Lizzie," he purred, his expression intent and focused on her mouth.
She felt a sudden thrill move through her, and she started to wonder how it would feel to kiss him, to feel his lips pressed against hers as she'd seen them pressed against other women countless times. Sitting here on her bed, casual and carefree, close enough that all she had to do was lean in and reach for him, and it would happen…the possibility was real…too real.
She hesitated for the briefest moment, and instantly Red's face regained his neutral expression.
"Of course, that's only if they can survive the wait," he quipped brightly and hopping off her bed in a spritely manner and moving to the storage shelves. He pulled out a pad of paper and a pen and set them at her place on the table. He then retrieved a large file from the duffel bag under his bed. "Let's review some of our future plans and targets, shall we?"
Liz arose from her bed and stretched, grateful for the distraction from the fact that she'd almost just leaned in and kissed Raymond Reddington, and even more disturbingly, the fact she was now queerly disappointed that she hadn't done it.
Thankfully, Red could always be counted on to fill-in an awkward silence. Without skipping a beat, he opened the folder and began pulling out pictures and papers. He laid them before her neatly and began to take her through each one.
Liz used the pad and pen to take notes. They quickly fell into a familiar rhythm developed over the last two years, Red laying out the matter at hand, Liz asking clarifying questions and filling in the blanks. They were heading for Dubai, where Red's influence was vast and his assets numerous. The lack of extradition treaty with the United States was a nice bonus, and meant they would be able to move freely.
Of course, they had to make it there first.
After a few hours, Red thought they'd gone over enough. They put the file back together and set it aside. Then Red pulled a novel from the shelf and retreated to his side of the room. Liz did the same, but turned the TV on again, partially to see any updates as they aired, partially for background noise. Red clearly needed a moment to himself, but she still craved distraction.
She tried to read, but it was impossible. Going over future plans only made her restless to start putting those plans into action.
She switched between the limited selection of TV stations to no avail.
Finally she sat down at the table, un-holstered her gun, and unloaded it. Grabbing a washcloth from the shelf and her pen from earlier, Liz began to break down the Glock 26 to give it a thorough wipe down. She used the pen to push the cloth down the barrel and clean out the chamber, and polished each piece, surprised Red didn't have a cleaning kit down here. Or maybe did, and just wasn't going to tell her. He probably had a whole cache of weapons down here, likely stored in the dry goods.
He was watching her, she could feel it. He was pretending to read, but she could feel the heat of his eyes on her. He carried on the charade for some time until her weapon was completely cleaned, reassembled and reloaded. Then, she looked up at him, caught his eyes, and blatantly asked, "Yours too?"
He accepted her offer and handed her his holster. She took it and began to disassemble his piece, grinning when he subsequently pulled a minuscule .38 special from a hidden holster on his ankle.
"This one too, please," he demanded, proffering the gun to her imperiously and then making a bit of a show about getting back to his book.
She was meticulous and precise, but after all was said and done, and all of their guns clean and reassembled, she had managed to kill about an hour and a half.
God, how am I going to get through this week?
She put her head down on her arms at the table and tried to cope with the reality of her situation for a moment. She needed to get back out there. She needed to start the work of clearing her name and taking down the Cabal. She needed it so much, tears sprang into her eyes at the rawness of it, the desperation, but she blinked them away quickly, and watched them hit the floor beneath the table. Taking a shaky breath, she raised her head, re-holstered Red's sidearm and handed it back to him.
He took it from her, still watching her quietly.
She shrugged and handed him his .38.
"It comes in waves, I guess," she wiped her eyes furtively.
"Yes," he agreed. "What were you thinking about?"
"How much I wish we could get moving already…how badly I want to find out more about my mother…feeling frustrated."
Red sighed and sat up in his bed, carefully marking his place in the book.
"I'm sorry," she began holding her hands out in a halting motion. "I'm restless and annoying you. We don't have to talk right now. Ignore me…Finish your book."
Red opened his mouth to assure her she was no bother, but thought better of it and patted the spot next to him on his bed, just as she had done to him earlier.
"Come finish it with me," he rumbled with a small smile. "I'll read aloud."
