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Chapter 3 - Crab Bisque Anyone?
Frightened eyes flashed the color of midnight, opening wide in the dark room, her heart pounding painfully beneath her ribs. She forced down the primal urge to scream as her racing mind battled the fear that was crushing her chest into a tight vise. Frozen, she laid motionless in her bed to terrified to move, unaware that even the breath she had inhaled was caught deep in her lungs. Her limbs were rigid, the muscles and tendons tight, hands clenched into fists as nails dug painfully into her skin.
She was petrified. Certain in her sleep induced haze that her husband rested in the bed beside her. Swore she could feel the heat radiating from his body and hear his soft snores. Cautiously she inched her foot across the bed, prepared to flee to safety if need be, but she only felt the cool sheets against her skin. Reason was starting to soak into her terrified mind as she began to process her surroundings. Her body's urgent demand for oxygen had her suddenly exhaling and she began gasping for air as she curled into a tight ball.
Tom was gone. He couldn't hurt her again. She had nothing to fear. Liz could only pray that if she kept telling herself that often enough, maybe she would actually start to believe it.
Agonizing seconds floated into minutes until the fear finally subsided and she accepted that she was alone. She had lost track of how many nights she had awakened to the same pounding fear, reliving the moments of that night. She remained still until the worst of the nightmare induced anxiety attack faded, her body soaked in a cold sweat.
She didn't know how much longer she would be able to withstand the memories that reached out to her with its claws as she slept. In her nightmares she relived Tom becoming a man she didn't know, his hands gripping her throat, his mocking words as she sank deeper into certain death. Then the final blow - his laughter as he whispered Reds betrayal to her.
She forced her way out of the bed and staggered slowly to the bathroom, hands fumbling and shaking as she turned the faucet on and began to splash water on her burning face. Cupping her palms she gulped the liquid before her legs finally gave out from beneath her and she sunk to the cold tile of the floor. Wrapping her arms around her chest she burrowed deep in the corner, her mind continuing to replay each moment of that horrible night. When she was finally able to breathe past the terror that had gripped her she stripped her night clothes off and dressed.
Her only thought was escaping the room, the house, with its horrible memories and running into the safety the night offered.
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Liz tried to keep her attention fixed on Cooper who was droning on and on about nothing at all – or at least she thought it was about nothing at all. The fascination and interest she had once felt for her job had long since dissipated and she wished she were anywhere rather than where she was just now.
She had been up since the early morning hours, escaping the house before the spidery clutches of a nightmare could grip her, running several miles before the sun had even started to think about rising. It had become her ritual, her road to sanity.
Run. Work. Run. Work. Run. Work.
Because she had to believe with unfailing certainty that if she ran long enough, worked hard enough, fought bravely enough, she just might be able to find her way out of the darkness that was trying to engulf her.
Returning back to the house at dawn that morning, she had showered and then come to the office plowing through several inches of file folders until Cooper had called this meeting. They were all there, the entire team, except Red. Red was in the wind and she couldn't help but wonder just where it was in the world that he had escaped to. It had been weeks since she had seen or heard from him and she refused to admit that without him it felt as if she were drifting through the days. When had Red become any kind of an anchor?
She rested her head on the back of the hard chair and let her mind drift to the man that was never far from her thoughts.
She had slowly come to terms with Red being the cause of her fathers death. She had argued and debated with herself for hours over the moral ramifications of euthanasia, even now her stomach churned when she thought about the last few minutes of Sams life. Regardless of anything her father would have wished or asked for, how had Red been able to do such a thing? What was it in the very fiber of his being that he could reach down into himself and end someone's life? Not an enemy's life, not as self defense, not as revenge, but as a mercy killing of a man he called friend. A hard, cold, deliberate mercy killing. Try as she might, she doubted she would ever fully understand Raymond Reddington. The thought of just how many lives he had taken over the years teased at her until she huffed with annoyance and pushed the question away. She didn't want to know and she didn't like what that said about her.
Red had come into her life, destroying the foundation she had thought once was strong. Piece by piece he had taken away everything. Her hopes for a child, her marriage, her father. Logic told her that Red had been correct in warning her about Tom, in trying to dissuade her to not adopt, in giving Sam the peace he so desperately craved, but that knowledge now only reminded her of her own incompetence. He had left her with nothing. She was no longer anyone's good child or good wife. It was as if she, along with what had once been her life, no longer existed.
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Liz juggled keys and shopping bag, looping the strap of her handbag on her shoulder as she unlocked the door. The bag slipped off her shoulder and caught on her elbow as she turned the knob and bumped the door open with her hip. Immediately she could feel that she wasn't alone in the house. She stood motionless, alarm fluttering through her body sending her pulse pounding into her throat as her bags slid silently to the floor and her fingers reached for her gun and she tried to sense the presence she felt.
"Ah Lizzie, finally your home." That all too familiar husky tone called from the kitchen.
She felt her body deflate like air hissing out of a balloon and her stomach dropped with dread and something else that she couldn't quite identify.
Red.
She still didn't know if she was ready to face him, but it would appear that her time had run out and she no longer had a choice. Not that she ever had much of a choice when it came to him. Her anger at him had lessened with their time apart, but she wasn't about to forget the valuable lesson she had learned. Regardless of the special place he claimed she held in his life, Raymond Reddington was the most ruthless man she would ever meet, a power that if she lived a hundred lifetimes, would never see again.
Steeling her back and her nerves she slowly trailed to the kitchen. There he stood, in all of his arrogance, shirt sleeves rolled up, washing the dirty wine glasses that had accumulated over the last week. Somewhere along the way, housekeeping duties had dropped off her list of things to do. She didn't care, it was her house and it wasn't as if she had invited him in.
He looked...she paused, her throat suddenly growing thick with emotion. He looked...like Red. Like safety and promises and the man that could chase away her nightmares. Truly she had lost her mind...
She quickly blinked back the tears that threatened to fill her eyes. His crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, vest open and suit coat and tie discarded. She shouldn't be feeling this overwhelming sensation of emotion that was closing her throat at knowing he had returned. He would do nothing but make her life even more complicated and difficult than what it already was.
He greeted her with a bright smile that didn't reach his eyes as he warily watched and gauged her reaction to seeing him. Concern deepened his crows feet as he took in her appearance, appraising her slight stature. Her weight loss apparent in the prominence of her cheek bones and the hollows in her neck. He had spent the last hour nervously waiting her return and rambling through the brownstone. What he had discovered told him that she was far from beginning the road to acceptance in his deeds and Tom Keens.
Her bedroom had the closed up musty air of a room unused. The bed neatly made up but the dust thick enough on the furniture that had he been so inclined he could have written his name on it. Much of the contents of her closet missing, any sign that a man had once shared the space, gone. He had found her clothing shoved into a first floor hall closet and the contents of her dresser stacked in the corner of the living room. The tangled mess of bed sheets and pillows on her sofa along with the empty wine bottles and dirty glasses finished the story.
Their last meeting had been difficult and he had hoped that time apart would have taken the edge off her anger at discovering he had been the reason for Sam's death. He had thought that perhaps some distance would allow her to put things into a calmer perspective. They had argued and he, as much as it had pained him to do so, yet feeling frustrated beyond belief, had granted her far too calm request to leave. He had been only too conscious of the fact that his involvement in her life at the time, was keeping her on edge and raw. He would have preferred her screaming and yelling at him. Even a repeat of the pen jammed into his clavicle would have been preferable to the blank distant stare she had given him.
Unable to deny her anything, he had done as she asked, leaving her a number where she would be able to reach him if she needed him. He had waited anxiously for a call that he knew wasn't going to come until Mr. Kaplin informed him of her physical decline. It was then he knew he needed to take matters back into his own hands. He had given Lizzie enough time.
"Hello Red," Her voice cautious, though she didn't sound quite as harsh as she had wanted. She placed the bag on the counter trying to recover from the shock of seeing him. A part of her had wondered if she ever would ever see him again, another part of her scoffed at the thought. There was no getting rid of this man. She may have understood the reasons why he had ended Sams life, but that didn't ease the pain that it had been the man in front of her that had carried out his wishes. That he had known Sam even longer than she had. That they had shared a history that both men had kept from her and that Red continued to keep hidden.
She was reminded of her own anger towards herself. How in the end, it had been she that had failed her father. Red had been the one to encourage her to go see Sam, had offered his private jet for her use. She should have dropped everything and rushed to her fathers side. Instead it had been Tom who had gone to visit Sam. She wondered not for the first time if Tom's intent had also been to finish Sam off, but not for the same reasons. Another riddle in the puzzle that would remain unknown.
She huffed quietly, she had placed the FBI before her father and for what? The FBI wouldn't be there to comfort her when she was scared or to offer sound advice or love her no matter what her faults and now it was too late. The opportunity to say goodbye to her father was gone and the man in front of her had been the catalyst.
Slowly she began to unpack the groceries, carefully placing each item on the counter. Four yogurts, four shiny red apples, four pathetic frozen dinners as she stalled for time to allow herself to regroup and focus. She was taken aback by the overwhelming sense of sadness and loss that was washing over her at seeing Red. The loss of what had once been and the loss of what might have been.
Their relationship had been different, unique even and it had progressed to the point where she had foolishly forgotten just who and what Raymond Reddington really was.
He was criminal.
A liar.
A murderer.
Somewhere along the way she had started to glamorize him. The criminal had become a victim, the liar had become a storyteller, the murderer had become a man in search of justice. She had been wrong, he was no different from the man that had pretended to love and marry her, Tom also had been a criminal, a liar and a murderer and look where that relationship had gotten her.
Raymond Reddington could say what he wanted, tell her she meant everything in the world to him, protect her with his life, but the fact remained that she was simply an asset to him. An unwitting pawn in a game he was playing with an un-named opponent. And once her value to him had been realized, once his goal had been achieved, well then the game would be over and so would his proclaimed devotion to her. A sad and hurtful truth she realized.
Red narrowed his eyes as he took in the contents of her shopping, when she finished emptying the bag she neatly folded it, her fingers continuing to absently stroke it smooth. He had gone through the kitchen cabinets, the refrigerator. The stark emptiness striking home just how much she had been neglecting her health. Red took her continued silence as a positive sign and he slowly closed the distance between them, his movements cautious as if he were afraid she would startle and disappear.
"You don't look well Lizzie." His voice dropped to a soft growl. He couldn't stop from placing his hand on her chin and tilting her head upwards. His expression never changed but he couldn't help the feeling of relief when she didn't pull away from him. She blinked once and then once again, meeting his eyes as if she just remembered that he was there.
He pushed onward, "Dembe and I were having lunch at the most delightful little place in Givrand on the coast of France and they had the most marvelous crab bisque. All I could think of was how much you would enjoy it. So I had them package me a container, some baguettes and fresh raspberry butter and we flew back."
His voice sent a shiver down her spine and she could only focus on the soft curls that showed between the open buttons of his shirt.
"What do you say Lizzie, are you up for bisque?" He stared at her eyes until she finally looked up and Liz for a moment she deluded herself that those green eyes were pleading.
She thought about the question he was really asking her. Had she forgiven him for Sam? Was she able to move forward and continue working with him? Those were the questions he was asking with his inane offer of bisque and raspberry butter. Her lips curved in a bitter sweet smile as she reminded herself of all that she used to be. The good child, the good wife, the good FBI agent. Those were all gone now, but she was certain she still knew how to be the good pawn to the Concierge of Crime.
She shrugged away her thoughts and rolled her eyes at him, surprisingly and suddenly she felt grounded again. An unfamiliar and long missed flutter of peace settling deep inside. "Red, only you would do take out from France." She was proud that her voice was calm and clear.
He chuckled, his knees weakening and his heart skipping a beat. "It's good to see you again." He whispered, pulling her into a gentle embrace and breathing in her scent, mindful of the fact that her arms remained unmoving at her side.