It was a week before Liz felt like contacting Reddington. Since she had been kidnapped as well, Cooper had given her the extra time off, using Reddington's lack of contact with her as one of the main motivators in her vacation. She was surprised that Red had allowed her the space but then she had caught sight of one of his associates following her, keeping an eye on her, and she had simply rolled her eyes. It wasn't surprising; after all, he had admitted that he would never stop, even when she wanted him to.
Throughout her "vacation", Liz had thought and thought and had tried to come up with a way to work with Reddington. For her, it basically came down to compromise - either he would have to compromise on something, or she would. Since her her chances of getting Red to compromise on anything weren't great, Liz knew that she had to decide whether or not she could accept his terms. After seven days, she still wasn't sure. Then again, was it such a bad thing to have someone looking out for her? Sure, he was incredibly frustrating at times, but he did care about her and there weren't many people in Liz's life that she could say that about. Maybe she could work out some sort of arrangement with him to where he tells her all that she needs to know right now rather than make her wait until he's about to be proved untrustworthy?
And then there was the scars. Liz couldn't get them out of her mind. Each time she closed her eyes, they were there, staring back at her, glaring at her, accusing her. She had no idea why they provoked guilt, she wasn't to blame for the fire after all, but they did. The pain that Red must have gone through was unimaginable. Liz had some small idea thanks to the scar on her palm but this was across his shoulders! Whenever she found herself thinking of them, tears of pity and frustration choked her. How could she care so much about this man and yet despise him for everything that he is and stands for?
Clearing her mind, Liz prepared for the meeting she was about to take, the meeting that she had asked for.
When she had called Reddington, and had been given an address that she didn't know, it hadn't surprised her. She was glad that he seemed to be feeling well enough to get out of the flat, but it had also made her wonder if he was, perhaps, getting ready to give her another name. Normally, Liz would be okay with that, but today, she wanted privacy so that she could talk to him and, hopefully, get him to show her the rest of his back and get some answers.
Dembe answered the door via opening it just as she was about to knock. He offered her a slight smile before stepping aside to allow her entrance. The smile was a nice break from the complete lack of expression that she had been receiving from him lately; it made his face much more handsome. Red met her in the vestibule, using the aid of a cane to get around the mansion that he was, no doubt, borrowing from someone without their knowledge. He wore his usual three-piece-suit but Liz could see the hint of nude-color bandaging around his wrists, thus hiding the bruises from any potential clients. Liz's brows knit together when she noticed that he was leaning heavily on the cane. Should he even be walking around?
"Lizzy," he greeted with a smile. He stopped halfway to the door, waiting for her to meet him the rest of the way. Liz noticed how he bent his left leg, as though to take weight off it while he stood there. His mask never faltered, though, leaving to her wonder how much pain he was currently feeling. If the injury hadn't been so obvious, she wouldn't even have known about it. "What can I do for you?"
"I wanted to talk to you," she said, making sure that she pretended as though she hadn't noticed anything amiss with him.
He pivoted, leading her God only knew where. She had to slow her pace to keep up with him but she did it with ease and little notice. "I had thought that you'd said all that you'd wanted to say the last time," he observed without malice or reproach.
"So had I." And she had. Truly. But those scars just wouldn't let her go. "But then something else came to mind that I wanted to discuss with you." When he started to lead her towards what could be taken for a living room, Liz stopped and added, "Perhaps we could do this somewhere with a bit more privacy?"
That made him pause. He studied her for a moment, probably trying to determine what her angle was. Not thirty seconds later, Red nibbled the inside of his cheek before asking, "What is it that you want, Lizzy?" His demeanor suddenly went from relaxed to on guard, his tone no longer genial and his eyes no longer smiling. Suspicion was probably second nature to him so the change was practically unnoticeable. But Liz noticed it and she felt a little less sure about her approach.
For most people, there really wasn't a good way to get information out of Raymond Reddington. For Liz, that wasn't necessarily true, but it wasn't easier either. There were right ways and wrong ways to do it and she was pretty sure that this was going to be a wrong way.
Liz looked over to Dembe, feeling foolish for what she was about to say. She didn't anticipate this conversation going well, if at all, and she didn't want to reveal to Dembe, as well as Red, that she had, essentially, snooped and discovered something that she knew Red would want to keep private. She would have felt marginally better about bringing the conversation up if Dembe wasn't there but his presence wasn't going to stop her from doing it either. She had to know.
"It's about the scars on your shoulders," she said, managing to not flinch as she spoke. Red raised his head, silently daring her to continue. It was a look she'd seen many a time when he was uncomfortable with what she was asking him to do or say.
"There's nothing to tell," he said with a note of finality in his voice.
"You see, that's what I don't agree with," Liz objected, stepping closer to him. His posture straightened, making him wince in the process, but he stood his ground, allowing her to invade his personal space. "You were there the night that my parents died, weren't you?" She wanted to beg him to tell her no, to tell her that something else, anything else, had given him those scars. But if there was one thing that Liz realized she'd been lately, it was childish, and she wasn't about to continue acting that way if she could help it.
There was a pause in which Liz was certain that he wouldn't answer. She continued to stare at him, hoping that that would provoke a response. After a long while he said, "Yes."
Tears filled her eyes as she recalled the image of a man lying on the floor with fire surrounding him. She had been hoping against hope that it hadn't been Red, that it had been someone else instead. In all actuality, she had believed that it had been her father but now she wondered. Refusing to allow the tears to fall, she asked, "Will you tell me why?"
"No."
On that he was resolute, she could tell. Once again, frustration bloomed inside her. She stamped down on it, refusing to allow it to control her this time and instead asked, "May I see them?" When she could tell that he was about to give her a definitive no again, Liz reached out and grabbed his right hand, gently holding it in hers lest she press on the bruise. "Please, Red," she pleaded, allowing one tear to fall. It was manipulative, she knew, but if it worked, she wasn't going to complain.
"Lizzy." His tone was a warning that she refused to ignore.
"Please, Red" she said, adding urgency to her voice, though it still remained a whisper. "I need to know."
"Lizzy, once you see things, they cannot be unseen," he warned, clearly unhappy with what she was asking, yet somehow willing to do it. "Are you sure that this is what you want?"
"Yes."
He nodded and then looked at Dembe. His friend moved over to the windows, pulling the curtains over them to prevent anyone seeing in, and then stood in front of them as though he expected someone to try to come through them. Once that was done, Red placed the cane he was using against the backside of a sofa and began to peel off his coat, vest, and shirt.
His chest was not that of a young man. Age had slowly begun to take control of his muscle definition, turning what had once been a toned physique into something a little softer. Liz's eyes took it in, unsure how she should feel about seeing him exposed like this. On the one hand, she liked that he evidently trusted her enough to to it, but on the other she felt awkward about it. Then she noticed the bruising on his left side. It looked deep, with reds and blues mixing together to form a barrier around something far paler in the middle. Knowing that was likely where he had been beaten, Liz blinked and looked away. Maintaining her anger at him would fail sufficiently if she were to continue looking at what he had endured so that she wouldn't have to. She cared about Red enough that she didn't like that he had gotten hurt for her.
With his torso exposed, Red simply stood there, waiting for her to make her way towards his back. She acquiesced happily, knowing that it would be inconvenient for him to be the one to turn. Placing her purse down on the couch, Liz moved so that she could see his back. Although she had expected as much, she still couldn't help the shocked gasp that escaped when she saw that his entire back was covered with burn scars. She hesitated only a moment before slowly reaching out, lightly touching them as she let her fingers roam. Beneath her touch Red stiffened and though she knew that they no longer hurt, she still stopped a beat before continuing.
"That night," she said, her voice quiet but sure. "I remember a man lying in the middle of the living room floor." She swallowed as her memory recalled the vision, placing Red as he stood before her now where the man had been. "I had thought that that was my father. Was it you?"
Red's breath hitched and Liz took that as her cue to stop. She stepped back, moving to her previous position to give him time to get dressed again. When she faced him once more there was nothing in his features to show that he'd just done something that he would normally have rather died before doing.
Once finished, Red began to make his way to the closest chair, grimacing as he sat. "I'm not going to answer that, Lizzy," he denied just as he had done when she'd asked about her mother's photo being in his apartment. On this, she knew that he wouldn't budge and so she didn't push. He'd already shared far more with her than he would normally have so there was no use in trying to get more.
She chose a different subject instead. "How bad is your side?" Her eyes traveled down to where his shirt now covered the bruises. She actually stared for a time before she was able to force herself to look away.
"Caught that did you?" he countered with a partial smile. He nodded as though accepting that she had. "It's nothing," he dismissed. "I had worse in Cozumel. Dembe, do you remember that?"
Liz wasn't in the mood for him to brush this off, so she did something that she hadn't thought that she would ever do - she inspected it for herself. Having no medical knowledge whatsoever meant that she wouldn't have clue as to what she was doing, but at least she could be able to tell how much pain the injury caused, which may or may not tell her how bad it was.
For his part, Red was so surprised that he hadn't had the presence of mind to stop her before she had his shirt up and had her fingers skimming his skin. Liz was glad that he hadn't added his vest because that would have made things much harder. She heard his breath catch at a couple of different spots but otherwise he betrayed nothing, leaving her to decide that it was as he had said - he was fine.
"Satisfied?" he asked and Liz could swear she heard a smirk in his voice.
Still kneeling in front of him, Liz dropped her hands, laying one on each knee. When her left hand fell onto his injured one, his wince was almost instantaneous. She removed her hand, settling back onto her heels with a concerned frown. "How bad is the knee?" she asked, knowing that it had to be bad if merely touching it produced that expression.
This time the twitch in his eyes was from displeasure but he answered, "It's an old injury that chooses to act up every now and then."
Liz frowned. The FBI wasn't aware of anything of the kind and their research was fairly extensive and certainly personal. What else was Reddington hiding that they didn't know about?
"I am sure that the baseball bat didn't help anything, my friend," Dembe said from his perch by the window.
Liz's eyes looked over at Dembe for a moment before coming to focus back on Red. As per his usual, The Concierge of Crime didn't show anything that might be considered a betrayal of emotion, but somehow Liz could tell that he hadn't wanted Dembe to say that. "What?" she asked, appalled. "Did The Conductor hit you with a baseball bat?"
Okay, now she was truly angry. Of all the things that Reddington had done to her since he'd first surrendered to the FBI, absolutely none of that was deserving of the beating he'd evidently received. Yes, he should be in prison and not allowed to roam free, and yes, she often found herself wanting to slap him, or put another pen into his neck, but things like torture and baseball bats were reserved for those criminals that preyed on children and old people, who committed rape and justified it by saying that the girl had wanted it. Not for someone like Red.
"Yes," Red admitted with something akin to false cheer in his voice. "It was a security measure taken to ensure that I couldn't escape on my own." A feral smile came onto his face, cold as a winter morning. "He paid for his mistake."
She actually felt a little sick now. "Did you have a doctor look at it?" When he simply sat there, looking at her, Liz grew frustrated. "This is ridiculous. Why won't you tell me?"
"Because you don't need to know. You want to know, and as I have already told you, they are two very different things."
When she looked over at Dembe to help her out, the man merely shrugged. Evidently he wasn't going to tell her anything, either. Great. "If I call Mr. Kaplan, will she tell me?"
"No."
Blowing out a breath of sheer anger, Liz tried another angle. "Look, I simply want to know what I should tell Cooper. Should I tell him that you need some more time to recover? Should I tell him that you'll see him tomorrow so he can debrief you himself?"
"Harold knows good and well that I only speak with you."
"When it comes to a case, yes. But, Red, the case is over and we need to know what has happened to The Conductor. Since you haven't been forthcoming, Cooper has instructed me to bring you in so he can ask you himself."
Red rolled his eyes and gave her a look of annoyance. His bitch face was back but this time it made Liz want to laugh. She held it in but only barely. "Should we go now?"
"What?" Liz asked, unable to track the change of pace. "Go where?"
"The Post Office, of course." Liz stood as Red pushed himself up from the chair and grabbed the cane. "We wouldn't want to keep Harold waiting any longer, now would we?"
"Red," Liz objected. Something told her that he was only doing this to prove a point to her, a point that didn't really need to be made, by the way, if he would have simply answered her question. He stepped past her and was almost to the vestibule before she caught up with him. "Wait," she said, jogging to catch up to him and then stand in front of him. "All I want is to know how badly you're hurt. Why not just answer the question?"
Red looked at her as though she were particularly stupid. "I have answered the question as far as I am willing to, Lizzy, you just simply refuse to accept it." He continued walking towards the door, getting through it before Liz's brain caught up and forced her to chase after him. Heaven forbid he should get to the blacksite before she did.
oOo
Even before he'd reached the freight elevator that would take them down to the task force's underground Batcave, Raymond knew that he shouldn't have been so stubborn. The longer that he was on his feet now, the more likely it would be that he wouldn't be able to be later. And sadly, 'later' was coming up faster than he wanted. Beside him, he could feel Lizzy's eyes boring into him, her concern evident on her face. The freight doors started opening and Raymond plastered a small smile on his face.
"Harold!" he greeted far more happily than he felt. "I hear you wanted to talk to me about The Conductor."
The AD looked up from where he was conversing with Aram and stared at Red with surprise on his face. "Reddington," he said,. His brown eyes traveled down to the cane then back up to Red's face. "How are you feeling?"
Raymond smiled, not answering. He had no intention whatsoever of answering that question as he believed it was entirely obvious how he was feeling. "Let's take this into your office, shall we?"
"Tell you what," Harold said, not skipping a beat. "Why don't we go to Ressler and Keen's office instead?"
Raymond smiled but once again didn't respond. He waited for Harold to begin moving first before he started to follow. Ressler and Lizzy fell in line to follow suit, with Lizzy remaining behind Red and Ressler cutting in front of him. His first step almost had him falling on the floor as his injured knee barely refused to tolerate what little weight he was putting on it. Things didn't get any easier from then on but as Raymond absolutely refused to show weakness in front of the FBI, he forced his body to cooperate as much as it could. If any within this organization wanted to gain favor with any of the world's seedier community, all they had to do was say that he was injured and things would suddenly become a lot worse for him.
When he arrived at the little room which had been termed Agent Ressler's and Lizzy's office, he found that they had left a seat available for him. Harold sat at Lizzy's desk, watching as Red entered. Pretending that he didn't feel like they were about to suddenly arrest him if he didn't answer their questions to their satisfaction, Raymond limped into the room and sat in the empty seat.
"Now, where is the man named The Conductor?"
"As I told Agent Keen, I really don't know." He settled into the chair, making sure that he looked relaxed and not worried. Which isn't to say that he was worried, he simply preferred to give that appearance regardless. More often than not, it was what had saved his life on more than one account. "I can tell you that, as an unfortunate byproduct of my rescue, The Conductor is no longer with us."
Harold sat back as well, attempting to imitate Red. "Were you able to get anything useful out of him?"
"You know, I was a little busy at the time and I completely forgot to ask him anything." Raymond did his best to act as though nothing had truly happened. None of what had passed while he was within Harrold's possession bothered him; he had suffered far worse in far more sinister hands. But he didn't want to add to Lizzy's distress about what could have or might have happened. He knew that she already felt guilty for the injuries that had been inflicted; it was why she wanted to know how badly he'd been injured. And her unnecessary guilt was why he refused to answer her. "Did you investigate the site as I had suggested you do?"
"Yes, and we found nothing. Not a hint that anyone had been there, including you."
"Well that's a shame. I suppose that getting one more criminal off the street will have to suffice for this case."
"That's not good enough," Ressler growled from behind his left shoulder.
Red peered over at the agent. He didn't dislike Donald, per se, but he certainly held no love for the man either. It was more like a tolerance. So long as Lizzy worked with him, Red would tolerate him. "I'm afraid that's all I have for you, Donald."
Agent Ressler opened his mouth, looking as though he fully intended on berating Red, but Cooper spoke up first. "I'm afraid that we will need the location of The Conductor's body."
"That I can't give you," Raymond denied. As one, they all frowned, clearly displeased with what he had to say, but Raymond didn't care. Nothing they said or did would convince him to tell what he knew, so there was no point in hoping that it would. "Well, this was a pleasant conversation," he said, with enough cheer to make them all look a bit suspicious. "Let's do it again sometime. Unfortunately, for today, my schedule is a bit busy."
Using his arms more so than his legs, Red stood up. He offered them all another smile before he grabbed the cane and began making his way back to the freight elevator. He almost managed to make it without interruption but Lizzy caught up to him before long. She didn't say anything, merely joined him on the elevator.
"Are you on your way to see Tom?" he asked, unable to keep his displeasure at the idea from coming into his voice. Given that Lizzy's relationship had gotten intimate with the traitor again, Raymond considered the idea of disappearing the man for good more than ever. How she could allow Tom back into her life was something that he would never understand.
Lizzy gave him a sharp look, almost as though she planned on challenging his right to ask the question. Red kept his gaze forward. He didn't want her thinking that he thought too much about the idea or that he was digging into places he didn't belong. At least in that way he could try to do as she requested. "No," she answered, looking forward as well. "You left so fast earlier that I didn't get to finish talking to you."
Ah, so she had more to say. About what, Raymond had no idea but he could surmise that it either had to do with the past or with their future. He didn't really feel like discussing either thing but as he didn't mind the company, to a point, he was willing to hear her out. His face wrinkled into an expression of pain for a second as he stepped off the elevator and headed towards the exit. Dembe came out of the shadows and began to follow, soon overtaking them and holding the door open for them.
"Well, I'm here now," he said once he had settled into the back of the Mercedes with a sigh of relief. "What do you want to talk about?"
"First, answer me one thing and understand that if you don't, I'm gone. I can't work with someone who won't tell me the truth or who lies to me."
Raymond stared at her, wondering how serious she was in this. He had a feeling that he knew what she would ask him - how badly he was injured - and he was trying to assess whether or not he could get away with not telling her. He wouldn't lie to her, necessarily, but he wondered if might be able to skate around the truth enough so that she wouldn't notice that he'd done it.
"Let me ask you something first," he said. "Why is it so important to you to learn the extent of my injuries?" She looked surprised at his asking this, making him continue, "Learning it isn't going to change what's happened, nor is it going to help me to heal faster. So what is the point of knowing it?"
Lizzy seemed to not have any answer prepared. She fell silent, closing her mouth while continuing to look at him. By the time they had pulled up outside Red's current safe house, she still hadn't answered so Red got out, painfully making his way to the door, leaving her to follow in his wake.
"Make yourself comfortable," he invited, waving his hand towards the living room. "I have some brief business to attend to. After that, I look forward to hearing your answer."
As she did as she was bid, Raymond went off in the direction of the master bedroom. When he was finished, it was to find that Lizzy hadn't moved an inch while he'd been gone. She still sat on the sofa, though she seemed to have truly gotten comfortable and had folded her legs under her while she had waited, and she still had the same faraway look on her face. Upon his entry, she looked up then frowned, though why he wasn't sure.
Raymond chose to sit next to her, motioning for her to sit back down when she made a move to get up. She declined with a shake of her head, choosing to move one of the armchairs closer while leaving the entire sofa for him to sit on. He didn't pretend not to understand why she did it but neither did he do what was expected of him. Though his knee throbbed like the devil, the sofa that he was sitting on was nowhere near comfortable enough for him to attempt to elevate it. The embroidery on the cushions had been done one hundred years ago and was not meant for the wear and tear of today.
"You should put your leg up, Raymond," Dembe gently chided, though he had to know that Red had no intention of doing any such thing.
"I would rather not ruin the fabric of this lovely sofa," Red declined with a smile.
"Is there another place that you could sit that you could do that on?" Lizzy asked, looking between the two men, obviously not expecting to get a straight answer from Red.
Dembe gave him a look, silently asking permission to answer the question honestly. "No," Red answered her, looking from Dembe to Lizzy. "All of the furniture in the house is pretty much of the same stock - nice, elegant, and not meant to be used."
Lizzy looked between him and Dembe. "What?" she asked, evidently seeing that they weren't telling her the entire truth. "There is a place isn't there?"
"Do not concern yourself with my wellbeing, Lizzy," Red said, adding more strength to his smile. "But that does bring us around to my question in the car. Have you thought of an answer to it?"
"Is it such a foreign concept that someone should care about you, Red?" she asked, almost managing to catch him off guard.
"Yes," Raymond answered without blinking. "I know of two people that I would say for certain that care about me." He flicked his eyes over to Dembe to let his friend know that he was one of them.
Lizzy seemed frozen for a minute until she said, "I'm not one of them, am I?" Red simply looked at her, not answering. "Even though I have told you that I do?"
"A lot has changed since then Lizzy and, quite frankly, I'm getting a bit tired of trying to keep track of your moods."
"Me caring about you isn't a mood, Reddington!" she burst out. Her voice was a mixture of pain and anger and Red had to stifle a flinch at hearing it. He didn't like hurting her but he also believed that some things needed to be said and heard. This was one of them. Lizzy moved from the armchair, back to the couch and sat beside him. "I know that I haven't been as understanding as I could have lately," she admitted, though 'understanding' isn't the word that Red would have chosen to define it. "It feels as though my world has come crashing down around me and I wanted to use you as a scapegoat for it. I started to believe that I was only important to you because of the Fulcrum and that hurt more than I care to admit." She blinked back tears and Red attempted to stop a few from forming in his eyes. Then she grabbed his hand, her thumb beginning to move in a circular motion on the back of it. "But that doesn't mean that I have ever stopped caring about you, or about what happens to you."
At that moment, Raymond wanted to do several things. He wanted to pull her close and hug her, thank her for caring about him. But he also wanted to cry because he knew that he didn't deserve it. He settled for smiling and giving her hand a gentle squeeze, stilling a wince when she squeezed back even harder while pressing against the bruised wrist. "Thank you," he said with far more emotion in his voice than he had meant to add.
"You're welcome," she answered. "It's also an answer to your question. I want to know how much you suffered at the hands of that lunatic because I care about you. I know that nothing you say will help in any way but it will stop me from thinking things are worse than they truly are." She paused, looking down at their entwined hands. Her free hand joined her other one, enveloping his for a brief second before she slowly moved it down to where the flesh colored self adherent bandage covered his wrist. Her fingers trailed over it, barely touching it while seeming to try and memorize it at the same time. "This happened to you because of me," she whispered, a tear falling down her cheek, "and I'd like to know how much damage was done."
"Why?" he asked in a low, hoarse voice. His heart began to speed up at her touch and Red was having trouble thinking beyond her hands on his skin. It felt a lot more intimate than it truly was meant to be and his body responded in kind. "There's nothing you can do."
"No, there isn't," she agreed. Then she very gently lifted his hand to her lips and gave it a small kiss. "But I can try to minimize how much pain I put you in from here out."
Raymond's brain was currently not working. He knew that he should say something, and indeed there were a few things on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't seem to get the signal to go to his mouth. It was as though a wire had disconnected and nothing was getting through.
"As-ask your question, Lizzy," he finally managed, though he did have to start more than once. If he got to see this side of her more often, he would gladly tell her what she wanted to know on this front.
"What are your injuries?" Red smiled. She had picked a good way to ask it, allowing him to be somewhat clinical about it while also getting some pertinent information. "I already know that your wrists are bruised," she amended, "but what of the rest?"
"Hairline fracture to one rib, three more bruised. Bruised patella, partially torn LCL, MCL, and ACL."
Lizzy's brows furrowed. "That sounds pretty bad, Red," she said though Raymond wondered if she understood half of what he said.
"It could have been worse," he said, shrugging off her gravity. "Don't worry, Mr. Kaplan and Dembe are taking care of me."
In the corner, Dembe snorted. Raymond looked over to his friend, curious as he hadn't heard that sound from the man very often. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lizzy do the same with equal parts surprise on her face. "Only when you allow us to, my friend," Dembe said when he had both of their attention.
"Have you been taking care of yourself?" she asked, looking back at him.
Red didn't answer. Instead, he had a question of his own. "Does this mean that you'll continue to work with me?"
Lizzy blinked and sat back. Red silently mourned the space that she had put between them but he respected it and said nothing. "Yes," she said. "But, Red, I can't keep waiting for you to feed me the information that you believe is relevant. I'm not saying that I want you to tell me everything, because I know that you won't, but I do need you to be a little bit more open with me." She leaned forward and placed her hand on his thigh, giving it a small squeeze. "Please."
He nibbled the inside of his lower lip, thinking, debating. For a brief moment he'd thought of including a clause that didn't involve Tom but he refrained. That would only make her want the liar more and that wouldn't do anyone any good. Giving his lips a small lick, he said, "I can try and that is all I can promise."
Relief seemed to flood through her. Her shoulders relaxed a little bit and she offered him the first real smile he'd seen from her since before he had gotten shot. "Thank you," she said. She shifted and then started to gather her things. Evidently, that was all that she wanted from him for the moment. Red felt a flash of disappointment and pain but he hid it behind his usual mask. He had a feeling that she'd given all that she could for now and that was all that he could ask of her. "I'll let you rest some more," she said as she moved. "For some reason I think that the only time you allow yourself to heal is when I'm not around, so I'll let you get to it."
"I'll walk you to the door," he offered, moving to stand up as well.
"No, please," she objected, holding out her hand to stall him. "Something tells me that you've walked as much as you could tolerate today and I can find my own way there." She then bent down and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Red honest-to-goodness forgot how to breathe for a second. "Take care of yourself Red," she bid.
"You as well, Lizzy," he returned, doing his best to hide the effect she had on him from her. She smiled and left while Red stared after her. "You too."
Fin
And there, I believe, it shall end. My apologies if it wasn't how you wanted it to but try to take comfort in the fact that I am debating writing a "sequel" to this one where Red and Lizzy are on the run. While they are at their hideaway, Red is hurt, leaving room for lots of Lizzington and (hopefully) some IC fluff :)
I appreciate the reviews that have been left - they helped to push me to finish this much sooner than I had thought I would. I hope that you all enjoyed it.
M