Lizzie walked to the Mercedes, that had since been removed from the interior of the warehouse, and opened the back door to what was now a cleaned back seat; there was no evidence of blood, and no sign that an injured person had been riding in it earlier in the day. It looked like it had just been driven off the showroom floor. She smiled knowing that Mr. Kaplan had 'taken care of business'.
She climbed in and tried to get comfortable. She looked around for any sign that Reddington had ever been in the car and her eyes fell on his navy blue fedora, which he had been sporting earlier that day, now lying on the back window ledge; she had managed to grab it, and the box that had the Fulcrum in it, as she scurried to the car during the shootout. Now, she snatched it and gripped it tightly, just as a child would hold their treasured prized stuffed toy during a thunderstorm.
Finally, in her solitude, she could no longer hold back the tears. She knew fighting it would be frivolous so she gave in, crying quietly. After some time, now exhausted, she fell asleep. However, her dreams were anything but pleasant and restful; flashbacks of almost all of the missions she and Red had been on together, especially the bad ones, the ones that ended in someone being shot, stabbed, or killed, rolled like an endless film replaying over and over in her mind.
Lizzie jolted awake, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, to hear the sound of her cell phone ringing. In a groggy haze she saw that it was Dembe. "Hello?! Dembe? What's going on? Is he ok?"
"He's out of surgery." Dembe sounded tired.
Trying to wake up and kick her mind back into gear again she said, "Do you … does he … do I … should I … I be there when he wakes up?" She was having the hardest time putting any of her thoughts into words, let alone full cohesive sentences.
"Elizabeth, that's your choice … but yes, I really think that you should be here." Dembe sounded insistent.
Doubt crept in and placed its uneasy hand on her shoulder. "Why would he want to see me, Dembe?" Her mind had finally started working again, but the thoughts were swirling around in her head like a whirlpool. "I told him so many hurtful things right before he was shot. He knows how mad I am … or was." There was silence on the other end. She shook her head. "I'll be there soon, I promise; I just need some coffee to wake up." She stretched, yawned again and looked down at her phone; she saw that it was just past midnight.
After getting a cup of so-called coffee at a shop on the corner, Lizzie returned to the warehouse. She walked slowly through the first set of double doors, and down the long hallway, which was also papered with plastic sheeting. The closer she got to the recovery area the more nervous she felt. All she could think about was the many harsh and hurtful things that she had said to Red in the past, most out of anger and confusion. "Go to Hell, we're through!" kept replaying in her head over and over again.
"How could Red ever love me after the way I've treated him?" She contemplated. "He deserves someone better than me. I'm nothing special."
"Oh, I think you are VERY special."
That simple phrase, those few words, ran through her mind once again. She felt her face getting warm as it had earlier when she had thought about those words, and once more it was not out of anger, but out of sheer embarrassment. She knew that she should not feel this way about him. This was a dangerous path to walk. She feared that it would only end with more pain and heartbreak. She feared the end, losing him; that very thought sent a chill down her spine.
She stood in front of the opening to the makeshift plastic door. Waiting, she half expected to hear Red say something like, "Come in, my dear." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then entered the area. Dembe was sitting at Red's bedside watching the machines tick away, as they fed his employer's body full of painkillers and saline. Much to Lizzie's surprise, Red was only hooked up to one IV pole and the machine monitoring his vitals, with his oxygen being provided by a simple nasal cannula. Dembe looked up at her, tired, yet happy, in his own straight-faced way. He appeared to have been meditating, before her arrival, as he was more quiet than normal, if that was possible. Dembe was never much of a talker, especially to her.
"Go get something to eat, or grab a cup of coffee Dembe. I'll stay here for now."
Dembe stood, and Lizzie slowly walked over to where he had been seated and pulled the chair to the bedside until it was touching the sheet that covered Red. Dembe gave her a nod and left the curtained area. She observed him do one last sweep of the immediate area before he left; she assumed it was to ensure that all was well.
Red was sitting almost upright and was clearly still sedated. She started a conversation, in the hopes that he would just wake up and retort back with one of his signature witty one-liners. She just wanted him to open his eyes and talk to her; she needed to hear his voice again.
"Wake up, dammit!" She could feel her anger starting to surface again. If he died she would quite possibly never know the answers to the questions she still had. She might never know why he'd inserted himself into her life and turned it upside down. She had a right to know. "This isn't supposed to be happening. You're Raymond 'Red' Reddington. You can't get hurt like this. You're not supposed to be at death's door. Damn you, Red! … Why have you turned my life upside down? … What am I to you?! … Just stop it all! … Or … Go to HELL! … Go to…" Her words trailed off, with tears welling up in her eyes, she softly grabbed his tired, worn hand and caressed it with her trembling fingers. She took a few deep, calming breaths; then her tone softer now, she said, "There's still so much that we need to do, too many questions yet unanswered … I NEED …"
Her voice caught in her throat again, and like a dam breaking, her tears flooded down her soft pale cheeks. She laid her face onto the blankets, weeping, and her heart felt like it had been sundered in two. She burrowed her face further into the blankets, trying to muffle the sounds.
She sobbed bitterly, her heart shredded by grief and all-consuming frustration. She lifted her head just enough to look at him and whispered, "Don't you dare leave me Reddington, I can't do this without you … I need you … I … I … love … you … I love you Raymond Reddington." It was at that moment that Lizzie realized that saying she loved him was the clearest, most truthful thing that had come out of her mouth in months.
