Summary: Red and Liz meet. Thanks so much for the comments/follows/favorites. Knowing people are enjoying this story makes it all the more enjoyable to write. As I always, I would love to know what you think.
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Red stood close enough to the door to hear the elevator ding. He'd added a matching vest to his earlier ensemble, but it hung open against his white dress shirt. He wore no tie.
The little flip in his stomach was the vestiges of last night's wine, he told himself, and nothing more. He settled on the couch, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands. A few moments later there was a knock at the door of his suite.
Dembe announced them and Red bid them come in. Red sat on the couch, trying to look casual. Dembe suppressed a smile at his friend; very few people could nudge Raymond Reddington off-center like Elizabeth Keen.
Red stood as she approached. She looked tired and was a bit pale. Her eyes were red-rimmed, no doubt from recent and plentiful tears, and they shone with a dull sadness that made the ache within him sing. He thought briefly that he should have called her, should have seen her before now, despite what she had said.
"Lizzie."
There was a good distance between them. She stood, arms crossed and body rigid, looking at him. "Hello Red."
He indicated the couch. "Sit, please."
Stiffly, she complied. She surveyed his surroundings, his latest home yet not a home. "This one's nice," she said blandly. "Spacious."
Red smiled a mirthless smile. "They're all nice," he said. "There's something to be said for consistency."
Her eyes grew dark, and she looked at him. "Like how you consistently spy on me?"
His mouth twitched. His eyes were apologetic, but he said nothing.
She placed her hands in her lap and leaned back into the couch. Her shoulders were slightly hunched. "Where are your babysitters," she inquired wryly. She'd seen no sign of the FBI in the hallway and there appeared to be no agents inside the suite.
"Since we're not on a case right now they've loosened my lead a bit," he said. "And since I still have my shock collar (he indicated the smooth, tan flesh of his neck) I'm not likely to stray too far from the yard." He smiled, but the light never reached his eyes.
She looked away from him. He could fully examine her in profile then, and he did so. She hadn't slept; he recognized the familiar weariness in her that he usually masked with perfect suits and designer sunglasses. Her casual clothing made her appear younger if not a little wayward. He saw her eyes fall on the chess game near the window and it piqued his interest. He followed her line of sight.
"Do you play?"
"I used to," she said quietly. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, her mind elsewhere.
"Do you mind?" He indicated the game, hoping to catch her gaze. He did, yet it was fleeting. The smile on her lips vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"I think I'd like that."
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Red realized he had a new favorite thing: watching Elizabeth Keen play chess. She hovered over her side of the board, fingers splayed through her hair, leaning on her elbow. Her eyes surveyed everything; he could almost hear her interpretative mind weighing possible moves, calculating risk. Her lips were moist and slightly pouted in concentration. He found himself looking at them more than he should.
She moved an elegant hand over the board and quickly withdrew it.
"Check."
Red smiled broadly, and it took her by surprise. Liz couldn't remember ever seeing him smile like that, where his whole face brightened. She couldn't stop herself from smiling back.
"I'm not often put into check," he said in explanation as he moved to guard his king.
"Well, we don't often play."
That pleased him. There was a light in her eyes that had not been there when she arrived. It reminded him of the day they first met, when she was all molten fire and had so much to prove. If anything, maybe he had helped her forget for just a little while.
She pursed her lips into a petulant frown, studying the board intently. He couldn't take his eyes off her and realized he would most likely lose the game because of it. He wondered if she had any idea of the influence she had over him.
"What's your favorite piece," he asked, as much to distract himself as to garner a serious answer.
She smiled. "You're trying to distract me Red."
His lips parted in feigned offense. "I don't have to resort to petty trickery to win this game, my dear Lizzie," he said silkily. "Skill is enough."
She huffed dismissively and made her move. A few moments passed. "The bishop. The bishop is my favorite piece."
He mulled that quietly but did not address it. He concentrated on the board. She was working him, he knew, but he couldn't figure out how. He found the struggle and the possibility that he might lose exhilarating.
In the middle of his study he saw her eyes drift closed for a moment before she caught herself. Her hand went up to cover a yawn.
"Lizzie," he said quietly. His voice was lower than before, a little more than a rumble in the still room, and it resonated between them. "You're exhausted."
Her eyes slipped closed again as if to punctuate the statement. She shook herself and stood suddenly. "I should be going," she said. She looked at her phone. It was after 4am.
Red stood to meet her, leaving their game in the balance. He studied her face, considering his next few words.
"Rest here for awhile. Then Dembe can take you to your car."
She worried her hands. The vacant look that had had taken its leave while they played had returned, and she looked lost. She cast a furtive glance at him. "Tom will be getting up soon."
A muscle in his jaw flexed when she said his name, but Red's expression remained neutral. "It's Saturday," he said.
Liz studied her fingers. "Oh."
He saw the crushing tiredness descend on her almost at once. She swayed slightly on her feet, and he reached out and caught her arm.
"Ok," she said. It was more of an admission of defeat than an admission of need. He took hold of her elbow and led her back to his bedroom.
When they reached the threshold and she realized it was to his bed he was taking her, Liz tensed. She looked at him questioningly.
"I only have the one bedroom here." His mouth gave a little half-smile, an indiscernible emotion playing at the corners.
Liz swallowed, nodding mutely.
He turned down the covers for her and remembered that she didn't have any clothes. "You can wear one of my shirts," he said quietly. If she hadn't been so sleepy, she might have detected a hint of nervousness beneath the placid demeanor. He withdrew a clean, white, folded t-shirt from one of the dresser drawers and placed it on the end of the bed.
Red looked at her tenderly. "Get some rest Lizzie."
She held his gaze for a moment, but didn't say anything. He turned to leave. She watched his back as he retreated; the door eased shut behind him, shocking her awake.
Liz touched the shirt where it lay folded on the bed. This must be what resides beneath those perfectly pressed dress shirts, she thought. It was soft beneath her fingers and gleaming white.
Hesitantly, she held it to her face, inhaling. The shirt was freshly laundered, but she didn't recognize the detergent. It smelled less floral and more earthy, almost green. She'd smelled that smell before, on him, and the familiarity was strangely comforting.
Liz slipped her shirt off over her head, then shimmied out of her jeans. She felt over-exposed in the large room, self-conscious although she was alone. She stood in her bra and panties at the side of his bed. Cool air prickled her skin, and she shivered.
Tentatively, she stretched out her hand to glide along the fine cotton sheets. They were a deep red, almost burgundy, and incredibly soft. She removed her bra and pulled the fresh t-shirt over her head. With only a moment's hesitation, she removed her panties too.
She slipped beneath the sheets, reclining on her side. The bed was firmer than she expected, but it seemed to caress her body perfectly, making her feel weightless. She adjusted the cover under her chin, and with the slight stir came a fresh onslaught of his scent. Every little movement disturbed it; the unique blend of fragrances that made him unmistakable, identifiable by smell alone, permeated the bed, even the room. What she had previously only noticed in the close proximity of working with him now enveloped her like a warm embrace.
Liz inhaled deeply, moving once more beneath the cool sheets. Her breathing became even as she quickly slipped into a peaceful and dreamless sleep.
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Red poured a drink at the bar and tried not to think about Lizzie. Lizzie, who was asleep in his bed just a few yards away.
She'd been asleep nearly an hour. He had opened the door just enough to listen for her slow, even breaths. He smiled at the memory. A slender foot had shone in the dark, and he had longed to tuck it back beneath the blankets, preserving its warmth.
With a turn of the lock Dembe let himself in, and Red turned to look at him.
"Is it done?"
Dembe nodded. "Yes, Luli has done as you asked."
Red seemed satisfied. "You will need to take her back to her car in a few hours." Just the thought of her leaving seemed to cast a shadow over his previous contentment.
"Of course," said Dembe.
Red indicated that he join him, and the two friends sat facing each other as Red nursed his drink. "So how did you convince her to come here," Red asked casually.
"I gave her a reason."
Red tilted his head ever so slightly. "What reason would that be."
Dembe gave a small smile. "Concern for you."
Red's eyes widened only briefly, a reaction the casual observer would have missed. Dembe was no casual observer. He continued.
"I hope I am not being too forward, Raymond, but I believe she cares for you in some ways as much as you care for her."
Red took a swig of his drink as much to hide his facial expressions as to steady his nerves.
"I told her you had not been yourself, that I was worried about you," Dembe said.
Red swirled the amber-colored contents of his glass and looked at his friend. "Is that true?"
Dembe nodded, understanding the double meaning of his statement. "Yes. Both of those things are very true."
Red registered the concern on the man's face, considering its validity. He quirked his mouth. After a few moments he nodded curtly, his expression unreadable.
"Thank you Dembe." It was Red's gentlemanly way of dismissing him, of telling him he'd rather be alone. Dembe nodded and bid him goodnight.
Red sat on the couch in the early morning hours, thinking.
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