Nearly five minutes of charged silence passed before Liz finally spoke.
"Where are we going, Red?"
He exhaled audibly, shoulders sagging and still staring out the window at the scenery passing by.
"I don't know yet," he said resignedly, fidgeting, then lifting his left palm a few inches into the air and lazily flopping it back down on his knee. "My instructions are to strictly limit physical activity for the next three weeks. And no vigorous activity for six. My apartment in Bethesda is on the fifth floor with no elevator, so you see, Lizzie, I'm don't know where to go. I don't think I could handle stairs right now and my two closest safe houses have been compromised."
He looked down and fumbled with his hands in his lap. She'd never knowingly seen him nervous so she's not sure, but there was something in the way he was looking down and avoiding her eyes. Like he was afraid of what was on the tip of his tongue. Afraid it would bite him back. Afraid she would shy away from him or worse, laugh. His features now revealed a concerned hesitancy and it was starting to seep into her. It had been a long time since Raymond Reddington had been at the mercy of a woman. In all things the expert, in this, he simply did not know how to act, what to say.
"I want to ask you something but I don't want anything I've said today to make you feel any obligation."
She leaned her head severely to the side, trying to look at him in a way that would cause him to look back at her but his gaze remained locked on his tightly clasped hands.
"Red, whatever you need, just ask me. Haven't we been through enough together that if you need a favor you know you can ask?"
From the side, she could see him smile widely as he nodded. Even from this angle, his smile melted her and she craved more. But not only that: she craved more times that were conducive to smiling.
"My, Lizzie. Would you like to be the pot or the kettle in this conversation?" he asked, somewhat jokingly.
A wave of embarrassment and regret washed through her. He had been there all along just wanting to help her and waiting for her to allow him the honor. She repaid his kindness with bitterness, distance and secrecy, attempting to handle things on her own and proving that she could be independent. What she had failed to see all along was that there was nothing weak about accepting his help. Unlike Tom, who was in intelligence purely for personal gain, Red's intentions were always in service of protecting her.
"For the sake of argument, I generally prefer to be the kettle but I thought we were past all of this now. Why don't you tell me what you want me to do for you? There's a really good chance I might say yes."
He cautiously lifted his eyes to meet her sparkling inquisitive ones that were trained solely on him, patiently awaiting his answer.
"What did you think of the apartment?" he finally asked, a tentative and hopeful raise of his brow, animating his previously downcast features. A completely spontaneous and involuntary smile spread across her face, lighting it up. She shook her head with a bit of a laugh and his heart melted. If only things were simpler, if only he could live solely to make her laugh, he would die a happy old man.
"How did you know?"
"The real estate agent called me to ask how you liked it," he said. He inhaled deeply before starting again, his voice now lowered to a near whisper. "I had told him when I bought it that it was a surprise. I wanted to tell you about it that day but then..." and as he trailed off, turning to once again look out the window, her heart sank. The day she had gone to tell him she was done with him, that she wanted nothing to do with him ever again was the day he held the key to her new home in his pocket.
"Red. The apartment is perfect, exactly what I would choose for myself, actually. I know I was stalled in that motel, I know. It has been easy to become mired in the feeling that my sham of a marriage - that anything like that - could happen to me again. I never want to be in that place again."
"You never will be, Lizzie," he said looking deadly serious into her eyes. She felt the weight of his words and the intensity of his stare, clingy and palpable like a humidity that settles on the skin and lingers as a reminder of its presence.
"So what are you asking," she queried, fairly certain she knew the question. And the answer.
"I need somewhere safe to stay for a couple of weeks with an elevator until I am able to do the five flights of stairs up to my 'weird little apartment' again."
Inwardly, she was losing her shit, but she had learned a thing or two from Red in the last two years about the benefits of maintaining a poker face.
"Stay with me, Red."
/
She helped him to her bedroom and into bed. He propped himself against the headboard, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Once he was comfortable, she went to get him a glass of water for his long-overdue dose of pain medication. He tossed back the large, round white pill. Her curious eyes followed the rim of the glass as he lifted it to his lips, his eyes closed as he drank and swallowed and she just stood there enamored, watching him do the most menial of tasks.
Gingerly, she crawled in to join him. He was visibly more relaxed now here in her new place, her own safe house of sorts. He was safe now. Safe under her watchful eye and now, she thought, she too could finally relax. She kicked off her shoes and without a second thought, offered to help him out of his. He stared blankly down at his feet, far out of his grasp. He pursed his lips and nodded, realizing this would be just the beginning of all the many ways he would require help with his daily routine in the coming weeks.
She took her place beside him again and as they both settled themselves, he turned just enough to catch a glimpse of her finally looking around the room, taking everything in. These were some of his favorite moments, looking upon her when no one else, not even she, knew he was. Intoxicated, in part by her beauty and in part by medication, he wasn't completely ready to speak when she turned back to catch him staring intently at her. Now that they were alone, she had no idea what to say to him. She was sure if they went back to talking about the shooting that she wouldn't be able to hold back the tears.
"This reminds me of the first time I broke a bone," he started, breaking the silence. Of course he had a story. "I was nine years old and I remember sitting in my parent's bed, just like this, in between them. Just waiting for them to say something really important to me about not endangering my life ever again. At the time, I thought they were angry with me but I came to realize later on that they were just scared of what could have happened, of losing me."
The thought of losing him, of waking up one morning to a sick reality that Raymond Reddington wasn't a part of made her stomach churn, made her want to scream and claw at his chest and crawl inside. She blinked once, twice, shooing the parallels from her mind.
"Oh? What happened?" she asked, trying for normalcy.
"A shotgun, a tree and a dare," he began.
She smiled warmly, still trying to picture Raymond Reddington as a nine year old. She wondered, do nine year olds wear three piece suits?
"Little Phillip Stephanson knew I was becoming a good shot with a BB gun and dared me to shoot a tin can out of a tree, only I had to climb another tree to do it. Also, breaking the original terms of the dare, he brought a shotgun instead of a BB gun. That was the day I learned about recoil," he said, finally letting a sad little chuckle escape.
She can't help but feel drawn in by another tale of his, but this is so much more than his standard aquatic life story. He expectantly waited for her to scold him about endangering his life, how things could have been so much worse. Just a mere centimeter, really, and she'd be alone. She refuses the thought. Raymond and Elizabeth have no hope of moving forward if either of them clings to all the 'what if's' that plague them.
As if sensing her distress, he rescued her once more with some small talk. They settled into an easy conversation, but in this comfortable bed, in this new place they have found themselves in, both had grown drowsy. They fought against heavy eyes, both unwilling to part from the sweetness of this new level of intimacy.
"It's late," she began, swinging her legs over her side of the bed, "and you are under orders to get plenty of rest in the coming weeks." She stood, stretching her aching limbs for a moment before rounding to his side of the bed. "Is there anything I can get you before I head out to the couch?"
He looked up at her dumbly, sleepy eyes searching hers. "Lizzie, I assure you that you are completely safe sleeping next to me. Even if I wanted to try something, remember, six weeks?"
"Very funny. Sounds like your meds have kicked in," she smiled, tucking the extra blankets up and around him.
He caught her hand before she could pull it back from the blankets. "I'm not joking," he leveled the best impression of serious he could with her surprised expression. He knew it was a risk, he took it anyway.
The thought of spending the night lying next to him made her stomach flip. All night, just lying there right next to him and maybe letting whatever was going to happen, happen. She looked down at their hands, how good and small hers felt in his. She couldn't help but think of how achingly well their bodies would fit together in every other way imaginable but in that moment, she noticed that his hand bore the evidence of the IV and other scrapes and bruises. She wouldn't dare add to his wounds, physical or otherwise. Flashing a brief smile, she dropped their hands, heading to the couch and turning off the bedroom light behind her.
Settled on the couch for the night, she let a soft 'good night' pass her lips, unaware if he was still conscious or not.
"Mm. Night, sweetheart," he breathed as he rolled into the warm side she vacated. Pulling her pillow in tight, he breathed in the sweet scent she left behind and let his heavy lids close peacefully.
The amber glow of morning sun peeked through her curtains, warming her face and drawing her slowly from her sleep.
In her bedroom, Red was awake, staring distantly out the window. She cleared her throat, drawing his attention to her form as she leaned lazily in the doorway.
"Sleep well?"
"Better than the hospital, that's for sure. Thank you for not waking me every hour to take vitals, by the way."
Smiling, she crossed to sit carefully on the edge of her bed next to him. He looked better this morning, more rested. He smiled up at her as she reached behind his head to help him sit, fluffing and stuffing a few pillows behind him.
"I'll go make us coffee and a bite to eat for breakfast," she said, patting his forearm and dragging her fingers across his skin as she walked out of the room.
The coffee isn't even done dripping when there is a knock at her door. Instinctively, she reaches for her service weapon, but it isn't there. She isn't even fully dressed yet, still in her red Cornhuskers tee and comfy grey leggings. She slinks toward the door, eyeing the peephole suspiciously. From the other side, she hears a familiar voice.
"Elizabeth, it's me," Dembe says through the door.
She breathed a relieving sigh and unlocked the door, letting Red's bodyguard in. He had armloads of stuff: a navy blue garment bag and matching toiletry kit, a hat box and what appears to be some sort of elegantly gift wrapped box in gold.
"He's in bed," she said to the unspoken question. "Coffee?" But he had already stalked back through the apartment toward his friend. His loyalty always warmed her and she wondered, how often they actually spend a night apart. It didn't seem like a usual occurrence.
She put the finishing touches on the omelet for two she was making out of the random ingredients she found already in the fridge. It felt good to cook for someone, to take care of someone's needs. With eggs divided, plated and coffee poured, she made her way back to the bedroom.
Dembe sat at the edge of the bed leaning in toward Red, much like she had the night before. He and Red spoke in hushed tones while she lurked in the doorway, relishing the rare, endearing scene for a moment. A tiny clink of the china in her hands drew their attention toward her.
"Don't mind me," she began, "I'm just here to make sure our patient doesn't get grouchy from near starvation and lack of prescribed narcotics."
Dembe rose and backed out of her way, motioning to her to take his spot. As she did, she helped Red sit up properly so he could take his medication and have breakfast. Dembe could only stand back and watch in awe as the man he knew as a hardened, closed-off and stunted soul open himself up to the help of the woman he had sacrificed so much for and had loved for so long. It was the beginning of an answer to prayer, a dream come true, long time wish fulfillment in the making.
He bid his friends goodbye, letting himself out and grinning like a fool the second he was out of their sight. Raymond was in very capable hands. Loving hands, even, if he dared think it.
As Liz washed the breakfast dishes, she began to wonder what she and Red were going to do with all the time they had together. He was stationary for the rest of the week and she had taken some accrued time off from work to be there with him. Things between them were shaky right up until the shooting and they still weren't on a firm footing. Even with his recent warmth and admission, she still wasn't sure that put them in the curled up in bed with classic movies and each other sort of place.
There was only one way to find out.
A/N: I do not own The Blacklist. I am also not a medical professional. The details in the story were bent to my will and not vice versa. I would love to hear your thoughts on this story!