Sam Milhoan - The Funeral
Liz had already showered and dressed for the day ahead, but her mind was far away. She barely picked at her breakfast, took only a few nibbles of toast and jam, and avoided coffee like the plague. Her fragile emotions just couldn't take the added stimulation from the caffeine.
Now she stood in front of her dresser trying to give herself a whispered pep talk in the mirror. Sam's neighbors and friends and extended family were mostly strangers to her; with the exception of Aunt June and her husband and maybe a cousin or two, she had only met the people she would see today in passing, if at all. She dealt with strangers at work everyday, but this was different.
Red knocked lightly on the door, more to avoid startling her than to ask permission to come in; he came up beside her and rested his hand at the small of her back. "Dembe said the car will be here in fifteen minutes."
Liz nodded, meeting his eyes in the mirror. He had on one of Sam's old, worn ties with a crisp white shirt and a black three-piece suit. Turning towards him, she reached up to straighten the tie, not because it was crooked, but because she needed to do something with her hands.
Sliding her hand to cradle the back of his head, she buried her face in his neck and breathed until his scent filled her lungs, cologne and aftershave and Red. "I don't think I can do this," she murmured.
His hand had found its way up to the middle of her back and she focused on its warm and soothing motion. "Of course you can," he said.
She pulled back far enough to see his face again, but the concern in his eyes was too much to bear and her gaze skittered away quickly. "See, somewhere deep down I know that, and yet…" She trailed off, running her thumb along the pick stitch on the hem of his lapel.
"You're always so fascinated with my suits."
Liz shrugged. "The fabric is much nicer than mine."
"You have to let me buy you one. My tailor will spoil you, you'll never go back to off-the-rack again."
She opened her mouth to refuse, but couldn't bring herself to stop rubbing the fine fabric between her fingers.
"Just one in black," he said, sensing a crack in her resolve. "Maybe charcoal gray, navy… And you can't go wrong with linen for summer."
"That's a whole wardrobe."
"You got me. My ulterior motive. I long to lavish you with all the luxuries you so richly deserve."
"That's the nice way of saying you think I can't dress myself." He made a noncommittal noise in his throat and she snorted. "Thank you," she said, resting her palm on his chest. "For distracting me for a few minutes."
He pressed his lips to her temple and rested his cheek against her hair. "For the record, the offer really is on the table, should you choose to take me up on it."
"If I suddenly start wearing an entirely new wardrobe, especially one as high quality as yours, people will jump to conclusions."
"That you're using some of your inheritance to better yourself and you took my advice on tailors?"
"Ressler and Cooper won't think it's that innocent. And we'll never be able to wipe the knowing smirk off Meera's face."
"Ah, the life of an upstanding citizen is so complicated." He tucked an errant piece of hair behind her ear. "Why don't you and I run off together and forget all that?"
Shaking her head, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his. "I wish that wasn't so tempting."
"You know, you'd blend in a lot better if you didn't spend all your time lurking back here like the grim reaper waiting to take him away."
Red's head shot up with a start. He looked twitchy and strange, uncomfortable in his skin in a way Liz had never witnessed before. It was difficult to see him like that and not offer him some sort of physical comfort; touch played such a major role in the way they related to and interacted with each other that to withhold it put her at a loss.
"Been there, done that," he said with a grimace and sighed, running his hand over the hair on the back of his head. "I've been surrounded by death for over two decades. Wakes and funerals, not so much. There's something about the formality of it that… I don't know. It rubs me the wrong way. Like the only proper way to honor the dead is to stand in a receiving line and wait for people who haven't even thought of the person in years to offer condolences. To reduce a man as vital as Sam to a few rote words of sympathy… It seems like a disservice."
"This isn't my favorite thing in the world either, but we've got to get it over with." She held out her hand. Still, he hesitated. To hell with it, she thought, and took his hand anyway, guiding him with her over to the small crowd.
"Come on, like we talked about earlier," she said in a low voice out of the corner of her mouth. "The sooner we get through this, the sooner we can leave."
"Sure, just as long as we don't—"
"As I live and breathe! Is that who I think it is? Ray?"
"Oh, here we go," Liz said under her breath when she recognized the voice. Red's eyes widened in barely contained panic before he was able to gain control of his expression and paste his mask back into place. She now had the rare chance to see Red play a role she'd never seen him play before—himself. Or whatever his extrapolation was of who he would be if his life hadn't taken such a tragic turn.
"Aunt June." He leaned in to kiss her cheek.
"I am so sorry," June said, "I can't remember your last name."
"Don't worry about it; it changes often enough, there's no sense trying."
"Oh, that's right. What is it you do again? "
"Naval intelligence," he said; the lie came easy because it was once the truth.
"Lizzy, this rascal here was your father's favorite…" June trailed off when she noticed their clasped hands. "Oh. But you already know each other." Her smile faded to one of polite interest, subtly scrambling to figure out what to make of their relationship without asking outright.
"Oh, Ray? He's been my anchor through everything," Liz said, patting his shoulder with her free hand. "Whatever I've needed—a friend, a confidant, a shoulder to cry on—he's been there."
Red brought Liz's other hand up and pressed his lips to the back of it, holding her gaze with such blatant tenderness, she blushed and looked away. Aunt June's uncertain smile softened.
"Did you two meet through Sam or…?"
"A few months back, I was on loan to Lizzy's department because they thought I could offer some insight on a few difficult cases," Red explained. "There I found myself working alongside this brilliant young agent—fiercely intelligent, intuitive, driven… She captivated me from the moment I laid eyes on her. Imagine my surprise when I discovered she was the Lizzy Keen."
"So you're the mysterious work colleague who made Sam's hospice arrangements. I wondered about that." June exchanged an odd glance with Liz, in a sort of silent reprimand for not filling her in sooner. "You were still with your ex when you met, then, weren't you?"
Liz gritted her teeth. "Like I said, Ray's been there with me through everything. Tom wasn't so quick to try to take advantage of the situation with the full weight of Ray's allies bearing down on him. He's a useful man to know."
"I'm surprised to hear you're still using Keen. I would've thought after that terrible business you'd be back to Scott as soon as you could."
Liz forced a smile and started to answer, but Red interrupted, rubbing the backs of his fingers up and down her forearm in a plea for her to stay calm while he spoke.
"Well, Aunt June, I've been trying to convince her that her choice for a surname isn't quite so limited, but she's not ready to take that plunge again just yet. Perhaps someday."
"Oh?" June turned to Liz with her brows raised, a glint of excitement in her eyes cutting through the fog of grief and nosiness.
Liz shook her head, looking at Red with a warm but dismissive fondness, like they'd had this discussion a thousand times. "I filed the paperwork for the name change last week," she explained. "Please, don't let him convince you to expect a wedding invitation in the mail any time soon. I want to make sure I know a man inside and out before I head down that road again."
"I guess I'll just have to make myself an open book from now on, won't I?"
"Be careful, I might hold you to that."
An awkward silence fell over the three of them once they ran out of topics that could be quickly and civilly covered under the pretense of catching up.
"Well, I'm just gonna let you two go. I know you probably have a long day ahead of you. Ray…" June pulled him into a tight hug and said something into his ear that Liz didn't quite catch. Louder, she said, "I'm sorry we had to meet again under these circumstances."
She pulled Liz aside and hugged her, too, with the same bone-crushing force that belied her size that Liz remembered as a child. "You hang onto that man, Lizzy," she whispered. "He's one of the good ones." Liz smiled and nodded, because she was afraid if she opened her mouth she would start laughing hysterically. This entire day was absurd enough as it was without adding an outburst of inappropriate laughter to the mix.
Once June wandered off in search of her husband, Liz looked up at Red with an eyebrow raised.
"'Aunt June'?"
"There was enough of a gap, she insisted on it." He scowled. "Don't look at me like that, she's your aunt."
"You were Sam's favorite what?"
"That's a story for another time."
Liz and Red sat on the big back porch of the old safe house, sipping warm milk spiked with whiskey and vanilla, and trying to unwind after the long, emotionally draining day. Liz would likely never see the place again after that night, which was a mixed blessing as far as she was concerned. It was cozy and beautiful, but she doubted she'd ever be able to forget that Sam died there.
She bumped her shoulder into Red's to get his attention. "What did Aunt June say to you before we left?"
Red took a long sip from his drink and took his time swallowing. "She assured me that if I ever hurt you, I would regret it." Liz tried to imagine Aunt June of all people threatening one of the FBI's most wanted criminals and suppressed a giggle.
"You let her believe we've talked about marriage."
"I was trying to show her my intentions are honorable."
"What century is this again?"
"You lost your husband and your father in quick succession. She's bound to worry. Might as well put her mind at ease."
"Even if it's a lie."
Red twitched a smile. "You could think of it as a proposal if it makes you feel better."
His words hit Liz like a punch to the solar plexus. "Jesus, Red. You… We can't…"
"I know." He took her hand in his, much like he might if he were actually proposing. "My intentions are honorable, Lizzy. We don't have to be married for that to be true."
He sat back and held her hand as the sun began to sink below the trees; Liz was hyper aware of his thumb stroking slowly—up and down, up and down—along the length of her ring finger.
"Red?"
"Hmm?"
"Penny for your thoughts?"
"You won't like it."
"Try me."
"If you came back with a ring, do you think anyone would question it? The obvious explanation would be that it was an old family heirloom you inherited and you—"
"We're not engaged, Red. I'm not wearing your ring."
"I told you you wouldn't like it." He laced their fingers together. "I would marry you, you know. If that's what you wanted. Everything that's mine is yours anyway, I would make it official in a heartbeat."
Everything that was his? It was difficult to wrap her mind around it. He had… He was…
He would kill for her. He had. He'd probably die for her. Tears welled in her eyes, sudden and unexpected. God forbid he ever got it in his head to do that.
"How?"
"Excuse me?"
"How would you do it, if you could? How would you propose? Would you plan something big and flashy or would it just be the two of us? Would you go down on one knee?"
Red studied her face, silent and searching, for a long, charged moment. "Well, to start with, I'd spend ages looking for the right ring. At first, it would just be an idle fantasy; wherever I went, whenever I had a chance, I'd poke around. Just in case. But then one day I'd find it and it wouldn't be a fantasy anymore. I wouldn't be able to pass it up."
"Once I found it, I would keep it on me whenever I could, especially when we were together, just waiting for the perfect moment to come up. Days would go by. Weeks. Even months. No moment would ever feel good enough for something so important." He cleared his throat and continued. "That little velvet box would become a touchstone for me. It would give me something to live for in difficult times, something to look forward to even when everything else was going to hell. 'I have to make it through this; someday I'm going to propose.' But I wouldn't. I couldn't.
"Until finally a day would come and something would make the decision for me."
Liz swallowed around the lump in her throat. "Sam wouldn't be there to give me away this time."
Red shook his head. "He'll always be there."
"Do you really believe that?"
"I do. I have to."
Liz leaned so she could rest her head on his shoulder. "He can never experience another sunset. And I feel guilty because I can. How screwed up is that?"
"Survivor's guilt can be a bitch. The trick is not to let it paralyze you. What good is it to survive if you don't take the opportunity to live? Sam experienced his share of beauty and happiness while he was alive. Now it's your turn."
"I guess you're right." A beat. "Red? Can you do something for me?"
"Anything."
"You knew a side of Sam I never got a chance to know. Tell me about him. Tell me some stories."
