Just Thought You Should Know

Chapter 10: Stranger

Disclaimer: Not mine, I don't make money from this, I just love them.

Author's Note: Final chapter! :D Day 10 of the Lizzington FB group's 10 days of One Sentence Stories. For this last one, I decided to go out with a bang, so I wrote a crazy sentence with no plan in place, just to see if I could connect the dots. If it doesn't work… experimentation is the spice of life. I regret nothing. ;)

…:::…

Liz jumped slightly as Reddington closed the door firmly and shifted his weight, leaning to the side and tilting his head, effectively lowering his face in the direction of Liz's immediately downturned gaze. He shook his head to reprimand her. "Lizzie, you have a terrible poker face. You said 'twice'." Liz raised her eyes, attempting—and failing—to keep a neutral expression. Reddington raised his eyebrows as he searched her face. "Yeah. I'm going to need a few more details regarding that, I think," he said, and tossed his hat back onto the TV. He crossed back to the bed and sat down on the corner of it, directly in front of Liz, and leaned his elbows forward on his knees, pinning her with an expression of patient expectation.

Liz sighed and shifted in the chair, knowing that a lie would get her nowhere, but still confused enough about where she stood with Reddington that the idea of him expressing any kind of gratitude or appreciation made her uncomfortable. After a long pause, she offered, "I couldn't find a pulse. After the explosion. At the Factory." Reddington didn't move or speak, indicating he was waiting for more. Liz rolled her eyes. "There was… debris… my ears were ringing, you were on the ground… I felt for your pulse; there wasn't one. I… performed CPR until I heard shouts coming from down the corridor." Liz gave a small grimace of embarrassment mixed with regret. "I left you. I covered you back up before I ran at the men coming down the hall and put up enough of a fight that it took two of them to drag me away." Liz nodded uncomfortably. "I thought you were dead," she added stiffly. "When you walked into the room with Braxton later, I didn't—" Liz broke off, and shrugged. "So you've actually died twice," she finished matter-of-factly.

Reddington cleared his throat. "You put it so eloquently once before," he said quietly. "When someone does something nice for you, you say 'thank you'?" he quoted.

"You would have done the same," Liz said, eyeing Reddington cautiously, fully expecting another reprimand for saving his life.

"Yes, but we've already established the lengths I'm willing to go to to keep you safe. The lengths you will go to to ensure my safety have, up until recently, been untested and somewhat up for debate. But now I do believe I'm starting to see a pattern emerge."

"You know the expression, 'once is chance, twice is coincidence? A third time is a pattern'." Liz corrected, idly pushing at the fabric of her jacket on the table next to her.

"I'm trying to have a conversation with you," Reddington reprimanded her, the edge of anger he'd been trying to keep out of his voice starting to creep in. "I've always found it strange how people choose to decorate their feelings and insecurities in excuses and resentment, and stranger still that they tend to enjoy remaining at war with themselves about it on a daily basis. You've endangered yourself to save my life—repeatedly—you've insisted that you care about me, and you've admonished me for not showing the appropriate level of gratitude for your actions in the past." He shook his head, his eyes hardening slightly. "But today… you're discarding my thanks and telling me that both times you've come to my rescue amount to nothing greater than a coincidence." Reddington stood. "Frankly, it feels a little like a slap in the face, which I'm no stranger to, but when they're metaphorical, I must admit, they're not half as much fun."

"Would you prefer a real one? That can be arranged," Liz said, defensiveness welling up in her throat. "You're such a hypocrite," she spat at him, standing to face him. "Do you know anyone in the world who is better at holding a grudge than you? It's been a day since you told me about your involvement with Tom. A day. It's honestly a little tough to even look at you right now without that knowledge coloring the view. Every hour I remember something else you said—or he said; something else clicks into place and I'm angry all over again, and I'm so goddamn sick of feeling betrayed, and you!" She waved a dismissive hand at him. "You spent the morning joking about rules, Ressler, and bacon," she said acerbically.

"That's all I can do right now, Lizzie… in front of other people," Reddington said, spreading his arms in a gesture of defeat, the words seemingly torn from him. "Last night I confessed something I'm ashamed of to the woman…" He trailed off and started again, frustrated. "I told you about Tom, I tried to tell you more, about… You told me not to say another word, and I still tried to explain how I…" Reddington shook his head, wincing, before starting over with more power and confidence in his tone. "You not only refused to move into the apartment, you're getting rid of it. You explained that you plan to keep quiet about my past with Tom Keen simply because you want to ensure my continued worth as a source of information at work. This morning you goaded me with references to conversations in bars last night, but you refuse to have dinner with me, and just now you made sure to explain that you don't respect or trust the idea that a human heart can love with any true consistency. That kind of global rejection on all possible levels is difficult to take, no matter how brave a face one puts on." Reddington let out a harsh breath. "I know you've had a rough twenty-four hours, but mine haven't exactly been peachy, either."

"You can't expect me to just immediately forgive you and roll right back into the level of trust we'd barely managed to establish before last night," Liz said softly. "I actually think, all things considered, I'm doing fairly well so far. I could have refused to speak to you this morning at the office. I could have kicked you out as soon as I got home tonight."

Reddington sighed. "I don't suppose you have any kind of a timeline or estimate on how long you're going to want to punish me for this?" he asked in a similarly quiet tone.

"When I develop a schedule you'll be the first to know," Liz said, somewhat miserably.

Reddington nodded. "I should go."

Liz moved toward the door, and pulled it open for him. She leaned her shoulder into it, the door handle digging into one hip. She didn't look at him.

He walked toward her, stopping inches from where she stood, but she still didn't react. "I need you to be safe, and happy. And the longer this goes on, the more desperately I find I need it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be damned if I've done all of this… come this far… just for you to end up getting hurt in some misguided attempt to save me from something that I probably thoroughly deserve. You asked me if I'm able to accept help? Yes, I am. Just not from you; not at the expense of your safety. If something happened to you, then all the heinous things I've done to ensure your well-being would be for naught. I may be a monster, but I cling to the fact that keeping you safe is not a monstrous goal. If something happened to you… Don't endanger the only thing that redeems my actions. I'm begging you."

They both stood, frozen in place, Liz's eyes locked on the floor, Red's eyes locked on her face. After an agonizingly long silence, Reddington tipped his head down, palmed his hat back onto his head, and eased past Liz through the door.

Just as he cleared the threshold, Liz's hand shot out and grabbed at his, her fingers desperately twining between his and giving a single long, hard squeeze. After several seconds, her thumb ran slowly over one of his knuckles before her fingers haltingly withdrew from his.

Reddington looked up at her, momentarily off-balance. He found her gaze still trained on his hand, hanging at his side now that she had released it. He watched her, her breathing quick, her body still partially hidden behind the door. Without raising her eyes, she began to swing the door closed. Just before he lost sight of her face, she paused and offered, "…just so you know."

Reddington took a quick, short step toward the door as it clicked closed, his eyes roving over it as his mind lurched forward in an off-kilter attempt at understanding. As if he could reach through it, he placed his palm lightly on the ugly painted door and considered knocking, asking for readmission. In the end, he satisfied himself with lightly tapping his index finger on the wood, giving a half smile, and murmuring softly, "Take your time, Lizzie," as he walked away.

Inside the hotel room, Liz waited, her back pressed against the door. As she heard Reddington walk away, she let out the breath she'd been holding, and slid down to sit on the floor.

…:::…

Original prompt, day 10: "Stranger."

My original sentence: "I've always found it strange how people choose to decorate their feelings and insecurities in excuses and resentment, and stranger still that they tend to *enjoy* remaining at war with themselves about it on a daily basis," Reddington said as he advanced on Liz, his admonishment making her face burn, but she held her ground, defensiveness blazing in her; while his assessment hit painfully close to home, his hypocrisy infuriated her, and before she had time to examine her instinct, his head had snapped to the side, driven by the force of her open palm.

Thank you to everyone who has commented and favorited and followed this story! I've had so much fun writing it over the last ten days, and while I'm super surprised I was able to keep up with it, I'm SO glad I did. :) I know, I deviated from my original sentence quite abominably this time, but I tried, and tried, and could NOT get them believably to a point where that would happen, and then get them back out again. Sorry this got all angsty again by the end, and I know it's a little cliff-hangery, but I couldn't wrap it up any better given the time constraints I put on this little exercise. Maybe one day I'll do a sequel, but not soon. I need to get Gestalt back on the rails. ;)