Two Years Since
Chapter 10
"What, no pleasantries? Oh, come on."
Liz hadn't moved a muscle since Tom had entered the meeting room, nor had she spoken a word. Her eye contact with the tall man in grey prison uniform was just enough acknowledgement of his presence.
"Lizzie, I haven't seen you for two years. Throw me a bone, at least, will you? I'm your husband."
"Ex-husband."
Tom nodded his head and let out a low snicker, "I thought that would get a word out of you."
His eyes had now awakened with a sudden lively twinkle, and it only confirmed in Liz's mind that every word, every movement, and even every flutter of the eye was an arsenal offered onto the enemy lines, a weapon he can use to obliterate beyond the scope of her measurement.
"You requested to see me because you have information for me. What is that information?"
"Ah, there you go again, right to business. I thought it'd be nice to catch up first. How are you, Lizzie? How's life?" Tom leaned in towards Liz, as much as the handcuffs attached to the side of the chair would allow. He winced at the inadvertent noise made from the pulling of the metal. "These damn things. The day I get used to these things is the day I die."
Tom returned his gaze upon Liz, with a cloying smile that took position in a blink of an eye. "Sorry, where were we? Ah, right, catching up on life. How's it been, Lizzie?"
Liz had enough of this, and with great control exerted to her tone of voice, succinctly and methodically stated, "If you wanted me here to catch up on life, I have better things to do with my time. Good bye, Tom."
And just as Lizzie pushed back her chair, Tom leaned back with a faint swagger, "Lizzie, you and I both know you're not going anywhere."
And that's when Tom got to her. Liz froze in her tracks, regrettably allowing a thin squinting of the eye to escape to the veneer. It did not go unnoticed by the quickness of his eyes, and his grin was laced with acute satisfaction.
Tom leaned in to her once again and took on a jovial tone, "I get it, Lizzie. You are not required to answer my questions, I get it. So, I'll help you out of this rather unfortunate awkward situation. We were married for five years, for Christ's sakes, I think I have a pretty good idea what's on your mind right now. So I'll spare you the embarrassment of you relinquishing your control. I mean, you'd have to stoop pretty low to ask me a question, right?"
Still reeling from the regret for allowing Tom to see her touched nerve, Liz sat motionless but expectant. She was going to speak only when she wanted to, and not because she was coerced. And even that, it was as if Tom could read her mind.
"Let's get one thing straight, though. Whether it is apparent to you or not, I'm in control of this conversation. But you already knew that, and you're fighting it. That's why you're afraid, you can't let go. You're afraid of the truth, the truth being that I may be the only person in your life that holds the key to many of your locked boxes."
"You think you have me all figured out, but you have no idea what is the truth." Liz broke in, no longer wanting to accommodate for his maniacal soliloquy.
"The truth is I know everything about your life, Lizzie. I know what you've been doing for the last two years in Chicago, your return to the Bureau, heck, I even know who's been keeping you warm at night these days." Tom snickered, but with the eyes that of a ravenous scavenger, "Agent Ressler, I always knew he had a thing for my wife. I should've killed him when I had the chance."
Liz was certain that the booming thud of her heart was clearly audible to Tom, and it took every ounce of her strength and control to keep the wild frenzy of her emotions from tipping over to a disastrous mess. "Kill him?"
Tom knew he hit the nail just at the right spot, and took on a grave tone. "And don't you think for one second that I won't have him killed. He is just abiding his time."
"Why will you kill him? What does that accomplish?" Liz's voice had already begun to crack, she was breaking down fast. But she couldn't let go of the pursuit. Her life depended on it.
It was then that Tom took again the jovial tone of voice. "Well, it's just people economics. Either you are useful to me, or not. Agent Ressler is not useful to me, so he's expendable. But Lizzie, take comfort in knowing that it's not because I'm some jealous ex-husband. I actually don't give a damn who's in your bed."
Every faculty of Lizzie's heart wanted to throw out all pretenses, and simply beg Tom to spare Donald's life. Perhaps she can access Tom's heart, maybe trigger the memories of the loving relationship they've once had. Perhaps Tom will have mercy on her.
"Ah, but don't worry about good ol' Ressler. He's just a tiny fish swimming with the sharks. We've got a bigger fish to fry." Tom cut in abruptly, "Or maybe I used the wrong animal idiom. I should've said we have yet to address the elephant in the room."
"Raymond Reddington."
"Bingo. What's the handsome devil up to these days?" Tom smiled with sickly ease.
"The usual. Riding on his private jet, living a life of crime. And more crime." Liz decided to use another approach with Tom, perhaps if he felt more at ease he would be more willing to offer up information. And Tom seemed to enjoy this small quip as he laughed heartily.
"Of course, living a life of crime. Lizzie, I've always enjoyed your sly sense of humor. I've actually missed it." Tom continued with a broad smile, "Did he tell you? He used to be my handler, you know."
"He told me." She lied, on instinct.
"I was his go-to guy for jobs. Red would give me assignments, and I never once failed him. I did all of his dirty business." Tom seemed to be speaking from a place of fond memory, as twisted as that was.
"You were the hired hitman."
"I took care of a lot people for him. But you already knew that, that's why I'm in here, shackled up." Tom shook his arms to purposely create loud metal clashing sounds. "I have this to thank him for. But he's out there, jetting around in the life of luxury. He is good, real good. He leaves no trails, there's nothing on him."
"So what did happen to your cozy relationship?"
"Cozy? Oh, I like that. It was quite cozy, until I turned on him. I just got hired by people who paid me more money. People who had more power. People who made Reddington look like a mere guppy."
"And who are these people?" Liz ventured out boldly, sensing she was near the truth she was seeking.
"Ah, Lizzie. Tsk, tsk, tsk. That information is not privy to you, I'm afraid. You will know only what you need to know, but here's the thing, you have no idea what you're even asking, what you're even wanting to know. There's far more out there than what your little head can wrap around."
Liz couldn't understand the sense of ominous trembling that had now settled in her heart, and suddenly she struggled to breathe properly. "What is it that you wanted to tell me?"
Tom paused to inhale deeply, not breaking his deep gaze into Liz's own sharp eyes. "Lizzie, be aware that what I'm about to tell you…" For the first time, there was fear etched in his eyes.
"What is it?"
"Lizzie, you're the missing link. You…are the missing link to all of this."
"What do you mean?"
"Has Reddington ever told you who his employer was?" Tom leaned closer to Liz, in a sudden hushed tone that alarmed her.
"He has a boss?"
"You thought Red was the big fish on top, didn't you? No, he answers to his boss, has been for the last thirty years. But nobody has ever seen this boss of his, all of his business is dealt only through Reddington. That's probably why Red has escaped death all these years, because without him, no one can communicate with his boss."
"So, who is this boss?"
Tom leaned back onto his chair, as if enumerating whether he should reply to her inquiry. However, Liz knew that Tom just couldn't help it.
"Lizzie, Red's boss is your father."
"What?"
"He's your biological father."
. . . . . .
It was quite windy when Lizzie stepped off the official Bureau plane, which had just landed on the undisclosed location in DC. She clutched onto her black coat and gingerly made it down the steps that had been pulled to the door. It was late in the evening, and the only thing she could make out was the blinking of green and blue lights along the tarmac. Looking further ahead, at the end of the tarmac, she spotted the Bureau issue black sedan waiting for her arrival.
Lizzie detected Assistant Director Cooper first, standing a few feet in front of the car. "Agent Keen, it's good to have you back."
"Thank you, sir."
Then she saw Donald standing next to the car, by the driver's side door. His eyes were firmly planted on her, but Liz could hardly return the gaze, for a fearful reason that even a fleeting connection with him may very well break the wall of her emotions, and that she will no longer have control over her tears. Liz kept her eyes glued on the ground as Cooper escorted her to the back seat of the car, just as he took the front seat with Donald driving.
No greetings or pleasantries were offered by either men, and the three rode in silence until Donald pulled the car into the black site. Liz could sense Donald glancing at her through the rear view mirror several times, but she elected to ignore him, all the while being painfully and achingly aware that he'd be filled with worry. She knew that once she saw Donald's eyes, she was liable to reach out to him, to touch him, and right there tell him how much she'd missed him and that she loves him. But Liz needed to have all this kept in and controlled, until she was in the safety of her own walls.
"Agent Keen, please come to my office for debriefing. I gather it won't take long." Cooper spoke as they filed out of the car. "And Agent Ressler, you are excused for the day."
"I was hoping to be included in the debriefing, sir." Donald stated with a hint of irritation and impatience that Liz could detect.
"No need. This is not a bureau business. Good bye, Agent Ressler." Cooper strode off without a second glance at Donald, and Liz followed along into the waiting elevator. As she turned around in the elevator, the last image she saw was Donald standing next to the car, startlingly lacking the usual confident stance, but instead a slumped figure struggling with the weight of anxiety and apprehension.
. . . . . .
As Liz turned the key to her studio, she knew it was well after midnight. The fatigue and the emotional toll had caused every inch of her body to ache, and she longed for, more than anything, to be in the familiarity of her own space. But before she could turn the knob, the door opened and she knew who would be behind it.
"Liz." This was all he said before pulling her into a tight embrace, and her tears flowed in the safety of his arms.
When they made love that night, there was no sense of desperation or abandonment, but of slow and languid movement of bodies that were seeped in careful deliberation and touch. Donald held her delicately, as if she was breakable, and he lingered in his kisses, as if she would flee when he let go. He was slow to make love to her, wanting to savor every flicker of movement and the sensuality it had elicited. Liz gave over to his control, his rhythm, and held onto him, wanting to be closer to him, so close that her heart would meld into his. She held nothing back, wholly letting him carry her to wherever he wanted. With every movement, she held onto the nape of his neck, gently caressing his soft hair in her fingers, but already seeing the sadness seep in as it was all about to end.
. . . . . .
"You can tell me what happened, when you're ready."
Donald spoke softly into the air as they laid holding each other, their bare bodies entangled underneath the cool white sheet, glistening underneath the night light escaping through the window above them. Liz stroked his chest tenderly and rested her face against his shoulder, just as Donald wrapped his arm around her smooth back and gently held onto her waist underneath the blanket.
"Tom wasn't what I expected him to be." She started just as softly, "He doesn't want to pretend anymore. He's tired, almost. He was willing to give me more than I imagined."
"What did he say to you?"
"He knows about us."
"Figures." Donald's lips lingered on her forehead, "Does that change anything?"
She lifted her face up to Donald, and gave him a tender kiss. "No."
"Should we just pack up everything and run away together? How does Costa Rica sound? I could have my gun slung to a loin cloth."
"No, of course not." They shared a quiet laughter, but Donald suspected that admist the laughter, there was a palpable sense of sadness and strain. It troubled him that Liz was withholding something from him.
"Tom also said Red was his handler."
"I figured there was a connection between the two. Bastards."
"Tom was a hired hitman until he went to work for other people, with more money and power. He said Red is nothing compared to these guys."
"Interesting. Do we know who these people are?"
"Tom wouldn't tell me." Liz focused back to her conversation with Tom, and realized something peculiar. "It felt like he was trying to protect me. As crazy as this sounds, Tom chose not to tell me for my benefit."
"How about Red? Did Tom tell you anything about him?"
. . . . . .
The morning came fast. Liz woke to the beep of the alarm clock situated at her side, and as she slammed it off, she turned to Donald who hasn't stirred one bit. A sliver of sunlight was escaping through the window, and she could make out Donald's face, peacefully sleeping without a care in the world. She inched closer to him underneath the blanket, and immediately felt his warmth permeate through her body like sensual waves. Liz gently stroked his forearm, and kissed his shoulder, lingering over his scent.
When they made love last night, what she felt for him was more than love. It was feeling of loss, of recklessness, and of the damage she had caused him. Liz looked at the man who had vowed to protect her, at all cost. But she was wrong. Absolutely and foolishly wrong. It wasn't her who needed protection, it was him. She needed to protect him. She's been so selfish in wanting to be loved by this man, and accepted it without thought and regard to what kind of world she was pulling him into. And here he was, blindly loving the woman who had delivered him to his own death.
She could leave, even right at this very moment. She could pick herself off the bed, and walk out the door, into the silent morning and never look back. She could go on living, in the memory of the love they've shared. She could even endure the thought of the pain this will cause in his heart, because over time the pain will dissipate. As long as he is alive, she could go on living. She could endure all of this, if it meant that she would've saved his life.
. . . . . .
A sharp knock on the door startled the two who were hurriedly getting ready to head out the door. Liz looked at Donald, as he decided that it'd be him who would open the door. Donald let his tie dangle on his shirt collar as he swung open the door.
"Good morning, Donald. Call Cooper, you both will be late to the office." And with that, Reddington walked into the apartment in one swift step, and placed his fedora on a nearby chair just as swiftly.
Donald closed the door with a grimace, "Bit early this morning, aren't you, Red?"
Reddington wholly ignored that comment, and looked around the apartment, for what Donald wouldn't even bother to inquire. Liz walked out of the bathroom, and eyed Red immediately.
"Elizabeth, what did Tom tell you?" Reddington spoke gravely, while seating himself on the dining table chair.
Liz walked over to Red and stood in front of him, just as Donald positioned himself behind her. "He didn't sell you out, if that's what you're wondering. He said your trail is clean."
"Well, everything he has on me is hearsay, anyway. It could be refuted even by a child."
"He said you were his handler."
"That I was, yes." Reddington replied without a flinch of an eye, and even had the audacity to smile broadly.
"Who is your employer?" Liz wasted no time. She was in no mood to play any games.
Reddington's lips quivered ever so slightly, and he saw Donald catch that. Donald's own lips twisted into a smile and demanded, "Answer the question, Red."
"Well, I'm tempted to say that Tom is full of crap, but I get the feeling he has somehow convinced you to think otherwise. The problem is this: we are both criminals, both professional liars. So it begs the question, who do you choose to believe?"
"Red, I'm going to ask you one more time, who is your boss?" Liz remained unhindered by Red's taunting of the mind. She took one step forward to him, "If you can't answer that question, get the hell out of my life, and stay the hell out."
At that, Red inhaled deeply, and with a slight squint of the eyes, responded, "What is it that you want to hear? That I've been working under a boss, this unknown, unseen man for decades? That I'm the only liaison to this man? That the only reason why I've been kept alive for so long is that without me, there is absolutely no way of getting to this man? Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Both Liz and Donald stood their ground without a sound. Liz felt as though Tom's words came alive through Red's mouth. Those exact same words, repeated by a different beast.
"It is a grand plan, isn't it? My life is basically insured because of my boss." Reddington let out a forced chuckle, but his eyes remained resolutely clear against Liz and Donald.
"So, who is he? Where do we find him?" Donald demanded as he stepped forward and stood in front of Liz.
Reddington, however, did not seem ready or willing to give a reply. He folded his hands and slowly turned his gaze upon the bearer of the inquiry.
"Damn it, Red. Answer the question. Who is your boss?"
After a moment of stillnesss, Reddington offered without a blink.
"You're looking at him."
. . . . . . .
Author's Note: Man, I had a tough time with this one. First of all, I honestly did not expect this story to turn out to be about Red (damn him, he always makes it about himself...typical). It's funny I just re-read the first chapter, and I really thought this would be a nice short love story about Keensler. But over the course of time, it just happened naturally that their story cannot exist apart from Red because he is such an integral part of both of these characters. He is like the marrow to their bone.
So I really struggled with the identity of Red. I have no clue, just like all of you. I have my theories, and this story is just MY OPINION, and if I'm wrong (most likely), THIS STORY SHALL GO DOWN IN FLAMES. In fact, this idea came about during a week of the flu when I was under Nyquil-induced stupor.
So, hey, what are your theories about Red? Just curious…..oh, btw, Tom is not done with this story, so we'll see how he turns out :)