Sorry for taking a long time to update, I've been busy. So much has happened on the show in the latest seasons, so sorry if it's way out of character or sequence. I hope you are still enjoying the story nevertheless. :)

Chapter 12

Red pours himself a few fingers full of scotch, then places the glass down on the table near the armchair, hitching up his trouser legs before sitting with a heavy sigh, just as he hears Dembe enter the room. He doesn't even need to check to know that Lizzie has not returned with him.

"Is she gone?" he finds himself asking, his voice heavy.

"Yes, Raymond. She is gone."

He doesn't know why it surprises him, when he knew it was coming. The muscle beneath his eyelid twitches as he reaches for the glass, taking a small sip in response, the liquor burning in his throat and warming his stomach. "And she took the coat, I assume?"

"Yes. It took some convincing, but yes, she eventually took the coat, Raymond."

Red doesn't need to turn in the armchair to know that Dembe is simply standing there by the door, watching him. He can feel his dark eyes on the back of his head, the silence between them feeling resentful and accusing.

He senses it coming before the soft, reproachful words even leave his longest, most trusted friends mouth, "You should have told her to stay, Raymond."

"Perhaps I should have," he agrees contemplatively, then he raises his glass, pursing his lips over the rim.

"You should have fought harder for her to stay."

"Yes," is all he simply says, a resigned exhale, before swallowing another mouthful of the scotch down. Yes, he should have fought harder for her to stay. He should have told her not to leave. Being the better man, Dembe knows best. Then again, he should have done a lot of things.

BLBL

When it becomes clear she isn't dying, that she's made it through her latest ordeal, Liz rolls onto her back on the grass gingerly, peering up at the dark sky and the shining stars, her breaths coming out foggy from the frigidity of the air around her. Her bones- all over- seem to be aching dull, but it isn't simply due to the chill in the air that's leeched whatever warmth she had left out of her body. It's the kicks and punches she's endured, the cruel punch to her face from the men that has her aching in combination to the cold night.

She keeps the clutch close to her stomach, tightening and loosening her slender wet fingers around it repetitively as she stares blankly ahead at the sky above her; a sky that seems to stretch on for endless miles and miles. She hadn't realized how beautiful the night time sky could look, until then.

Inhaling in deeply through her mouth, she hears the raspy noise that comes from her own lungs, a sharp stabbing of pain shooting from her abdominal region. She winces, shutting her eyes deeply. Then she feels tears - or blood, being unsure which- rolling down her face.

She needs to move, to get somewhere safer and warmer for the time being. Only she doesn't even know if she'll be able to even make it, let alone stand.

After a while, she braces herself, sitting up. Then inhaling deeply, she manages to get to her knees. The sheer effort it takes to stand upright without falling, it exhausts her, but she manages with shaky legs. Fixing the detachable hood around her head from the overly large but warm coat that Red gave her, she starts walking slowly, past the bench and across the damp grass in the park, trying to ignore every ache of pain that radiates through her body.

Liz can't even remember the last time she'd been in such excruciating pain, yet there's a bitter, burning sensation in the pit of her stomach too, a sensation of anger at what the men did to her, how they stole her bag with all the clothes Red was generous enough to get for her. Where is she supposed to go from here? Where can she go to hide away and keep safe from the rain while recovering from the beating taken out on her body?

To the public restrooms, she decides. It's the safest place to return. That way, she can lock herself in one of the stalls, where it will no doubt be somewhat warmer, as well as safer. With adequate lighting, she can investigate her injuries then.

It seems to take her hours to finally reach the public toilets that are open all night. She stops by the lit path that leads to the women's restrooms, leaning against the wall before mustering up what little strength and energy she has left to enter. She finds she's limping as she reaches one of the sinks, her joints stiff. Bracing herself mentally, she lifts her gaze, meeting her eye's reflection in the scratched mirror above one of the sinks. Her hair, neater and freshly cut hours earlier thanks to Red booking her in for her pampering session, is unkempt with straggly strands sticking every which way.

There's dried crusting blood on the corner of her mouth from one of the men punching her in the face, as well as blood beneath her nose from her nostrils. Dropping her eyes, she lifts the bottom of the coat up over her stomach, checking out her other injuries where fists were laid into her. Her skin looks reddened in certain places, and she knows she'll have bruises come tomorrow morning. But all in all, she decides it could be worse, the outcome.

Meeting her gaze in the mirror again, she tentatively drags her tongue to the corner of her mouth, hissing in pain as it stings. Then, with trembling fingers, she yanks the clutch open, leaning it against the sink while counting out the money she's still got so far. A hundred and fifty dollars; It'll last her a few good days, at the very least.

BLBL

When Liz wakes the next morning, it's to the sound of the toilet flushing next to her in the stall.

She stirs, blinking heavily, lifting the side of her face away from where she's had it resting against the cubical wall. While forcing herself to slowly stand up from her sleeping fetal position on the cold concrete floor in the stall, she touches her fingers to the corner of her mouth and beneath her nostrils gently, tentatively. She gets a tolerable stinging sensation in response. Pulling back her fingers, she inspects them, noticing the dried crusts of peeling blood soiling her manicured fingernails.

She still feels like hell- just as she knew she would last night after what happened- as she flicks the lock on the toilet cubicle door, stepping out of her safe sleeping place. There's a tenderness in most of her muscles, around her thighs and her arms and stomach especially, from where the man had socked her with his fist.

Turning the cool water in the sink to run at full blast, she cups both hands beneath it, collecting water, attempting to scrub her face and wipe off the old blood. Her stomach vibrates and rumbles with hunger, warning her that it's time to start thinking of getting some breakfast, as she lets the fresh freezing water soothe her skin and make her feel more alert. Checking her reflection in the mirror and satisfied with the end result, aside from the small amount of swelling that seems to have occurred around her lip, she wrenches some paper towel free, mopping up her sopping wet face. Then she goes off on search for breakfast with the clutch tightly held to her side in a vice-like grip.

The streets are crowded, even in the morning. Liz purposefully tries to avoid making eye-contact with another as she walks down the street, hoping to find somewhere nice to eat. She stops by a small cafe, checking through the window to make sure it's reasonably empty, before she pushes her way inside, the little bell on the doorjamb jingling her entrance.

She goes straight to the counter, eyeing off the various pastries and muffins they have in a glass window, her left hand unconsciously touching and covering the corner of her mouth, hoping to conceal the gruesome split skin and inflamed skin.

"Hi, there. What can I get you this morning?" A woman asks behind the counter kindly, and Liz tries to ignore the shame she feels as she forces herself to meet the woman's gaze.

"Yeah, hi. Um, can I get a coffee?" Then she points to a random selection of pastries through the window, unsure what even half of them are called. "And some of those, please... whatever they are."

With her breakfast order made and fully paid for for once, Liz opts to sit in a booth furthest from the door near the window so she can look out, spying on strangers as they do their various day-to-day morning routine. She slips between the gap in the table, then sinks slowly into the seat, grimacing at how tight and painful her abdomen feels.

She finds herself fidgeting anxiously while waiting for her coffee and breakfast. She taps her fingers on the table, then swivels the detachable hood around her neck, making it more comfortable. Once her steaming mug of coffee arrives, as well as a plate of the pastries she's ordered, Liz feels ravenous.

"Thank you so much," she murmurs appreciatively to the waitress, who sends a seemingly pitiful smile her way.

Trying to pace herself, she wraps her fingers around the mug, letting the warmth permeate through to her fingers. Then she leans down, inhaling in the steam and the delicious aroma of the coffee appreciatively. She's so distracted and engrossed in the gorgeous smell, that she doesn't even notice the door jingling open with a new customer.

Lifting up a pastry with her fingers, she takes a large bite, forgoing the cutlery on the table beside her. She almost laughs indulgently to herself at imagining how Red would be if he saw her now, using her fingers. His comment about how quickly germs accumulate within an hour, how pedantic he seemed. She's reminded painfully of getting clipped in the jaw by an elbow when she chews. A sharp pain radiates through her jaw and she uses her other hand to massage around it gently, wincing as she swallows.

Eating and filling her tummy is such a pleasurable experience. She finds she gets lost in it, how comforting it is, despite the pain and stiffness around her jaw.

Dropping the pastry at the discovery that it has some sort of creamy filling in it which sticks to her fingers, she puts them to her mouth, sucking off the remnants greedily. Then she catches it out of the corner of her eye, and it's as if her body immediately freezes and tenses.

Someone lays a hat on the table across from where she sits, the hat reminiscent of a 50's style fedora, brown suede. And not just any hat that's familiar to her...

"No need to tell you to try the creme filled danish, I see," a voice says above her, familiar in its baritone softness. "Oh, Lord. The last time I tried one of those, I felt like I had died an early death and had gone straight to heaven in the short space of sixty seconds." Liz feels a spasm of panic dart through her as he sits, helping himself to the empty seat across from her without her permission. "The creme..." He shakes his head once, squinting at her in seeming wonder through the orange rims of his sunglasses, "Such decadence."

Her mandible seems to stop having the ability to move as she meets his gaze, a tight-lipped affable smile on his face. She can't seem to remember how to swallow at the shock of his sudden, unexpected appearance. She doesn't know how he seemed to find her here, of all places, enjoying a modest morning breakfast at a random cafe, but somehow, Red had managed it.

How could he have possibly found her here? How did he know where she was?

"How on earth did you-" she begins to ask in a low, frustrated and rough voice, only she's interrupted when the waitress appears with a coffee pot in her hand.

"Good morning, sir. Is there anything I can get you?"

"Ah, yes." Liz watches, still frozen in disbelief and unable to eat, as Red directs his attention to the waitress with a smile. She notices his tone goes different somehow. "A coffee would be wonderful, thank you." As the waitress goes to return behind the counter, suddenly he continues eagerly, "Oh, and do tell me, dear. Would you happen to have any of those delicious apple strudels left?"

"You're in luck," the waitress says. "We do happen to have some, freshly baked just this morning."

"Fantastic!" He throws his hands up into the air, reminding Liz disturbingly of a child excited at the mere mention of candy. "I'll also have two of those, thank you." As the waitress leaves happily to get started on his order, Liz notices Red turns back to her with another smile, leaning towards her over the table as though they're sharing a secret. "You'll have to try one of the apple strudels while you're here, Lizzie. I've been all around the globe. Italy, France, Hungary and never..." He pauses, shaking his head vehemently while biting the inside of his cheek, "Never have the apple strudels there tasted as good as these."

"Why are you here?" she gets out harshly, uncaring how impolite it sounds. "How...how did you even know I was in here?"

He stares at her through the colored lenses of his glasses, inspecting her face slowly with his eyes, his upturned smile still there in place, but he doesn't say anything. It's irritating.

"How did you know where to find me?" she demands, trying to make her voice stronger. Her eyes flit to the waitress that is approaching them, then she purposefully lowers her voice, "How did you know I was even in here?"

She sits back in the seat, waiting silently as the waitress appears with his order of the two strudels. Then she hags around, filling his coffee cup. She stares him down as he tilts his head, mouthing his thanks to the waitress before she leaves. He still hasn't bothered answering her questions.

Finally, he says with a tone of distaste while reaching for his coffee, "You look like hell."

"Gee, thanks," she murmurs wryly. "I actually feel it, too." She feels outrageously invaded and small when Red pushes one of the strudels onto her plate without so much as asking her. Why does he seem to enjoy making her feel powerless so much? "You know, I couldn't care less about trying one of these strudels, okay?" she bites out, frustrated. "Are you gonna answer my question? How did you know I was in here? What part of leaving me the hell alone can you not understand?"

She isn't even so sure that he's listening, that her words are even sinking into his brain. She stares at him as he picks up his strudel, biting into it with a loud, gruff appreciative moan. The pastry gives off a crisp crunch as his teeth sink into it.

"You must try it, Lizzie," Red enthuses strongly through his mouthful. "It's to die for."

She glances down at her now-crowded plate, at the large strudel and other creme filled pastry things, but her appetite has seemed to vanish. Something about him has made her feel no longer hungry.

She decides on a different tactic, since her one now clearly isn't working. "Someone stole all of my shit last night," she explains, her voice wavering as she stares down at her coffee. "The thousand dollars worth of clothes you brought me- all of it. They probably pawned it all off or done... something with it." She shrugs, rubbing along her sore jaw tentatively. "I don't know what."

She glances up briefly to make sure he's following. To her relief, he seems to be. He pauses mid-chew, his gaze somewhat sympathetic, his forehead creased.

"You said I looked like hell? Well, that's why. Some guys stole my shit- all the clothes you brought me- then I tried to fight them off, tried to stop them taking my stuff. So they did this." She waves to her face with her fingers meaningfully. "They clipped me in the jaw, punched me. Took my shit. So yeah, I apologize if I'm looking like hell to you right now." At the last comment, her tone goes tart and sardonic.

She notices beneath his eyelid twitch as he stares at her at her words. It's impossible to judge whether he seems sympathetic and sorry for her, or vengefully angry.

"Did you see them?" he asks, his voice a throaty croak.

"See them?"

"Those people that did that you, Lizzie. Could you see them?" Why would he care so much about whether she could see the men or not? It doesn't make sense. "Were you able to... discern what they looked like?"

"It was pitch-black dark out there," she admits. "I couldn't see anything. All I know, is that they were two guys and they wanted all of my shit." She glances down at her hands as she wraps them around her warm mug of coffee, her stomach in anxious knots. "They wanted my clutch with all the money you gave me, too, but... I got lucky. I held them off taking it, and eventually, I guess they gave up and ran off."

"And are you badly hurt? Do you require any... medical assistance of any kind?" His soft tone, it makes her stomach twist, how concerned he truly sounds, how worried. He cares about the state of her health, she realizes with alarming clarity. Somehow, for some reason, someone actually truly cares for her welfare. Why? How can he possibly care about her? What had she done to deserve someone to actually truly care?

Liz finds she can't meet his gaze. Instead, she keeps her eyes low on her fingers around her warm cup of coffee, her eyebrows arching instinctively in surprise. She can't remember the last time someone actually truly seemed as if they cared for her. Now that someone, like Red, has been going out of his way to actively show that he cares- by allowing her to stay in his hotel room, giving her money daily, clothes- she still doesn't quite know how to respond or react to it. On one hand, it feels so unfamiliar and uncomfortable that she feels like she wants to seriously push him away, to make him stop caring about her for good. Yet, on another contrasting side completely, she wants to bask in the moment and enjoy it.

She finds she has to clear her throat awkwardly, before saying, "I... think I'm fine. There's just a few aches and pains here and there, but I'll survive obviously. It was nothing." She shrugs, eyes still low on her cup as she traces around it with her forefinger.

"Not to worry. We'll have to get you some new clothes to replace the earlier ones that were taken." Liz feels her heart skip a beat when he glides a hand across the table. A thick lump seems to grow painfully in the back of her throat as Red finds one of her hands. He squeezes down gently, reassuringly, with his fingertips. "They're merely clothes, Lizzie, easily replaceable," he adds, and when she finally musters the courage to look up at him, she feels taken aback by how emotional he seems, how ravaged. His lips part as he gives the back of her hand a gentle pat with his fingertips. "Clothes are nothing compared to the... sheer devastation it would feel to lose you."

It's unnerving, and Liz moves her hand away out of reach, gripping onto her cup again.

"I believe it's clear that you have nowhere else to go, and, certainly after last night's near fatal call, it would be silly for you to remain out on the streets without any protection or guidance," Red continues, his voice thoughtful. "As much as you may not... like me due to what happened before, I implore you to come stay with me, Lizzie. To resume our arrangement as earlier."

As much as she loathes to admit it, perhaps Red's right? After what happened last night and with how she's suffering for it now with a painful jaw and abdomen, it would only be risky and foolish to stay back out on the street when, here he is, offering her a chance of a lifetime to live somewhere safe, somewhere with shelter and warmth. And food. And clothing.

"So you want me to start staying with you in your extravagant hotel rooms again for fifty dollars a day?" She glances up at him questioningly, uneasily remembering how he had murdered that man that she had took the wallet from with such hardhearted easiness. Could she truly live with someone like that, regardless if he never directed his cruelty and capability of violence onto her?

He answers without hesitation. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"You realize I'm just using you, right?" An old defense mechanism returns to the surface, the habit she has where she gets satisfaction in hurting people, in pushing them away. Terrible as it seems, she can't help wanting to see how far she can push him. "I'm just using you for the cash that you'll give me every day. You know that, right?"

She watches Red with building malicious satisfaction as he averts her eyes, lifting up his cup off coffee to take in several sips, his jaw muscles twitching as he swallows.

"I wouldn't be doing this out of some notion of liking you or caring about you. You mean nothing to me. Understand?"

Red places his cup back down on the table, meeting her gaze, holding it impassively. She can't deny she's impressed. He's poker-faced, as though her words aren't cutting through him and wounding him at all.

"It's just about the money to me," she continues, testing him. "That's all it'll ever be so if you think I'll ever start to eventually warm up to you or even care about you, then you've got it wrong and may as well give up right now. Am I being clear?"

He gives her a faint upturn of his lips with a brisk nod, as he says wryly, "Clear as crystal. Now eat your strudel." He picks up his own half-eaten apple strudel with his fingers. "Then, once we're done, there's a little place downtown I wish to show you."

There's a place downtown that he wishes to show her?

Liz hesitates to begin eating again, watching him suspiciously, trying to figure out what he means. But as Red starts eating again, munching down on his strudel like a famished dog hungrily, she realizes she isn't going to get her answer right now.

Once they've finished eating their breakfast and she manages to clean half of her plate, Red rises from the table, collecting his hat. He puts it on his head, smiling graciously at the waitress, thanking her politely. Then, offering Liz his outstretched elbow, she stands as well, deciding she may as well take it and let him lead her out.

Out on the street, she finds the man, Dembe, waiting by the car. His gaze is almost anxious as he stares at her.

"Come," Red urges, dragging her along towards the car. "Dembe will drive us to the location. It's just a mere fifteen minute drive." She's still uncertain whether to go with them, but she decides what's the point in not trusting him? She supposes he's been trustworthy thus far. He certainly hasn't tried to hurt her.

"What is it that you want to show me exactly?" she can't help asking nervously as Red opens the car door for her to climb into the backseat.

"You'll see in due time, Lizzie. You'll just have to learn to trust me and wait until you see." Somehow, trusting someone has always been the most difficult thing for her to do.