Ice forms on the edge of the small window as the sun slowly descends into the distant tree line. The temperature in the room drops further and she pulls her coat tightly around her middle.
She moves to look at the man beside her.
"Why did you tell me, Red?"
He turns his head to look at her, his eyes focusing on her through his tinted glasses.
"Why did you tell me about Sam?" Her words are strained and she struggles to get them out, the pain of Sam's loss still fresh despite the time that has elapsed. "I would have never known for sure if you hadn't told me."
He maintains steady eye contact and raises an eyebrow while continuing to stay silent.
"I mean, I asked, because of the timeline and everything, but at no time…," she falters a bit before continuing, "at no time did I really think you did it – killed Sam. Killed my father."
She worries her hands in her lap and looks down at the floor before returning her gaze to his unflinching one.
"Why? Why did you tell me?"
He runs the tip of his tongue over his dry lips before starting to speak.
"I've never lied to you Lizzie. Not before, not then, not now. You've lived through enough deception for a hundred lifetimes. I'm not going to add to that. You deserved to know. Ending it was what Sam wanted. I wished that you might never suspect, never ask, but I certainly wouldn't hide the truth from you."
"But it comprised me, us –" she flounders around a bit, searching for the words to explain herself, the clarity of her question suddenly important, "you were willing to lose me, let me go." Her voice remains steady, her words a statement not a question.
He looks at her steadily, seemingly unfazed by her line of inquiry. "I'll never lie to you." He repeats himself. As if that's answer enough.
"Even if that makes everything, all of this," she gestures wide, her gaze sweeping over the drab concrete walls of their containment area, "harder for you? You wouldn't be here if I hadn't tried to walk away. You wouldn't be…" her voice drops a little and she looks pointedly down at the stained bandages pulled tightly around his arm. "You wouldn't have been hurt." She finishes her thought.
"Who's to say what would or would not have happened Lizzie." With that his voice drops and he leans back against the wall, closing his eyes. "We don't decide our own fate, we can just hope for the outcome we desire."
"Red…" His obvious fatigue concerns her and she is suddenly aware of their surroundings. Aware of their predicament. Someone has them and there is no obvious way out. No Dembe or Mr. Kaplan. No FBI ops team waiting around the corner.
And the man who has always intervened to save her, always intervened on her behalf if she really lets herself think about it, sits slowly losing blood on the floor across from her. She suppresses a wave of panic and works to calm her increased heart rate.
She looks back up to the window. The sun fully set now behind the horizon and the flickering flourescent light fixture above her casting ominous shadows off of the metal bars. She reins her thoughts in and focuses inward – her training kicking in.
Time passes slowly or quickly, she's not really sure. The wall cold on her back as she stares at a spot high on the ceiling. A watermark it looks like. From what she wonders. She feels herself drifting into sleep and then pulling back to the present again.
"Lizzie – " she turns towards his voice. His shape barely visible now in the low light. She had thought he was sleeping. A respite from the grim reality that they are in.
"Lizzie – " he seems to be searching for her and she realizes that he can't see her in the darkness of the corner. She scoots towards the middle of the room without standing up. Staying below the exterior and interior windows seems safer somehow. Her subconscious working to keep them safe. Keep them alive.
"Red?" Her voice echoes softly against the concrete walls. "Red, I'm right here."
His eyes find hers in the dark and she sees his lips turn up in the ghost of a smile.
"There was a man once…" his words seem to get lost in the dark and he pauses for a minute. The only sound a hollow plinking of water dripping down in parts unknown and unseen to her.
"I met a man once. An Arab. Fine fellow, a fan of quality wine and quality women." His memories appear to come to the forefront and a wisp of happiness crosses his face.
"I had the pleasure of spending a few days with him many years back. An arms deal which I was brokering and he was…assisting. Anyway, that's beside the point." He pauses to look up at her and then continues.
"This man, this Arab, was just a local businessman back then. Sold commercial real estate. Small deals really. Anyway, he had a dream of building a luxury hotel in the desert. Dead set he was on this crazy idea. 'The desert?' Everyone would say. 'There is nothing there. Nothing but sand. Sand and heat and nothingness.' But this man, my friend, he did not become discouraged, just kept working on his plans. Sharing his ideas if anyone asked. He just kept plugging away despite the perceived reality. Despite the comments, the expectations, of others. He just kept going."
"What became of him?" She asks the question quietly. Fearing the answer.
"Oh Amir," Red gives a full chortle and looks directly up at her. "I had the pleasure of seeing him again just last year. He fed me the most succulent white pomfret I've ever eaten." He kisses his fingers dramatically.
She smiles as the memory clearly makes him happy. His arm has to be hurting. She starts to move closer to inspect the bandages.
Red's arresting voice pierces the space between them. "In Qatar Lizzie. He fed me the fish in Qatar. In his restaurant. In his hotel. In the city he built. Out of nothing. Out of the sand. In the building, in the city that everyone dismissed. The odds were too high. A city out of sand. But he kept on going. He bet on the long play, however distant the odds might be. He worked for the off chance that it would happen. And he let that off chance be his world."
She stops moving and looks at Red. Watches him move his good hand over his bad arm and wince infinitesimally. His eyes never leave hers. The importance of his story clearly evident, but she just can't get there.
"Red –"
"I'm betting on the long play Lizzie. The impossible odds." He stops and his gaze travels around the closed room. "I told you about Sam because of the long game. Because of the chance, however small it might be, that we might make it out of this – through this – intact. And I needed you, wanted you, to know the truth."
His eyes bore into hers and suddenly it clicks.
He told her for the hope of – her heart stutters momentarily in her chest – for the hope of her. Beyond Berlin. Beyond the Blacklist. Beyond the FBI and his criminal empire. For the hope of her.
"Red." Her voice contains the emotion that she feels building inside of her. "Red?" She looks back at him and sees that he is asleep. His chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
Exhaling she moves closer to him and places her hand on his arm to inspect the damage. Her eyes focused on the bandage and the torn fabric of his jacket.
Above her a slight smile crosses his face. She's still here.
Xxx
TBC...