Red's bathroom was wonderful—opulent and more well-appointed than any that Liz had seen outside of a hotel—but none of its luxuries made it any easier for her to trudge through the motions of her makeshift morning routine, more zombie than human thanks to the aftereffects of too much wine, too little sleep, and just the right amount of sex.
Red wasn't any better off than she was, but he did hide his hangover a little better than she did. She watched him pad groggily out of the bathroom completely nude, having abandoned his damp towel on the tile floor after drying off, and she couldn't help but take one last moment to admire the tiny pink marks her teeth had left on his bare ass before they finally faded away completely.
With her ablutions finished, she returned to the bedroom to find Red still shirtless in front of his wardrobe, hands on his hips, wearing a pair of dark woolen trousers with the fly still undone. He nodded towards two vests he had pulled out and hung side by side, one the same solid charcoal color as his trousers and the other just as dark but with a faint check pattern.
"Which one should I go with today, odd vest or matching?"
"Is this burgundy?" she said, rubbing the material between her fingers.
"Yes."
"I like it. It's subtle, but very… rich and deep."
"Odd vest it is, then." He tucked the charcoal vest back where it belonged on the clothes rail.
Red reached for his undershirt and pulled it over his head, tucked it in, and zipped and buttoned his fly. Then he slid his arms into his crisp, white dress shirt.
Liz tried and failed to fight off a yawn.
"Am I boring you?" Red teased as he adjusted his collar before putting on the burgundy vest.
"God, no," she said with a snort. "How on earth are we supposed to function today?"
"Oh, it's nothing a couple hours sleep, a shower, and a cup of coffee can't fix." He raised his eyebrows and his mouth quirked up into an easy grin. "Well… a pot of coffee, probably."
"The sleep and the shower will have to wait." Liz took a deep, cleansing breath and started rooting around for her discarded clothing, slipping it on piece by piece. Red watched her with his tie still hanging untied around his neck.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm nervous." She pulled her heavy boots onto her feet and wandered down to the entryway with Red trailing after her.
"Nervous in a good way or a bad way?"
"Mmm, both," she said. "Do you really think we can do this?"
"Lizzy, I think you and I could do anything at each other's side."
Liz smiled in spite of her nerves. She didn't know if that was his answer because they were still in the honeymoon phase and everything seemed possible, but she did know at that moment he must really believe it to be true, or else he wouldn't say it at all. The idea of that—that despite all he'd seen in his life he could believe they were unstoppable together? It warmed her through and through.
"You think it's a good plan?" she asked.
"I think it's an excellent plan—the sooner we put it into motion, the better." Red opened the closet and retrieved her coat, taking it from the hanger and holding it up for her. "We'll go in today and start laying the groundwork."
Liz took her knit cap and scarf from where she'd stashed them in her coat sleeve and allowed Red to help her into it. He fixed her lapels and brushed over the fabric on her shoulders with a lingering caress.
"If we're gonna do this, we'll need someone on the inside. Someone other than me who knows we're changing tactics. I can't keep pretending I have no say in all of this, not with everyone. It'll get harder and harder to hide the longer we do this."
"You need an ally," he said, thoughtful, with a furrow between his brows. "Harold would feel obligated to report back to his superiors at Main Justice."
"I couldn't put that kind of pressure on Aram," Liz said, donning her cap and winding her scarf around her neck.
"I'm sure Agent Navabi would be an invaluable resource—"
"Actually, I was thinking Ressler."
Red looked a bit taken aback. "Seriously?"
Liz nodded. "He can be… practical when he needs to be. Besides, he already knows about us," she said. "He's actually the one who encouraged me to call you last night after he caught me trying to drown my sorrows in my fourth plastic cup of wine."
Red studied her face, chewing absently on the inside of his cheek. "Maybe I underestimated Donald."
He straightened the folded brim of her cap and smoothed his hands down the sides of her face until he cradled her cheeks with his palms. His let out a sigh, his breath catching, before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers in a soft kiss.
Sweet and innocent and heartfelt, it was the kind of kiss Liz never would've attributed to a man like Red until she had experienced it first hand. His stories about his sexual and sensual exploits painted a very different picture of the man he was in a relationship than the reality. But perhaps some of the contrast was due to the depth of his feelings for her—this was the version of him that existed when he was in love.
Liz knew why she doubted him, had every valid reason to do it, but this? This was the version of Red she'd glimpsed when they were together before Braxton, the version her wounded heart tried to tell her didn't—couldn't—exist. But it did. And it was truer than the other versions.
She gave one of the hands holding her cheeks an affectionate squeeze. "See you in a little while."
