A/N Liz gets shot, Red dials *77. Warning for violence/gore, just on a level with episode 2x19 Leonard Caul. Disclaimed as ever, love reviews as ever.

9. *77

As he approached the storage unit, gun drawn, Red allowed himself a rare moment of self-doubt. He had planned for every contingency – his meticulous attention to detail was even more sharply tuned now that she was in his care, and unavoidably part of unsavory operations such as this one. But he wasn't omniscient, and she was so very unpredictable. They had grown closer and she seemed to trust him, so it was a genuine surprise to find that she had gone to meet their contact alone. With the benefit of hindsight he realized her need for control and independence had fueled this escapade. She needed to prove to him and to herself that she could survive in his world. But she wasn't ready. She needed him, and her stubbornness prevented her from acknowledging it.

He thought back to the phone call he had received not thirty minutes ago. Their contact was dead, killed two days ago. Whoever she had gone to meet, it wasn't him. This was a set-up, and had rapidly escalated into a bad situation when she decided to take matters into her own hands. As he rounded the corner of the unit he heard a loud bang echoing around the yard and his worst fears were realized. It was everything he could do not to cry out. She was lying motionless on the floor and a man he didn't know in a hoodie stood over her raising his gun again.

Red's aim was flawless; he took out the man with a head shot before he even knew that Red was there. After that he walked quickly into the unit, assessing the area for further threats and delivering a further shot to the unknown man's heart before kneeling at her side. Relief flooded him when he saw that she was conscious and he removed his jacket, folding it and pressing it to the wound on her abdomen. She cried out as he did so, her breathing painfully labored.

"You're alright" he said as calmly as he could. "I've got you." As he spoke he reached into his pocket and retrieved a phone, his thumb dialling the code that had been used all too recently. *77.

"Red-" She said his name but it came out as more of a splutter, her eyes opening and closing.

"I'm here sweetheart, I've got you." Before he could say anything else to comfort her, the phone rang and he followed the drill, giving their location. It was only at the end of the call that he deviated from the script.

"It's Elizabeth" he breathed. " Kate – it's Elizabeth."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "I understand" came the reply.

He ended the call and looked down at Liz, her eyes large and afraid and fixed on him.

"Red" it was practically a whisper. "Is this how it ends?"

He thought his heart would break. Her tiny voice uttering those words… it was unbearable. His head swam as he forced himself to smile gently down at her.

"No sweetheart, NO. You're going to be fine. You're going to be just fine." He watched her eyes begin to droop. "Lizzie? LIZZIE – keep your eyes open!" But he knew that she couldn't and he watched helplessly as she slipped unconscious. He prayed to a god who had long since forsaken him that she would be alright. That she hadn't seen the fear in his eyes.

The location he received from Mr Kaplan was fifteen minutes away by her calculations. Dembe did it in nine and a half. When they reached the warehouse, Red carried Liz inside, and was met by a waiting surgeon who was pulling on scrubs. Red's eyes flickered in recognition – Kate had done well. It was Professor John Lyle, head of general surgery at Hopkins, a good man who had done right by him in the past. He looked up as they entered.

"Put her here" he said briskly, indicating a table set up behind plastic sheeting. No time for pleasantries. Keeping his jacket pressed on the wound, Red moved quickly and laid her on the metal table. It looked horribly like a mortuary slab. Lyle snapped on his gloves and turned round.

"Ok, you can move your jacket."

Red did as he asked, and watched appalled as her bloodied shirt came into view. Working quickly, Lyle took a pair of surgical scissors and unceremoniously cut her shirt up the middle, revealing a pale blue bra. Her blood had soaked into the lace, turning the bottom half a horrible purple color that would haunt Red the rest of his days. He turned away as his stomach began to heave.

"Raymond!" Lyle's voice snapped him back to attention. "I didn't take you for the squeamish type. There's no time for that. The rest of the team is still three minutes out, you need to help me."

Red turned back and nodded wordlessly.

"Put on some gloves, unwrap the surgical pads from the tray and hand them to me" Lyle barked as he worked. Red did as he asked, closing his eyes and grimacing at the horrible squelching sound of the surgeon's fingers exploring the bullet wound.

"Ok good news my friend, it doesn't look like it hit anything vital. But don't breathe out yet – she's lost a lot of blood, we have to move quickly."

Red looked down at Liz's motionless form on the table. She was deathly pale and he wondered for a moment what she had felt when she had seen him, shot and unconscious on a table much like this one. Fear. Adrenaline. But it can't have been quite like this for her. She didn't love him. She couldn't fathom the depth of feeling that he had for her. She hadn't lived long enough to comprehend it. She hadn't lived.

His reverie was broken by voices and footsteps behind him. The warehouse was suddenly filled with people – two women and a man all wearing scrubs, and three more wearing paramedic uniforms, carrying medical supply kits.

"Cavalry's here" Lyle said. "You're off the hook Raymond. Wait outside."

Red looked back to the table, watching in a daze as she was surrounded by the medical team, placing an oxygen mask on her face, hooking her up to tubes and machines. "I can't leave her" he said, his voice rough.

"Out." Lyle's tone was stern. "I can't work with you breathing down my neck" he continued as he worked on her, not even looking up as he spoke. "I know who she is. We both know how this goes. I save her and I have your eternal gratitude. She dies and I can't expect to leave here alive. So I've got nothing to lose in saying this to you. Get out and let me work."

If he wasn't already in shock, Red would have been disturbed by the surgeon's words. It was painful having his own ruthless image reflected back at him at a moment when his deepest emotions were laid bare. As it was he fixed the surgeon with a dark stare and responded "we understand each other then" before nodding and stepping back behind the plastic sheeting.

From there he could only see shapes, green and blue outlines as the team did their work and the blips as the monitors sprang to life. Not long after he felt Dembe's hand on his shoulder, and knew he would not have to face his darkest fears alone.

Three hours and twenty-seven minutes later, Professor John Lyle stepped out of the warehouse into the light of day, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Fin.