AN: More "Secretaryfied" than the previous two chapters. ***FEELS overload warning*** I really can't elaborate further without spoiling it. There will be at least one more chapter, and the next one is gonna get a rating bump up for smut. (Apparently I just can't help myself) Thank you again for reading and reviewing! *hugs* let me know what you think.
Once again, FEELS WARNING.
-...-...-...-
who's gonna give a shit
who's gonna take the call
when you find out that the road ahead
is painted on a wall
and you're turned up to top volume
but you're just sitting there in pause
with your feral little secret
scratching at you with its claws
and you're trying hard to figure out
just exactly how you feel
before you end up parked and sobbing
forehead on the steering wheel
[So What? - Ani DiFranco]
-...-...-
Throughout the passing of another week, Liz dug deeper and deeper into their current case. With the global scattering of Oroblanco's members, the taskforce thankfully suffered no shortage of work.
Liz, however, suffered greatly from a shortage of Red.
After a grueling sixteen-hour day, she clambered out of her car and saw the silhouette of a man slipping away into the shadows of the motel parking lot. If asked for a description, she couldn't have given one. All she saw was the shape of a man, but something about the way he moved, his gait... she could have sworn that it was Tom.
Liz grabbed her gun and sprinted in the direction that the silhouette had moved, but found no one. It wasn't until she gave up and turned around that she realized how much ground she'd covered. The weight of defeat rested heavily on her shoulders as she trudged back.
In her room, Liz chugged four glasses of chardonnay, trying to take the edge off of her nerves, but they wouldn't quiet. She sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard with her knees pulled up to her chest.
Normally, she would call Red.
Normally, that's exactly what he would want her to do.
He would come over.
She would feel safe.
Only one more glass stood between her pride and the phone. She held one in each hand as she speed-dialed him.
"Agent Keen? It's awfully late. What do you need?"
What did she need? What did she really need? Reassurance? A safe place?
His strong arms.
The crook of his neck.
His breath on her ear.
Lips pressed to the top of her head.
Over and over
and over again.
"I, I.." she stammered.
Awkward. Uncertain.
"Lizzie?"
Palm to her mouth, she gasped. Mostly muffled, but not completely. "I wanted.."
"Are you okay? What do you need?"
She didn't have an answer. Why didn't she think of a plan?
To hear his voice, of course. It wasn't the first time. In the past, she would have sworn that he was guilty of the same, but not anymore.
"I wanted you, uh. I wanted you to stop by the post office sometime tomorrow, if you get a chance."
"'If I get a chance?' You're saying that it isn't urgent?"
"Um no, not urgent... We're working on a timeline, but it's all over the place. I'm hoping you can fill some of the holes."
gutterguttergutterguttergutter
"Oh, I- I think I can manage that. Is there anything else?"
Before she could make an even bigger fool out of herself, Liz hastily ended the call. Part of her was surprised that he had so agreeably hung up the phone, but the rest was disappointed. She knew that he knew that something was wrong.
Fifteen minutes later, he called her back. Liz stared at the phone in disbelief. Her heart tried to free itself, pounding fiercely against her sternum. Just before it could go to voicemail, she swiped her index finger across the screen. "Hello."
"My apologies. I forgot to tell you that I have a few appointments tomorrow."
"Oh. Well.. that's okay. I'm sure the taskforce can figure it out."
"I'll be there, just a little later than usual."
"Red, we don't do 'usual', do we?"
He chuckled. "No, we don't."
What Liz didn't know, however, was that he'd just arrived, and was calling from the motel parking lot. Perhaps she wasn't ready to talk yet, but something was obviously wrong. Red needed to help her. He needed to know that she was safe.
And so, he called to make sure that she was,
and then he stayed until sunrise.
-...-...-
how many times undone
can one person be
as they're careening through the facade
of their favorite fantasy
you just close your eyes slowly
like you're waiting for a kiss
and hope some lowly little power
will pull you out of this
but none comes at first
and little comes at all
and when inspiration finally hits you
it barely even breaks your fall
[So What? - Ani DiFranco]
-...-...-
The following afternoon, Red arrived at the post office wearing Liz's favorite three-piece. Still embarrassed about the call, she couldn't will herself to look him in the eye, though it was still irresistibly drawn to him. Her gaze lingered on his body as he strutted back and forth in front of the dry-erase board, laughing entirely too often as his voice resonated and filled the war room. His hands were in a constant state of motion, either waving or pointing, and without so much as looking up, he answered all of Liz's questions concisely. They both knew that it was all a performance, but to Red's credit, he played it with aplomb. His final act was a half-smile thrown in her direction, and for the enchore, he walked right past her and approached Ressler to discuss the case.
Rather than sticking around to field her partner's inevitable exclamations about Red TALKING TO HIM instead of her, Liz grabbed her coat and went out for a walk. Of course, that move would also require yet another explanation to give Ressler, but that could wait. After Red's little swagger-spilling lecture, she just couldn't be there for another minute.
Months ago, at Red's urging, she had developed the habit of taking these long, objectiveless walks. It almost always yielded a sweet catharsis, somewhat akin to jogging. She came to rely heavily on those walks, especially when she needed to escape from her ex-husband's wandering hands.
And because Red had encouraged and insisted that she do it, as she walked along, Liz felt somewhat held by him. She sensed the delicate tendril that crept upward and out, away from his darkest caves, nursed on both her light and desire.
And on this particular walk, as she cut through Dupont Circle, Liz wrote him an epic letter in her mind, saying all of the things that she needed to say. Then she broke them all down, trying to imagine every possible reaction to each revelation.
By the time she had made it back to the post office, Red was already long-gone. For once, Ressler had the good sense not to mention any of it.
-...-...-...-
At the end of the day, Liz seriously considered going to the apartment instead of her motel, as she should have, in case she really had seen Tom, but her pride still out-measured her fear. The gap between the two was rapidly shrinking more every day, just not quickly enough.
Since her walk that afternoon, she'd compulsively revised the letter in her head at least ten times already. Even with the revisions, she wasn't quite sure what her goal was.
Her purpose.
Her intent.
Her motive.
How could she ever hope for a firm grasp on his motives when she couldn't even clearly define her own?
She wanted to trust him, but she couldn't.
She wanted to let him in. Wanted him to let HER in, too. She could at least tell him that much, right?
Calling would have been the polite thing to do, but after chickening out the previous night, she didn't trust herself to do that. If she showed up in person though, Red wouldn't turn her away. She had just enough faith in him to feel certain of that. With one last check of his DARPA chip, she headed out into the night.
This time, since he wasn't expecting her, she rang the doorbell.
No answer.
She tried once more,
but again, nothing.
Red's car was parked in the garage. The lights were on inside the house, but the curtains were drawn. A lifetime of worst-case scenarios compelled her to slink back to the car for her gun. Although she expected to have to break in, Liz first tried the front door, and was surprised to find it unlocked.
That couldn't possibly be a good thing, she thought.
Starting at the foyer, she first cased the ground floor, but found nothing. When she reached the top of the stairs to the second floor, she could hear the sound of running water. Someone was using the shower in the master bathroom, but that could only account for one person. Liz continued her search, growing more and more anxious by the minute.
After clearing the third floor, a swell of panic bubbled up from her clenching chest, far too thick for her to swallow.
THE BASEMENT! She should have started there first, anyway. Liz made her way back down the first two flights of stairs and crossed the hall to the basement door. She turned the knob slowly and leaned against the hinges as she opened it, bit by bit, willing it not to screech. The wooden staircase was enclosed, allowing her to see only a faint and flickering glow near the bottom. Gun drawn, her back pressed flat against the wall, she sidestepped her way down.
As she peeked her head around the corner, both her heart and stomach lurched in tandem. The source of the flickering light was an oldschool projector, playing what she assumed was a home video on the wall. A beautiful little girl with thick, wavy blonde hair ran back and forth with a bubble wand.
Spinning around in circles.
Dancing.
Waving at the camera.
Grinning through the gaps of two missing baby teeth.
Recalling the photos of a younger Red in that new apartment, it was more than obvious who this little girl was. Even without the photos, she would have known.
Liz imagined him playing the role of the Tooth Fairy, creeping on tiptoes into his little girl's room to trade a missing tooth for a five dollar bill. She saw him unable to resist the urge to lightly kiss her forehead, but then pulling back quickly, freezing, hoping that he hadn't accidentally woken her up.
Here and now, Red sat beside the projector in an antique wingback chair. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and his cheeks in his hands. Liz desperately wanted to see his face, but she couldn't will herself to move. She didn't even realize that she was holding her breath until until she became light-headed,
and her legs, more than a little unsteady.
Suddenly, a deluge of overwhelming guilt washed over her. Never in a million years would she have expected to bear witness to such a private, intimate moment. Even if she had asked, he wouldn't have shown this to her.
She should GO, she knew, but still, Liz couldn't urge her legs into action.
Every few seconds, as if he'd successfully gone back in time, a faint, musical little laugh bloomed from Red's direction. He was a man of many different laughs, but this one, she'd never heard before, and she suspected that she'd never hear it again.
His words in The Factory sprang back to life, right in the forefront of her mind. "It may be hard for you to imagine, but I once had a relatively normal life."
There was no un-seeing it now.
Truthfully, at the time, she hadn't given it much thought. ANYONE can appear to have a normal life, from the outside. Without Red, she'd be living such a life now, and she'd probably still be under the illusion that it was real.
If she and Tom were to have had a little home video like this, then after their inevitable divorce, whenever it happened, would he have crept down to the basement to remember his little girl, and the life that they'd once had together?
No.
He wouldn't.
After all, what's the point
of acting without an audience?
She was Tom's job. Their life together was his job. Their baby would have been his job.
This little girl was much more than that.
She was his have to have.
Her right cheek pressed against the cool wall, Liz didn't realize that she was crying until her tears, streaming downward, ran into and pooled within the blockades of her splayed fingertips. It was in that moment that she realized that she hadn't heard any laughter, or any other sounds at all, in awhile.
Tentatively, she peeked around the corner once more, and saw Red doubled over completely, his face in his lap, both hands gripping the nape of his neck, his shoulders heaving through sobs that were perfectly silent.
Her knees, already unsteady, threatened to buckle. She gripped the bannister and slowly lowered herself to sit on the bottom step. Eyes closed and ears peeled, she bit down on her coat sleeve, struggling to maintain her own silence.
In her hazy anguish, time abandoned its perfectly-predictable and linear progression. When the projector suddenly turned off, enveloping the basement in darkness, Liz had absolutely no idea how long she'd been sitting there. Panicked, she grabbed the bannister and hauled herself back up to her feet.
She had no exit strategy.
Hadn't even considered it.
Unbeknownst to Liz, her central nervous system valiantly attempted to launch the fight or flight response. Beyond her foolish pride, she had nothing to fight anyway.
Without the humming white noise from the projector, the weight of the sudden silence was almost unbearable. The air felt thick and entirely too still.
As Liz tightened her grip on the handrail, the silence was suddenly ripped open by the most gut-wrenchingly anguished keening that she had ever heard in her life. It filled the basement and echoed up the stairs, causing every last cell in her body to tremble.
Her mind instantly went blank, but Liz's feet still knew exactly what to do, and as she closed the distance between herself and Red, they seemed to be doing it all without her. There may have been a better way for her to approach him, but she'll never know. She'll never even bother to wonder.
Without hesitation, she gently placed one hand on the nape of his neck.
Red's head snapped up, startled. From the faint glow of the clock on the wall behind her, he was able to identify her instantly. "Li-" He started, but as she took another step closer, he saw the glistening tears, both in her eyes and on her cheeks, and he cut himself off midsentence. His eyelids fluttered and closed as a deep shudder rolled through his body, from the point of her hand's contact, all the way down to his toes.
She splayed her fingers and threaded them through his hair, gently raking upwards and over his scalp. Red's body went limp, slumping over to the side, melting under her tender touch. As Liz's hand slipped back down to his neck, he dared to open his eyes and hold her gaze.
At the sight of his quivering bottom lip, her fingers trailed down his sideburns and along his jaw. Rotating slightly, she rested her palm across his cheek, and her thumb stroked along his bottom lip, stilling its trembling. Before long, it was his tears pooling in the hollows between her fingers. Her mouth silently opened and closed several times before she could choke out the words, "I'm so sorry, Red..."
Lips pressed together, he swallowed thickly and gave the slightest of nods. It was all the encouragement that she needed to sit down across his lap, twisting her torso to the side and wrapping her arms around him tightly. He shuddered twice before summoning the strength to respond in kind, pulling her in and holding her as closely as he possibly could, his face buried into the crook of her neck as he shivered and sobbed.
Liz left one hand around his back, but lifted the other to stroke his scalp in a manner that she could only hope was soothing. Encouraged by all of the times that he had done the very same to her, she turned her cheek and softly kissed the side of his head, just above his ear.
Red's back stiffened instantly, giving her pause. Her breath cascaded over his ear as she feared that he'd recoil, and prayed that he wouldn't.
But she'd merely surprised him. Not for the first time, and certainly not the last.
With a soft sigh, he leaned into her lips, his jaw slackened slightly. Sufficiently encouraged, Liz kissed him again
and then, again.
And as she did so, eyes closed, she blindly sought out one of his hands and laced their fingers. Her peppered kisses soon developed a trajectory, down his sideburns, across his tear-streaked cheeks, and up to his eyes, where she stopped to rest her forehead against his.
Moistening her lips, it suddenly occurred to Liz that she'd just tasted him for the first time. It didn't escape her that the very wording of the thought implied that she expected it to happen again.
She stared at Red's eyelids until they fluttered open. Through his wet lashes, he stared back and leaned forward slightly, brushing his nose over hers.
"I want to know you," she whispered.
-...-...-
I had a dream last night
and when I opened my eyes
your shoulderblades
your spine
were shorelines in the moonlight
new worlds for the weary
new lands for the living
I could make it if I tried
I closed my eyes
I kept on swimming
[Change of Time - Josh Ritter]