First of all, I own nothing to do with the Blacklist.
Secondly, I want to thank you all. I wanted to get another chapter out before Christmas. I hope you all have a great one, spent with loved ones and family. I hope you enjoy this chapter and, as usual, I'd love to know your thoughts. :-)
All mistakes are my own. :)
Chapter Three
After his confession, she shouldn't have agreed to go with him.
She should have said a firm no, went home instead to where her father always was, sick in bed, waiting for her and listening carefully until he heard her arrive safely home through the front door. But against her better judgment, she found herself agreeing to come along with him to where he was staying for the night.
Since Liz didn't get the chance to read the newspapers or listen to the radio very often, she didn't know exactly who Raymond Reddington was, or why it was such a big deal that he was Raymond Reddington in the flesh, sitting across from her at the table.
But along with his confession, if there was one thing she knew above all else, it was that he was trouble. Trouble, and clearly nothing good for her.
He was trouble; the type of trouble her father always lectured her about staying away from, ever since she was a little girl: "You don't want to spend time hanging around with bad people, sweetie pie," her father Sam would tell her. "When someone's clearly bad news, you stay far away. You don't want their badness to rub off on you, because, people like us... well, we can't afford to be bad."
He was the worst kind of wrong for her to be associating with, if what all that he was telling her was true. He was on the run from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, having broken out of a penitentiary only four days ago. That was pretty serious, wasn't it? Her body screamed at her to leave before she got too involved and somehow got drawn into all of his trouble, yet as she got to her feet and stood from the table, her feet weren't cooperating with her. They stayed glued to the spot on the floor, while Red stood from his own chair to retrieve his overcoat and hat.
A small part inside her head was telling her to stay, that meeting him and discovering who he was, was awfully exciting. It wasn't everyday something like this happened in her boring, rundown life- a chance encounter with a criminal that was on the run and wanted by lawmen around the country.
He had a strange way of making her feel appreciated and wanted, despite the two of them basically having only just met.
He clearly knew how to treat a woman well: It showed in the way he automatically stepped closer towards her once having been handed back his coat; the way he draped it over her shoulders so she would be warm from the breeze in the air as they made their way back out of the restaurant into the lit street. The way he held the door open for her, and the way his gaze seemed only fixated on her and as if he felt her comfort was his number one priority as they walked and he showed her the way towards where he was staying for the night. It was easy to forget everything he had just told her about himself while she was being treated this way.
She only felt a faint stirring of panic once they entered the large building of the hotel where Red was staying in a room at. Everything was happening somehow so quickly; She felt she hadn't had enough time for it all to completely sink in, for her to completely understand what she was getting herself into, and just what it meant for her to be going off with this man she barely knew.
She could get into serious trouble with the law if anyone ever found out, and she felt her heart begin racing in her chest as she watched the hotel clerk behind the counter hand Red the set of keys to his room. Mr. Gibbons was the name he had purchased a room under for the night, something she found she was at a loss in understanding. Wasn't his name Reddington? Raymond Reddington? So why was he under the name Mr. Gibbons? It took her less than a second to completely understand why; It was his alias, a different name so it wouldn't tip anybody off.
She felt his hand touch her elbow, snapping her out of her confusion, and then she forced her legs to move, following him towards the staircase that lead up to the higher floors. The walk up the stairs seemed to go on and on, until Red took a left down the hallway, jiggling the keys in his hand as he went.
That horrible sensation of panic returned to her again, as he busied himself in unlocking the door to his room, his back turned to her. What was she thinking, really? If she went into his room, she knew there would be no turning back. It would be too late. The logical, rational side of her brain told her to speak up, to tell him she'd changed her mind and that she would prefer to head straight on home to her father. She should tell somebody, get him arrested. Yet she didn't want to.
She turned and looked down the narrow hallway towards the flight of stairs again, pressing her lips together. She could have easily turned and ran, made her escape before she got in too deep, and he probably wouldn't have even so much as noticed until she was completely gone and out of eyesight for good. But yet again, her legs didn't want to obey her.
They remained rooted on the spot, and, next thing she knew, the door to his room was opening and that was that, it was already far too late. Red stood aside to let her in and as she looked at him, she came to an instant understanding of why her legs weren't working with her.
Liz wanted him, she realized. For one night, she wanted to be with a man, for the first time in her life. Despite what he had just told her at the restaurant and realistically how little she knew of him, she actually wanted him. He just confessed himself to be a thief running from the law and, still, regardless of that dangerous tidbit of information, she wanted him.
It was everything about him that made her want him, not just one singular thing; The way he dressed, so impeccably and richly, the way he reeked with power and the way he clearly was cultured and had experienced different things in life that Liz could only have dreamed of. The way he spoke about his travelling with such a passion, and the way his voice sounded; a hypnotic undertone. The way he held the door open for her, the way he gave her his coat. He was older than her age wise; Balding and stocky, but the disparity of age in a relationship was not something unheard of. She'd seen women going around with older men before.
Liz wanted him, she wanted to spend the night with him, hear him talk some more about whatever he wanted to talk about. Since last night upon first talking to her, she had immediately found him fascinating. He was going places in life. He had seen and done certain things in life that Liz would probably never get the opportunity to do or experience, and that made being around him both fascinating and equally nerve-wracking.
And like a book she had only just opened and began reading, she wanted to know more and more, until she finished the very last page.
Ignoring the feelings her body was giving her to retreat, she walked into the room, looking around curiously while Red moved about, making minor adjustments.
She watched anxiously as he plopped his hat down on the nightstand near the bed in the middle of the room and then he turned on a lamp, illuminating the room in a dull glow of pale yellow. Now that Liz could see more clearly, she noticed the one room was bigger than even the kitchen in the apartment that she lived in with her father. Flowers were decorated on the wallpaper and on the curtains, and she saw that the adjoining bathroom door was left wide-open. The bathrooms size itself was bigger than the one she had at home, and even the tub put the one she had at home to shame.
She felt her mouth go dry as she watched him pull the tail of his shirt out from where it was tucked neatly in around his trousers as he moved towards the window. The window was open, the wind rustling the curtains around quietly, and Liz watched him a while longer as he closed it shut and moved towards where a suitcase was lying on the ground near the bed. She heard him open it as he knelt, pulling something out, but she didn't fully know what that something was until he stood and turned towards the window again.
A gun. He was clasping a small handgun in his right hand, and he backed up towards the wall until his shoulders hit the plaster, peeking out through the curtains into the street below the room, as if paranoid someone had followed them back to the room. Considering his admission, Liz realized he probably had all the good reason in the world to be paranoid.
"Oh, boy," she laughed uncontrollably due to the shock. "You weren't fooling around, were you?"
It was the very last thing she was expecting him to do while he had her alone in his hotel room. His look was absorbed and concentrated on what was happening outside the room, his lip curling over slightly. Was he expecting them to be in some kind of trouble? For a shootout to happen? She prayed not... Not while she was in his room, at least.
She didn't want to disrupt him, for fear he'd unexpectedly turn the gun on her, so she waited in silence until he looked away, preoccupying himself in expertly opening the chamber on the gun and removing the bullets inside it. He obviously knew how to use a gun well, Liz thought, somewhat enviously. The bullets clinked in his palm as he strode back over to the night table, where he sat them carefully near the lamp.
Finally, his attention was brought back to her, when Liz cleared her throat awkwardly. "Are you expecting trouble?"
"No, I'm not. At least not any that I am aware of." Red shrugged and he placed the handgun on the night table, his hands moving towards the first button on his vest. Liz suddenly recalled she was still wearing his overcoat, so she distracted herself by turning away from him and staring elsewhere as she flung her arms out of the sleeves. "But with this lifestyle I lead," he went on calmly, "a man can certainly never be too cautious. Forgive me for all that; I didn't mean to scare you just then."
Scaring her was, surprisingly, the very last thing he had done. She found herself only just slightly disappointed that she hadn't asked him for a closer look. She huffed with silent laughter. "You didn't scare me," she replied, folding his overcoat neatly and placing it on the edge of the bed. "I've just never seen one before."
"You've never seen a gun before, Lizzie?"
"Never," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "Not a real one, anyway. Is it real? Or is it just a... toy? Something for show?" She wouldn't be able to tell the difference, either way.
"Really, Lizzie?" He made a tutting noise with his tongue at her all the way from where he stood. "I tell you who I am and that I have G-men constantly after me, and yet you're quick to assume the gun is just a toy?"
She turned to look back at him, finding him standing closer than she had anticipated. He was within arms reach of her, all he had to do was lift one of his hands up and touch her. She maybe would have even liked it if he did. The buttons on his vest was undone, his head tilted slightly to the side as he drank all of her in; Her clothes, her dark hair. Just as she had learned throughout the evening, he could be unnervingly intense with his gaze, and she had to glance away. She glanced away across the room, taking in the suitcase on the floor again.
"Have you been staying here long?"
"Yes. For exactly forty-eight hours."
The playful hint of sarcasm was not lost on her. She gave him a tight smile, then her gaze fell on where the gun was resting on the night stand again, without her control. She was aching to grab it, to feel how it felt to hold it in her hands. "Can I hold it?" she asked him in a voice below a whisper, feeling scandalous even by requesting such a thing.
She found that Red was staring at her with a quizzical expression, his eyebrows raised. "Hold what, Lizzie?"
"Why, your gun, of course. Can I hold your gun? I've never seen one before, no less so much as touched one. But you already know that, don't you?"
Red was silent for a moment as he considered. She could almost feel his mind churning, pondering on whether it was safe or not to let her- virtually still a stranger to him- hold his gun. "I suppose that can be arranged," he said after a moment, snatching the handgun up from the night stand. "It isn't loaded, and I have removed the bullets. Think of it as another safety precaution, Lizzie."
She felt a surge of excitement course through her in a terrible way as she moved closer to accept the gun from him. His fingers brushed against hers as she took the gun and held it tightly in her hand, her fingers curling tightly around it. It felt lighter than what she was expecting, the metal cool and metallic. Liz enjoyed it more than she probably ought to have, more than what was probably right of her, when she lifted her hand and pointed the nozzle of the gun at him.
There was something strangely erotic about holding a powerful and deadly weapon in your hand.
She felt self-conscious all of a sudden as Red stood back a step, scrutinizing the way she looked as she held the gun in her hand. She hoped the pleasure wasn't written all over her face for him to see, but considering the way he appeared to be looking at her, with a certain hazy lust shining in his eyes, she realized it was plain for him to see.
"It feels good, doesn't it Lizzie?" he asked her, smiling knowingly. "First time I held a gun, I was twelve years old, it was my father's hunting rifle, and my father punished me until I was black and blue over it." He sighed dramatically as he looked her up and down again appreciatively. "Regardless of all that, the beatings were worth it just to experience how it felt holding a gun in my hands. Never lost the feeling of it ever since, hence why I probably embarked on this lifestyle of mine. It's marvelous, isn't it? Just how good it feels?"
It disarmed her that he seemed to know how she was feeling over it perfectly. What did that make her then? The type of person he was? Wrong in the brain? Either way, it didn't matter to her right now. All that mattered, was how it felt.
"I feel like... like I could almost conquer the world with this," she whispered breathlessly.
"Yes, exactly. You and me both. Here," he added, getting closer to her, "Let me show you how it's properly done, Lizzie."
She felt his body brush against her as he moved behind her, one of his hands slipping over hers as it held onto the gun. Her arm shook and trembled as he guided her, lifting her arm higher, so that the gun was raised and pointing towards the window. She stretched her neck slightly to the side to peer at his face, finding him a hair's length from her, his gaze on her lips, what looked like nothing but desire in his eyes at the sight of her holding his weapon in her hand and him, helping her along. The whole thing, his closeness, the length of his body pressing against her back, was thrilling and wildly arousing on her; Something Liz hadn't felt before with a man. She heard her breathing change, her eyes were transfixed on his mouth, she couldn't seem able to look away from him.
She could not help wondering what his lips felt like on her, how he tasted, and he was close enough to kiss her, only much to her disappointment, he didn't. Despite their closeness and no doubt how obviously aroused she was reacting, he did nothing and she was brought out of it, when he made her forefinger squeeze the trigger and a hollow empty clicking sound broke the silence around the room.
"Oh, God," Red whispered roughly, making her finger squeeze down on the trigger again. "It's like music to my ears. The sound." She felt oddly rejected and hurt, when he stepped away from her quickly, dropping his hands at his sides. "Forgive me," he said hastily, as if he didn't realize she enjoyed him being near her, invading her space. But then why else did he invite her into his hotel room, if he wasn't going to try anything on her? "Am I making you uncomfortable, Lizzie?"
"N-no," she said. "You're not making me feel uncomfortable." She sat his gun carefully on the bed spread. "I... I actually think I should go," she muttered quickly, only just remembering her father and how he would be waiting on her. "My father's waiting on me. I should probably go before he gets worried sick about me." And clearly you have no intentions of having me stay, she wanted to say out loud to him, but she didn't. "Thank you, it's been a... swell time." She couldn't help the hardness in her tone, the offense. "I wish you all the best."
Without another word, she rushed towards the door and left, perturbed by how she had felt by everything; By him, the revelation of who he was and what he did unlawfully yet still feeling aroused by him, by holding his gun. Clearly something was wrong with her; It was surely not a natural nor sane reaction.
A/N: I do hope this chapter was all right. :) Feel free to review and let me know. It means a lot. Sorry if this chapter is crappy or if the entire thing is in general, I get so anxious when updating.
Hope you all have a wonderful Christmas.