Firstly I own nothing to do with the Blacklist. Just a fan.

Thank you so much for your kind words and the alerts I've received, it means a lot. Hope you enjoy this one. Hope I'm getting the timeline right despite it all. If not, I'm still enjoying the challenge ;)

Chapter 8

Liz realized now that she had gotten to his hotel room, Red didn't seem to want to let her leave just yet.

He rubbed around her back with his hand while pushing her gently towards the bed. "There, sit," he said eagerly, like the thought of her leaving was unpalatable. "Make yourself at home, Lizzie. Rest your feet and bones awhile."

Truth be told, she didn't quite feel like leaving just yet herself. She turned and sat on the edge of the mattress, crossing her legs as she watched him move across the room to get something. Even watching him and finding a good distraction in observing him didn't seem to work a treat in getting her out of her dismal mood; She felt as though any second now, she'd be crying again, though she felt dried of tears already.

But something about his presence was automatically comforting on her. She thought that maybe it was because she knew, deep down, that he had known Sam as well, that they had been old pals when they were children. It meant he knew what she was going through; He shared her pain, her grief.

"I know precisely what it is that you need, Lizzie. No doubt it will do you some good."

The dress he had brought her wasn't made for sitting and crossing her legs, she realized. She interlaced her fingers on both hands together around her knee as she sat rigidly straight on the mattress. It felt uncomfortably tight around her legs when she crossed one knee over the other, but she managed.

"What do I need?"

"A little jorum of skee," he explained with a smile, finding an unmarked bottle of yellow liquid. He found two glasses and Liz felt a fleeting sense of amusement when he flamboyantly yanked open the cork before pouring in a generous amount into the two glasses for the both of them. "A little scotch to put some fire and warmth deep into your belly," he added, holding the glass out towards her when he came to stand in front of her.

She accepted it hesitantly, peering into the glass at the contents. She hadn't been much of a drinker, although the several times in which she had tried a drink, she'd felt an instant aversion to it. So many people made it seem like to drink was such jolly good fun, yet Liz couldn't fathom it, really.

When she glanced up at Red again, he lifted his glass, holding it high towards the ceiling. "To Sam!"

Grief choked her as she brought herself to lift her glass as well, her hand shaking. "To Sam," she murmured, then she took a curious sip.

The instance she swallowed the first mouthful down, Liz felt as if she was being burnt alive. It was awfully pungent and the liquor stung her nostrils. When she met Red's gaze as he took a short sip, he made a noise, shaking his head silently in disgust. Apparently he hadn't been much fond of the taste either.

She tried with all her might to keep her eyes to herself when she caught him sliding his arms out of his jacket out of the corner of her eye. Her cheeks seemed to burn when she deliberately glanced down at the glass she was holding in her hand, at the grotesque contents inside of it.

But she couldn't help not watching him; He folded his jacket neatly, plopping it down on the vacant armchair near the fireplace in the room. He slipped the small handgun she had held that one time out from the band of his trousers, clunking it onto the small table near the armchair.

Then he turned, searching for something else. He found his fedora and he sat it on top of the jacket. Then finally, he thumbed his suspenders, pulling them tight and adjusting them over his shoulder blades to make himself feel more comfortable. She felt even more flustered and frazzled when he hitched up his pants slowly before sitting next to her on the mattress with a content sigh through his mouth.

She had certainly never felt this way before, so intense about a man. He was sitting next to her on the bed, so close that the rough skin on the tip of his elbow brushed against her every time he brought his glass of scotch to his lips. A peculiar tingle seemed to originate from her hips downward over that innocent and unintentional bit of touching.

She took in another sip of the alcohol, grimacing silently, as she stole a look quickly at the side of his face. He seemed so relaxed, so pensive as he sat beside her, slightly hunched over with one elbow on his knee. Yet he appeared a little wistful and glum as well. She wondered if he was thinking about her father, reminiscing on their childhood years together.

She thought back to that time he had told her the humorous tale of her father and him, of how they would steal the neighbor's chickens from time to time. She imagined her father scurrying off as a boy, no longer ill and bedridden but with all the energy of a naughty child, Red in front of him, both with clucking chickens slung under their arms. It was so difficult to imagine it, both him and Sam as young boys. She for some reason had difficulty imagining a time there where her father had been healthy, when he hadn't been sick. It felt so strange to think of him in other ways.

"So you and Sam were chicken thieves?" she finally spoke up, breaking through the silence between them.

Red hummed loudly, a vigorous and deep exhale shrinking then expanding his chest.

"We were rascals, Lizzie." He sighed loudly, shaking his head. "If you are able to think of the two most naughty children in the world, then think of us. I don't believe there was ever a day where we didn't get a hiding from our father's. " Sam had rarely spoken to Liz about what had gone on during his childhood years, of how much trouble he was, and what he was like as a young boy. She found herself enjoying what Red was telling her immensely. "That's what we were, me and Sam." He turned his head to look at her, fondness glistening in his eyes. "Deviant little rascals, the pair of us."

"I find it difficult to imagine it," she admitted slowly with a small smile. "My father, he... he never spoke a single word about what he was like when he grew up as a boy. I know I used to ask him all the time, because... I was curious and I had wanted to know how different the world was today from the one that he grew up in."

It sunk in then just how alone she was now. Sam was gone now. He was really, really gone and he would never be coming back.

"He would never tell me anything." She didn't realize how much it bothered her until then. Sam hardly ever told her anything. "I do remember one time where I was being naughty. I can't remember what I did but he... he said I was lucky I grew up to be a girl. He said I was lucky I didn't have a father like his was?"

"Yes." Red cleared his throat gruffly, meeting her eyes. "His father was the... disciplinary sort. He was a firm believer in punishment, much like mine was."

He paused for a moment, his eyes faraway, distant. Then hoarse laughter escaped him as he shook his head, blinking compulsively, though he appeared embarrassed for it, for laughing.

"After what happened, with the chicken incident as I told you about with the neighbor next to his house... I remember his father shouting as he took Sam by the elbow, steering him away behind the shed. I heard him crying, and... I didn't realize until much later when I saw Sam again that his father had lashed him with his belt." Liz felt her stomach drop as she realized just how horrible her father's childhood must have been. She didn't know. "The neighbor had dobbed us in to his father and his father was furious and so he punished him in the only way he knew how. Sam was... never quite the same after that. Although he had seemed to enjoy stealing the chickens at the time, due to seeing how livid his father was with him, he had lost some of his flare for being mischievous after that."

Liz felt a smile come across her face, despite how horrific what he was telling her was. She really was grateful for it, for what he was doing. For letting her hear about Sam, telling her tales she never would have gotten to hear otherwise.

Her fingers tightened over the glass instinctively. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice unsteady.

Red's eyes met hers again as his forehead crumbled. "For what, Lizzie?"

"For doing this, for... telling me stories of Dad as a little boy. It helps to hear about him. The Sam I knew was never much of a talker, particularly when it came to his childhood years. It means a lot to hear about it with you, that you're bothering to tell me this."

"Well, you're very welcome, Lizzie." As though it was taking him a lot of effort to move, he brought his hand over, squeezing her once on the knee, almost apologetically. She couldn't help feeling as though he was apologizing for something, and when she lifted her gaze to his face again, the tight-lipped smile he gave her seemed sad and rueful.

Then he moved, startling her. He stood from the bed, reaching around to grab something. Liz suspected for a moment there that it was his gun, yet she was mildly disappointed when she saw it was only a long cigar and a match that he held between his fingers.

"Would you mind?" he asked, voice muffled, the unlit cigar bopping up and down as he spoke with it in his mouth.

She shook her head, falling silent again as she forced herself to gulp down a large mouthful of the scotch. It truly was the most atrocious drink she had tasted in her entire life. She felt melancholy in mood yet moved emotionally by what he had told her about her father. She didn't think he understood just how much it had meant for her to hear it. Desperate to find something else to talk about to shake off the overwhelming feelings inside of her, she forced herself to speak.

"Why did you decide to start robbing banks and to live a dishonest life?" Liz asked. She couldn't help it, she was genuinely curious. She thought that there wasn't a single thing about him that didn't interest her.

Red was silent for a moment as he pursed his lips over the cigar, flicking a match. The orange flame sizzled and cracked to life as it came alight, and he ducked his head, lighting the end while ash-grey smoke twirled around them into the hotel room.

He still remained in a thoughtful silence as he waved the match out, smoke streaming out through his nostrils. She heard a wry grunt escape him as he returned to sit beside her again, reaching down to place his glass of scotch on the carpet. "You don't ask easy questions, do you?"

"Is it something you enjoy? How did you go from thieving chickens as a little boy, to where you are now?"

He blew out smoke through his mouth, squinting at her through it. "I became dreadfully bored by the mundane conventions of normal life," he said after a moment, though with a playful air that made it difficult for her to decide on whether he was fooling around with her or not. "You were expected to marry, settle down, trudge your way through life to make ends meet. It just... it held no true appeal to me. When I was in my early twenties, I enlisted in the Navy, thinking foolishly that it would somehow break me out of it. I quickly became bored with that also, with the... hustle and bustle of Navy life. Everything was all too... regimented to me, it wasn't any fun."

"So you went quickly from Navy to bank robber with all the lawmen under the sun looking for you?" she said in disbelief.

"Well, partly." He tilted his head to the side, considering. "It took awhile to get there. I got into trouble while I was in the Navy, so when the ship docked in Boston, I deserted them. Then, first time ever in my whole life, I got into trouble with the law for auto theft. Got sent to jail for two years. As it turned out, they were the most miserable and sordid two years of my life." Liz couldn't help feeling overwhelmed by what he was telling her; Already, at a young age, he had done and experienced so much. "The heat was dreadful, especially when all I seemed to do was pick cotton. After that little stint, I vowed that I would never go to prison again, if I could help it."

"You told me that you broke out of prison recently?"

"Oh, yes!" He laughed loudly. "Barely seven days ago, in fact. You see, I was so much greener back then, Lizzie. I hadn't the connections that I do now. Fortunately over the years I have come to learn the importance of establishing solid connections and building rapport with like-minded individuals." He sounded quite proud of himself, she thought. "And so I was in prison again barely seven days ago and now, here we are. Life is good and well again." He puffed at his cigar again, his cheeks hollowing.

"You've done a lot then, haven't you?" she whispered in shock. And amazement; There was a lot of amazement there also. It was amazing, how much he had gone through over the years. He didn't look that old; Barely in the beginnings of middle-aged years, and yet, he had already done so many things. "Already, you've done and been through so much?"

"It's a crazy damned life, Lizzie. But I do feel as though it's something I was born to do."

She felt so lacking in comparison to him. What had she done so far that had actually amounted into anything? Nothing. She felt so under-experienced, so unworthy and undeserving of being in his company then.

She sensed a peculiar shift in his jovial mood as he focused on her through the cigar smoke. Liz's eyes had started stinging but she couldn't seem to care less.

"But back onto the topic of your father, Lizzie, he was a... a good man." His hand found her knee again and she felt that tingling sensation infect her again as he stroked her kneecap with his fingers. "At least you can rest assured now knowing that wherever he is, he has at true last found permanent respite from his illness."

Liz felt her muscles tense up at the way he phrased it, so carelessly. She hadn't really considered it in that light; That wherever Sam was now, he was finally at peace. She supposed Red was right, when she thought about it. Sam had been so sick for such a long time now that Liz could notice how much it was affecting him, how much he was growing tired of it.

"I never thought of it like that," she admitted hesitantly after a moment. "But you're right. He has been sick for an extremely long time now."

"He's free from his suffering." His fingers were still touching her, stroking her knee while he held the cigar in his mouth with his other hand. "I know it may be hard to put it into such a perspective, but... you should find some solace and consolation in that, Lizzie. No doubt Sam knew that his illness was not going, that it hadn't intended to leave. He was in pain and he wanted out." His words alone were like a soothing caress; something that seemed to ease a lot of weight off her heart. He tutted his tongue in pity as he shook his head slowly, whispering something that sounded very much to Liz like, "Dear, old Sam. There was such... goodness there."

"Do you really want me to come with you?" she asked quietly, doubtfully. She searched his face carefully when he looked at her, staring deeply into her eyes.

"Yes, without a doubt," he answered, so passionately that it was hard for her to believe otherwise. "There's no one else I would prefer to walk along this world with. And I am getting older," he acknowledged, with a shameful nod. "I'm not getting any younger and life is starting to catch up to me. But before I die, I think I would like to experience it all again with a beautiful woman at my side. Even if it is for one last time." Sadness pieced her heart at that. "And Lizzie, there's truly no woman as beautiful as you."

He'd done it again; He'd said something so bold, something so serious to say to somebody. It took her breath away, the intensity in his gaze as he stared back at her unflinchingly. It was if he didn't care at all, that he didn't care what he said. And oh, boy, it was something she needed to hear.

She wanted to go with him, so badly. She didn't care how reckless and foolish it was; wanting to be with a man so much, particularly when he was in so much serious trouble the way he was. He was a felon on the run from lawmen, and no doubt, it wouldn't amount to anything good. He could die at any minute; He could be shot on sight, and yet, it was a risk she felt was worth it to take.

She wanted him, and she wanted to go away with him. He was so exciting; He had seen so many exciting things and had experienced it all, it seemed. Who wouldn't be ecstatic over the chance of living a life filled with a little excitement? He was offering for her to go see the world with him, to do so many exciting things. To break away from her mundane, rundown life, to do something others would have only ever dreamed of.

But while there she was, beaming at him, there was one thing she had to do. One thing she couldn't not to.

"I would absolutely love to go with you," she admitted, her voice trembling, aching with sheer excitement. "But I can't just yet. My father needs to..."

"-Your father needs to be put to rest," Red butted over her with an understanding nod. He stroked her one last time with his fingers before sliding his arm away, reaching down to grab his glass of scotch. Liz found she immediately missed the exhilarating contact of his fingers the instant he removed them. "Do whatever you need to do first, Lizzie. There's no-"

She heard Red stop mid-sentence when she leaned over on the bed towards him, pressing her lips to his cheek. Yet again, she found herself enamored with how brilliant he smelled; Up close with her nose, his cologne filled her senses, intermingled with the stench of cigar smoke.

She felt his warm skin jump beneath her lips as he swallowed audibly. It was her way of thanking him, her own way of expressing how so deeply grateful she was. She was so happy that she had met him; so happy that she had thought to go to him after the horrible discovery of her dead father in bed.

Words hadn't seemed like enough.

When she pulled back reluctantly, forcing her mouth away, she saw that he had his eyes pinched tightly closed, making the creases around his eyelids more pronounced, his jaw slack. He looked like he was in severe pain, yet contradicting that, he also seemed so at bliss.

And damn it. His unexpected reaction to her kissing him on the cheek only made her want this with him even more. What had he called it before? A crazy damned life?

Well, she was ready. She was ready and willing to experience a crazy damned life for once. With him.

Hope you enjoyed this one? :-) I'd love to know. I do hope it isn't too out of character or a total disappointment? If there is anything that you would like to happen in the story, feel free to let me know. I really appreciate reading your thoughts.