AN: Liz gets what she wants... maybe.
Hope you all have a happy new year! Thank you for reading. There will be one more chapter after this one.
Still disclaimed.
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Liz didn't regret what she had done. It was either Conolley or Red. If she'd let him go, who knows how quickly he could have set his plans into motion? She wasn't about to give him the chance.
And Red got her out, of course.
Now she sat beside him in the backseat of an unmarked van without windows, headed towards his flat to hunker down until it became safe to travel. The uncovered memories about her father had worked them both into a state of utter distress, so when she rested her weary head on his shoulder, it was as much to comfort him as it was for herself. She felt the slight hitch in his breath before he willed himself to relax beneath her.
As soon as they arrived however, he distanced himself immediately by retreating to his bedroom. She slowly circled the living room, looking at his books and photographs, but she wasn't snooping this time. She was simply desperate for a distraction.
It was hours before Red emerged from his room to find her laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. His cat was curled up on top of her, fast asleep. The traitorous little beast had always favored women. Liz didn't move a muscle when she heard his footsteps, and instead just muttered, "Tom has been working for the cabal, spying on us. He's the reason you got shot." She still couldn't believe that they hadn't talked about it.
Red came to a stop in front of her and put his hands in his pockets. "Yes, I know," he replied softly.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
He sighed. "Tell me the last time you listened to me when I tried to tell you anything about Tom. I've given up on pandering to your apparent blind spot."
She couldn't deny that he was right. "I pretended not to know, so he kept pretending to want to help me. That's how I got the thumb drive from Andropov."
"That was very dangerous... but given what we've learned from it, I take it you don't regret your actions."
She shooed the cat away and turned on her side to look at him. "Only the lengths I had to go to get it back after he took it from me."
He quirked an eyebrow in question. "He took it from you, after you found it? What did you have to do to get it back? You didn't kill him, did you?"
"No, I didn't kill him..."
Unfortunately.
She'd kissed Tom in order to palm the thumb drive from his shirt pocket. Handsy, heavy, intense kissing - the kind that typically leads to sex. She felt absolutely disgusted with herself, and in need of a pallette cleanser.
Suddenly, she bolted upright and looked Red straight in the eye, challenging. "Let's make a videotape."
He shook his head. "Oh no, we're not doing that."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't believe that's something you'd want to do in a normal frame of mind."
"Spare me. I just shot the Attorney General of the United States of America. There is no 'normal' anymore. 'Normal' is just a memory, and it's not even a recent one, for either of us."
He turned away and went into the kitchen to pour them each a tumbler of scotch, ruminating over her request.
"And besides," she added, "They're just tapes. They aren't digital. If you're so worried about me changing my mind, you can easily destroy the tape to salve my dignity or whatever it is you're trying to protect."
He handed her the drink and sat down on the opposite side of the couch. "It isn't just the tape itself, Lizzie. Destroying the tape wouldn't be enough to erase the things I'd learn about you, and the last time I checked, you feel that I know too much already. The subject matter is too intimate. It's much closer than you want me to be."
She lifted her chin to gaze at him directly again, still partially unsure of herself and desperate not to let it show. "What if it isn't?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sex is basic. It's universal. It's intimate, yes, but doesn't our connection go deeper, further? Decades, all the way into a past that I can't even remember. I'd argue that a discussion about sex sounds comparatively simple."
He couldn't argue his perspective without revealing far, far too much. Accordingly, he tried a different angle, one that would yield constructive results, no matter how she responded. He adopted his most firm lecturing voice and spouted, "You're going to have to rely on me heavily during the coming weeks. We have a lot of work to do."
"Uh huh, and?"
"If we do this, you have to promise me that if you regret it, you won't let that inform your behavior, especially towards me. We need to be on top of our game if we're to have any hope of evading both Justice and the cabal while we work to clear your name."
"You know, just yesterday, I was quite angry with you for several different reasons. None of those issues have been resolved, but is it driving me now? Has it driven me at all today? I think I can manage."
That was about the best assurance and insurance that he could hope for.
"Very well." He went into his bedroom and returned with the camera in-hand. "Are you comfortable sitting there?"
"Sure."
His lips set into a thin line, his brow furrowed. "We're rolling. Start with your name."
She refrained from stating the obvious, that he already knew her name, assuming that it was a part of his ritual. "My name is Elizabeth Scott Keen."
He went right for the jugular. Perhaps he could shock her into stopping early. "When you were married, did you ever think about having sex with someone other than your husband?"
She downed the last of her scotch and choked, coughing and gasping pathetically. "Uh..."
"Okay, we should stop. Are you alright?" He set the camera on the floor.
Her words came out with more force than she intended. "No! I'm fine. I don't want to stop."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
He picked up the camera and gave her a moment to catch her breath before softly repeating himself. "Okay. Did you ever think about having sex with someone other than your husband?"
"Yes... I did."
"Did you act on your thoughts?"
"I... well, kind of."
"You kind of had sex with someone else?"
"No, I didn't."
"Who did you think about?"
"I thought... I've thought about you."
She couldn't even look into the camera lens. She was far too captivated by the blazing heat in his eyes. It was enough to drive her to ask, "Have you thought about me?"
Red didn't even blink. "Yes."
"What did you think... about me?"
"I've thought about what you would look like having an orgasm."
She took a sharp breath through her nose and shook her head. "You know, I would like to know what I look like having an orgasm."
"Do you have them?"
"I'm not sure." She chuckled nervously. "I guess I would know if I had."
"Hm." He nodded slowly, half smug and half saddened for her.
She squared her shoulders and leaned forward intently. "Can you do that?"
"Can I do what?"
"Give a woman an orgasm."
"Yes," he replied softly.
"How?"
He worked his jaw, flicking his tongue across his bottom lip. It didn't escape him that her eyes had followed the motion. "With.. my mouth, my tongue. Hands, fingers."
"Could you give me one?"
His eyes dropped to the floor. "No."
"You can't, or you won't?"
He flung one hand through the air dismissively. "I can't because I won't."
"Well, why not? Don't you find me desirable?" Indignation gave her voice an edge.
"Yes."
She shot back, louder, "Then tell me what made you impotent."
His controlled response came laced with venom. "I don't find this turning of the tables very constructive to the interview."
Liz put her profiling skills into action, rambling her thoughts aloud as she worked her way through the subject at hand. "Something fairly recent. Remember our kiss? Late January, 2014. It was so intense, wasn't it? In fact, it was one of the best I've ever had, and I think... that's why it frightened me. But you liked it too. I remember that we were sitting down, and I saw the strain on your pants. You were at least half-hard. The earliest dated tape was April of 2014. So, somewhere between our kiss and that tape, something happened, something psychologically devastating. Was it Madeline Pratt? Did she do something to you?"
Red shook his head and scoffed, "It wasn't just one thing. Many traumas and losses lead up to it. Why do you ask, Lizzie? Are you going to try to wash my sins? Cleanse my soul? Turn me on?"
His patronization wasn't enough to deter her. She held his gaze and responded gently, "Maybe I can."
He grabbed the back of his neck and stood up, taking long strides towards the window. He didn't want to look at her anymore. It was impossible to look and not hope, and having far-flung hopes was just another form of psychological torture. He'd already suffered enough of that, thank you.
With cat-like, fluid grace, she followed him, discreetly turning the camera in their direction as she passed. She tried without success to meet his eyes through the faint reflection in the glass, standing close enough that he could feel her breath at the nape of his neck.
She put her hand on the back of his scalp so slowly that he could feel it before she'd even made contact. A deep shiver rolled through him as her fingers threaded through his hair.
Powerless, he closed his eyes in surrender.