She shifts again, cool sheets taut across her body; the bed made so tight she feels as if she is trapped in it. Liz used to go days without making her bed, the sheets becoming untucked and dragging along the floor; it made it that much easier to wrap them around her, safe in a little cocoon of warmth. With a frustrated huff, she rolls on to her side, the bed made with clinical precision only loosening slightly.
Sam used to make sure that her bed was never made too tight, that she could slip under the covers with ease, without struggle. He'd made sure she could go with ease and without struggle for many things in her life. Liz furrows her brow, thoughts drifting to the 'tree star', wondering how Red knew about the Land before Time. Perhaps he had watched it with his daughter like her and Sam once had, curled up on the couch. She could barely imagine it.
Liz rolls onto her back to face the ceiling, chest giving a slight ache as she thinks of Sam. He had once been everything to her, her whole life, the only man that had her heart entirely. Then everything had changed. She'd grown up, met boys and then men, and then Tom. She moved away, chased her career, had her life decimated by a man in a three piece suit. Her thoughts unwillingly strayed to Harold Cooper, handcuffed and alone. He had been her mentor throughout these past two years and she had grown to love him like she'd loved Sam. He'd been her only father figure in a time of darkness and desperation, her unwavering support. God only knew what the Cabal were doing to him now because of her. Murderer.
Her chest starts to rise and fall erratically, her fingers twisting in the sheets as she tries to stop the panic and guilt choking her. Tears fall, unbidden, from her eyes and track down her cheeks, rolling down into the shell of her ears, as she stares up at the ceiling. Her throat is tight, it hurts to swallow. She squeezes her eyes shut in agony, and finds herself in Ressler's apartment. He's holding her hand, crouched down in front of her. He's telling her to breathe slowly, in and out, because she's stronger than this. Reddington and Tom are nothing compared to your strength, Keen.
Sheets slip through her fingers as she lets go, her breaths falling into a rhythm, as she cracks her eyes back open, roughly wiping away her tears. The Cabal. She's stronger than them too. She and Red, a hurricane of fury and vengeance, would lay waste to them. They'd save Cooper, clear her name, right all wrongs. She felt the need for retribution swell through her, flow through her blood, pump through her heart. She would destroy them all.
Once again she rolls, feeling more settled, determined, and as if now she may fall into the peaceful abyss of sleep. Her eyes drift shut, the sheets finally giving way and freeing themselves from the confines of the mattress and frame. Liz feels as if her body is melting as she sinks into the soft foam.
A sharp rap at the door and the bark of her name has her launching herself at the glock on her bedside table, her heart thundering in her ears, vision blurring with adrenaline, as if she had moved too fast. She slips out from under the covers; gun cocked and poised as she approaches the door. Another knock on the door, so forceful it rattles on its hinges. Her hand grasps the brass handle as she looks through the peephole.
Red.
She opens the door, a sharp reprimand dancing on her tongue. He shoves past her, weapon drawn, ignoring her shout of protest,
"What the Hell do you think you're doing?"
He looks dishevelled. He's still in his suit pants, but his vest is gone and his shirt is rumpled and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He's not wearing any shoes. Liz can see the tense muscles of his back shift as he stalks through her room. He throws open her wardrobe door with such strength that it smacks against the wall. He doesn't flinch as he searches through her clothes. Then he moves to her bed, crouches as he checks under it. When he stands with his back to her, he keeps his head down, body heaving as he gasps for breath. She's yet to see his expression. His grip shifts on the gun as he clicks the safety back on.
"Red?" She whispers, too frightened to approach him, standing back from him warily, as if he was a wild animal. His breathing is haggard, but he turns to face her, eyes averted and head down. His voice is rough when he speaks, not the soothing and controlled tones she's used to.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, Elizabeth," he says, "I'll leave you to your rest."
As he goes to walk past her Liz's hand darts out and latches onto his wrist. He's surprised and glances up at her and that's when she notices his eyes. They're glassy, red rimmed, as if he'd been crying. He stands stock-still as she assesses him, barely breathing. By the state of his clothes, he looks as if he had been sleeping.
"A nightmare," she states, and he flinches. She tugs him back over to her bed, gently shoving him until he sits down. He leans on his knees, rubbing his hands over the back of his head and down his face. She's never seen him look so vulnerable before.
You are so damaged; you can't accept help from anyone.
Liz sits on the bed next to him. His breathing is still erratic, so she waits.
Has anyone ever helped you? Is that why you are the way you are because you don't feel deserving of it?
"I... I need to go check the bathroom, Lizzie," he whispers, going to stand. She clamps her hand onto his forearm, a warning flashing through her eyes. "I'll come back," he murmurs, before brushing off her hand and entering the bathroom.
Is that why you can't be vulnerable for a second?
As promised, but surprisingly, when he re-emerges he doesn't dart to the door. Instead he joins her once again on the side of her bed. Resting her palm on his shoulder, she gently encourages him to drag himself up to the headboard. They lean against it, their bodies only a breath apart.
I risked my life for you because I care about you.
And because she cares about him, Liz doesn't ask what his nightmare was about, even though she has her suspicions. Instead, she flicks his arm up and around his shoulders and nuzzles into his side, because what he needs is warmth. His heartbeat is steady under her head and his eyes quizzical as he looks at her. He's gnawing on the inside of his lip, Liz can see it.
"When did you watch Land before Time?" She asks. His fingers are drawing lazy circles on the skin of her upper arm, but as she speaks, they still. He clears his throat.
"I used to watch it with my daughter," he responds, voice gruff but a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He glances down to Lizzie, who is watching him with rapt interest. "Her favourite character was Cera, but I couldn't stand Cera, her voice was atrocious."
Lizzie laughs at the look of indignation on his face, as if the fictional character deeply offended him. He looks so relaxed now, smiling lazily with his shoes off and shirt crinkled.
"Who was your favourite character?" She thinks she can guess, knows him well enough to figure it out. The glint in his eyes shows her that he knows that she knows.
"I always adored Ducky, always so gentle and kind, but so naive it was sometimes painful to watch."
Liz stares at him, mouth slightly ajar.
"How could Little Foot not be your favourite?" Lizzie shouts, aghast. She can feel the rumble of laughter roll through his chest. She had been so sure. His fingertips begin to move along her arm again, his eyes sparkling.
"That would have been awkward, Lizzie," he teases, and she doesn't understand, she feels her brow furrow and waits for him to continue. "We would have had the same toy."
It had always smelled of home, tainted with Sam's cigar smoke and pine, her Little Foot. She'd taken it everywhere with her, had practically been attached to it, a third limb. Sam had taken to calling it Butterball II and Lizzie had always delighted in it. She could feel Red watching her, his penetrating gaze gauging her reaction.
"You gave me Little Foot," she mumbles and he slowly nods. "Did we ever watch it together?"
"Yeah, we did," is his response, turning to look up at the ceiling, a sigh gusting out of him. "We watched it together with Sam. That was the last time I saw you until the Post Office."
Liz bites her tongue, because there are many bitter and snarky comments she could make in reply to that, but Red is exhausted and vulnerable. She doesn't want to ruin this. He presses his lips to her forehead as if in appreciation.
"Where are we going, Red?" She whispers, looking up at him. He huffs out a smile and brushes his thumb across her cheek.
"We'll be docking in Auckland, should take a week or so to get there," he replies softly, and she nods her head, satisfied.
They lay together in silence, both immersed in their own thoughts of one another. They are atop the covers, much to Liz's disappointment when she notices that Red has drifted off to sleep, his face slack. She leans across him gently to flick off the lamp. The room is plunged into darkness and they both sleep, using each other for warmth.
A/N; Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave a review!
