Days go by of chatting and sleeping and relaxing, not to mention the drinking. Lizzie fits in perfectly. Everyone adores her, especially Wilfred, as Red had predicted. He makes sure that Victoria stays well away, not from distrust, but Liz doesn't need any further corruption in her life and Red hasn't missed the glances that Liz shoots her way on occasion, curiosity and jealousy.
Neither of them talk about their first night on the yacht, both ignoring Red's demons. They had woken up together, at the break of dawn, groggy and cold. They'd both slipped back under the covers, Liz grumbling that it was Red's fault. They'd fallen back to sleep, only rising when one of the staff had knocked on the door, alerting them that breakfast would be ending soon. Red and Liz wandered down to breakfast feeling well rested.
They are due to arrive in Auckland in only a few hours and Red keenly feels the security of the yacht and the open waters slipping away. Once he and Liz walk off the Seven Seas they are once again easy targets. The Cabal and FBI are scouring the globe for them. They most certainly would have contacts in New Zealand.
And that is why he is standing before Liz's suite door once more, boxes of hair dyes piled on the tray he holds. He can hear her shifting around and hopes she hasn't already had a shower, that she has merely risen late. The door cracks open, a small smile in place as she greets him, before she notices the tray. Her eyebrows draw into a frown.
"What's that?" She asks as she steps aside and he walks into her suite. He sighs, because once again her room is a mess, the bed unmade and clothes tossed on the floor. She huffs at him and scoops some of the clothing off the floor and tosses them onto the bed. She turns and looks at him expectantly as if he is supposed to be satisfied now. He chokes back a surprised laugh.
"We will be docking in a few hours, Lizzie, and as much as it pains me to say, we may need to alter your appearance," he states, glancing down at the tray he still holds.
"You want me to dye my hair?" She asks, eyeing the boxes sceptically, before taking the tray and placing it on the bed, over all of the rumpled clothes much to Red's displeasure.
He simply nods his head and watches as she scrutinizes the different packages, sorting through the collection of colours. He had tried to cater to everything, copious brands and colours, hair types. He thinks that it will take her a while to decide, that perhaps he should leave, and as much as it unnerves him, to find Victoria, she has a certain expertise in this area. So he is surprised when she plucks a box out of the pile and turns to him, smirk in place.
"I take it, since you saw my highlights, that you won't let me do this by myself?" She says, her tone serious but her eyes teasing. Red lets out a sharp bark of laughter and nods his head in agreement, tilting it as he watches her, eyes sparkling.
"No, I thought I'd recruit some help," Red replies, "if you're ready?"
Liz smiles at him, so brilliantly. She hasn't smiled at him like that in a long time and Red's heart aches at the sight, because once they arrive they'll be back to how it was in Fiji, because once they arrive they'll be fugitives once more with no one but each other. He clears his throat.
"Well, as you can see, hair is not particularly my forte," he jokes, running a hand over his head before continuing, "I'll be back in a few."
Lizzie nods her head, eyeing the package in her hand, and sits on the edge of the bed. Red wonders if she'll sit there until he returns. She looks up and smiles at him as he steps through the threshold, the door clicking shut behind him. Red could get used to those smiles again.
It doesn't take him long to find Victoria, she'd always loved the sun. She is on deck, sprawled out on a towel by the pool. She is lying on her stomach, broad-brimmed hat and sunglasses on, bikini top undone and pulled to the side to avoid tan-lines. She sits up at his approach, seductive grin already in place, and hands covering herself.
"Red, would you mind tying me up?" She asks, tone teasing as she turns her back to him. He chuckles slightly and sits down, fingertips brushing against her too hot skin as he ties up the thin material. Her inky black hair cascades down her back as she flicks it over her shoulder to look at him.
"I take it your new favourite is ready for her little make over?" She states, fiddling with his tie, her fingers brushing against his collar bone. He reaches up and grabs her hand, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek as he does so.
"What makes you think she's new?" He whispers, before pulling away and grinning at her. She laughs and gently smacks his chest. She pulls him to his feet and starts to stride away. Red keeps his eyes steadily on the back of her head, her bikini leaving virtually nothing to the imagination.
She spins around and smirks at him,
"It's nothing you haven't seen before, Red, no reason to be so gentlemanly now,"
He resolutely ignores her as he leads her back to Lizzie's room, each pace sending a spike of regret through his core as he realises that Victoria has no other clothing and wouldn't deign to put any on anyway. She seems to be greatly amused by his discomfort.
Lizzie's door is open when they arrive and Red feels his adrenaline spike, and Victoria eyes him warily as he reaches for the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. The sound of a raised voice only fuels Red's panic and without knocking he barges into the room.
Wilfred turns to him, beaming, as does Liz, and Red hears Victoria snort in amusement at him. She stalks past, roughly patting him on the shoulder as she beelines for Lizzie.
"Red," Wilfred greets, shaking his hand, "thought I'd come say goodbye to dear Elizabeth before you leave, I assume you'll want to be rather inconspicuous about it."
Red nods his head, smiling brightly at the man before him, but eyeing Lizzie warily, she's talking to Victoria and her tone seems strained, forced.
Wilfred seems to notice that Red's attention is elsewhere and so, after giving his shoulder a squeeze, he bids them all a farewell and exits the room. Red feels as if the tension rises tenfold.
"So, Red asked me to help you out with dying your hair?" Victoria asks, stepping into Liz's personal space and dragging her perfectly manicured fingers through Liz's locks. Red watches as Liz tenses, fingers curling in the bed linen. He clears his throat and Victoria steps back.
"Yeah, that'd be great, thanks," Liz says through clenched teeth. Victoria looks positively delighted at the reaction, before snatching the dye Lizzie chose off the bed.
"You probably won't need to stay for this, Raymond," Victoria chimes as she wanders into the bathroom, hips swaying in a tantalizing fashion. Red glances to Lizzie and, though her eyes are blazing, she nods her head towards the door.
"I'll be fine," she says gruffly, "she's just a bit full on. Go on."
Red couldn't agree more, and though he trusts Victoria, he stands planted across the hallway from Lizzie's room after he, supposedly, leaves.
He stands there for what feels like hours, and knowing the care Victoria puts into her hair, it probably was.
Liz's door cracks open and Victoria's profile fills the frame, still clad in her bikini. She must be freezing now, but she shows no sign of it. Instead she just huffs at him, eyebrows raised.
"I figured you'd be waiting out here. She didn't."
Red laughs and shakes his head, smile in place. He steps past her and into Lizzie's suite, briefly turning back to thank Victoria. She merely blows him a kiss and swaggers off down the hallway.
Lizzie is standing by the mirror, running her hand through her locks. Red stops by her bed, waiting for her to turn and look at him.
She seems nervous, smile small and posture slightly curled, her hands are fidgety.
"What'd you think?" Her voice is breathy, almost shaky.
Red is surprised by the strangled noise that escapes him. He sounds like a besotted school boy, choking on his words as she looks at him. She chose blonde. She looks like her mother.
She laughs at him, practically bounces forward. Red can see it in her eyes that she loves it; he can see it in the way she runs her hands through it with reverence. She keeps glancing at herself in the mirror and Red starts to believe that this is the change she needed, that perhaps he should have suggested it when they were holed up in some shack in San Francisco, only days after Connolly's death.
"You look radiant, Lizzie," he manages at last, smiling back at her.
"Should I start packing? I take it we're docking soon?" She asks, excited and eager. Red thinks that maybe this leg of their trip will be easier, that perhaps she'll enjoy it more.
"Well, since Victoria took her leisurely time, we'll be docking in about forty minutes or so," Red replies, sighing as Liz pulls out her suitcase.
It doesn't take her long to pack, even though Red insists that it isn't necessary, that their next safe house would have everything she needs. She ignores him. So, although he doesn't actually mind, she has to put up with his grumbling as he lugs it off the Seven Seas.
They'd already bid Wilfred farewell, and though Red does care for the others, he and Liz leave without saying goodbye, because it's easier this way, causes less of a scene. Liz seems disheartened and Red tries his best to not feel guilty.
They stroll along the harbour and Red is glad that Liz has donned something suitable for the climate, unlike Victoria. Even though it's summer, the brisk wind bites through their clothes and he is eager to get to their car. Their driver, Jackson, is an older man, balding and wrinkled, his frame wiry and lean, but strong. He smiles as the approach, greeting Red warmly; they'd worked together several times previously..
As they slide into the backseat, Red's phones buzzes. Liz laughs at him, breathing something about 'not being off the boat for two seconds', so he grins at her.
"Ah, hello, Mr Reddington?"
Red feels his stomach jolt at the voice and he makes a conscious effort not to glance over at Lizzie, instead focussing his attention to the outside world.
"Yes, Jonathan!" He exclaims, hoping his voices doesn't sound as false as it feels. "What do I owe the pleasure?"
There is a stuttering at the end of the line, and Red would usually gleam some kind of enjoyment out of it, but right now, with Lizzie so close, it is an unnecessary risk.
"Mr Reddington... It's, um, it's Aram," says the voice on the other end of the line and Red fights the urge to roll his eyes.
"Oh yes, I am well aware," Red responds, "but I am with company at the moment, so if you could please hurry this along it would be greatly appreciated."
"Yes, yes of course, sorry. I just, Dembe contacted me to tell me when I'd be able to contact you again. I just thought I'd let you know that Ressler thinks that you're both in France at the moment," Aram says hurriedly, Red finds that he almost misses the man.
"Brilliant, yes, well, just keep an eye on him, won't you?" Red replies, before abruptly ending the call and slipping the phone back into his pocket. He can feel Lizzie's eyes on him.
"Who was that?" She asks and Red smirks at the forced casualness of her voice. He turns to her as she runs a hand through her hair once again.
"Just an old associate of mine, keeping tabs on dear Donald for us," he replies, knowing that he isn't completely lying to her. It makes it easier.
She narrows her eyes at him and it's almost endearing, the way she chews on the inside of her lip like he does, scrutinising him. She nods her head once, accepting, and then turns away. She sighs quietly to herself.
It is dark by the time they arrive at their safe house. The cottage is small, quaint. Lizzie adores it; obvious to Red by the way she hurries out of the car leaving her luggage behind. Red drags it on to the cobbled path, asking Jackson to wait, before following Lizzie to the front door. Wisteria climbs along the porch and brick of the house, framing the redwood door, its purple flowers spilling down the walls. She looks over her shoulder at him, silently asking for permission. He puts his arm out,
"By all means, Lizzie."
She darts inside and disappears into the house, the rug that runs the corridor muting her footsteps. Red walks through the small kitchen, well stocked as he'd asked, and into the living room. The fire crackles in the hearth, the orange of its flames dancing along the walls, over the plush couch and across the elegantly carved furniture; the chest in the corner and the dining table.
Lizzie popped around the corner, an apple already in her hand. He puts her case by the couch and leans against it.
"Don't lose your appetite, sweetheart, we're going out tonight," he says, chuckling as she arches a brow at him, swiping her hand down her body to indicate her clothing; a grey hoodie and some black leggings.
"Yes, well you look lovely, Lizzie, but you may want to get changed."
"I take it there are clothes already ironed in my room?" She asks, smirking at him as she spins on her heel and wanders off to get changed. Red turns to look at the fire.
It would be good to take her out, give her a sense of normalcy if only for a short time, she deserved that at least. When Mr Kaplan had suggested that Liz should dye her hair, Red hadn't seen the point, it couldn't change her appearance that drastically, surely? Unsurprisingly, when questioning Kate, Red had been wrong. Perhaps it was merely because at the moment she seemed happier, but with her blonde hair Lizzie seemed to glow.
She comes back to him only minutes later, in a soft blue cardigan, tight black jeans and brown lace-up boots. She's kept her hair down, still fiddling with it.
"I'm ready when you are," she grins, as she follows him to the door, Red was never one for pointless waiting. Jackson is where they left him, leaning against the car smoking a cigarette. He quickly drops it and rubs it into the ground with the heel of his foot, sliding into the driver's seat as Red opens the door for Lizzie, following after her.
They sit in silence as the car glides through the city, the soft hum of the engine the only noise. Liz is bouncing her leg up and down, anxious or excited, Red is unable to tell.
The car pulls up to the curb in middle of the city, the nightlife surrounding them. Liz slips out of the car, and waits for Red on the sidewalk, eyeing those around her curiously, while he speaks with Jackson. When he turns to her, her eyes are tracking a couple across the street; she is rubbing her scar nervously.
"Anything particular you feel like eating, Lizzie?" He asks as he links his arm through hers and begins walking down the street, dodging those who had already had too much to drink. He quirks an eyebrow at her when she turns to him sharply.
"You don't have anything planned?" She replies, tone shocked, eyebrows rocketing up into her hairline.
"Well, yes, of course, but ultimately it can be your decision, Lizzie. Anything you fancy?"
She pokes him in the ribs with her elbow, laughing lightly, as she replies that she'll willingly stick to his plan, that he had not yet led her astray. Red bit down on his tongue, guilt rising within him at the comment. Though he knew she was joking, the truth, or lack thereof, stings more than she could comprehend.
Once they finally arrive at the restaurant that Red has chosen, Liz is mumbling that she is positively starving, and Red chuckles at her and tells her that she is acting like a child. The walk had done them good after the week of being confined to the Seven Seas. Liz looks at him sceptically before pursuing the menu. Red watches as her eyes flicker over the options, and she is once again chewing on her lip. His tongue glides over his own unconsciously.
He glances away from her, focuses his eyes on the patrons around him. Mingling and chatting and picking at their expensive food while they sip at their pricey wine. A woman sits alone at a table, posture rigid as she chews at her food mechanically, blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her profile is sharp, jaw line angular and cheekbones defined. Her green eyes jump around the room nervously, until they settle onto him, widening.
Red is aware that Liz is speaking to him, probably asking him whether to get chicken or beef, but he focuses only on pulling the burner phone out of his pocket. He dials the number of the driver, eyes flickering up to see Lizzie frowning at him. She's unimpressed by his table manners.
After a few short words with Jackson, enough time for Lizzie to notice the forced calmness in his voice, he stands and grasps her wrist, walking her briskly to the front door, hand placed on the small of her back. He registers the screeching of a chair, the journalist following after them. He dumps the burner phone in a bucket of ice and water that they pass.
Lizzie is asking him questions quietly, trying to remain calm but he can feel her muscles tensing. He doesn't answer as they step outside, the driver waiting for them, door already open. Jackson steps forward and ushers Lizzie inside the car, rather forcefully, as she resists, trying to claw her way back to him.
"Red?" She pleads, because she is terrified, he's all she has now. He feels the presence of two, incredibly large, men looming beside him and then stepping past him, towards the car, but his eyes are only for her. They're bright and shining with fear as the door slams closed; her hands come up to rest on the window. He smiles sadly, nods his head once, and is reminded of Anslo's attack on the Post Office. Her expression is similar to then. She's shaking her head at him as the brutes lunge for the car door, but it speeds off into the traffic, horns and brakes screaming in its wake.
The two men turn back to him, and both grip his arms tightly. He attempts to shrug them off, but to no avail, so he settles for straighten his tie. They begin dragging him down the street, the crowds of people splitting before them, assuming that Red is just one more man who had drank too much. Red eyes those they pass, looking for some kind of weapon he could use, some way of escape. He catches the eye of one brave, and incredibly stupid, man who notices Red's clear eyes and steady walk, that perhaps he isn't drunk. Red feels a sliver of pity as the young man lunges out at them, grasping one of the thugs by the arm, shouting to let him go.
The brute reacts as if he is a wild animal. He releases Red's arm and slams his fist into the poor unsuspecting man's throat. That is all the distraction Red needs.
He wrenches his arm away from his other captor, bouncing back agilely as the beast of a man stumbles forward. Red stomps down on his arm, feeling and hearing the snap of bone beneath his Italian leathers. He turns quickly on his heel, navigating through the masses, listening intently to the commotion that is following him. He snatches his fedora off, placing it on the head of a man, vomiting against a shop front. Red sheds his jacket, grasping a hoodie that is draped over the back of a chair at the front of a bar and slipping it on, leaving jacket and vest in his wake.
Red makes an abrupt turn down a dark alley, the stench of piss, vomit and garbage so intense he almost chokes on it. He marvels at his captors' stupidity, feeling the butt of his gun grinding into the small of his back, they had not unarmed him. They would not get a chance to rectify their mistake.
A shout at the back of the street has him rolling his eyes, the Cabal really needed to improve their New Zealand contacts if this is who they had currently employed. Red turns slowly, drawing his gun and aiming it steadily at the men before him. One has his weapon drawn; the other is holding his limp arm, stifling groans. Before them, on her knees, is the journalist. Her hair has come loose and she is sobbing hysterically, pleading for her life.
"Let her go," Red orders, shifting his grip on the gun, as the brute jams the shaft of his weapon into the back of her neck. As the first shot rings out the journalist drops dead with a wet gurgle, the second and third shots see the thugs slumping to the ground, a bullet in each of their heads. He strides over and quickly pats them down, blood staining his hands. He pulls out one of their phones, pocketing it for himself. Once finished, he steps over their bodies and walks out of the alley before the crowds begin to gather, the screaming begins to start. He detests the screaming.
He begins to amble his way down the road, absently rubbing his arm where the Cabal's lackeys had grabbed him. Reaching into his pocket and pulling out the phone, Red is not all that surprised to see that it is already ringing. The number is blocked.
"Yes?" He answers, left cheek twitching at the voice on the other end of the line.
"Do not expect us to take it that easy on you again, Reddington, they were assets that we no longer had a use for," drones the soft voice of the Director.
"Well, I must admit that is a relief to hear, I was concerned. Not to worry, I dealt with them easily enough for you," Red responds cheerily, hailing a taxi. The Director ignores his comment.
"We're coming for you, Reddington. We're coming for her."
The line clicks dead and Red drops it onto the road as he slides into the taxi. He almost barks the address to the driver, who in response glances disapprovingly in the rear-view mirror. Red is anxious to see Lizzie, to confirm that she is safe, at home.
Not home for long, he thinks. They will need to leave immediately, head somewhere far away. His stomach twists at the thought of dragging Lizzie away from the cottage, where she seemed so pleased, where perhaps she could have recovered some kind of level of happiness.
The drive is slow, excruciatingly so, but eventually the taxi pulls up a couple of blocks away. Red was not willing to lead them straight to the safe house, even if it had already been compromised. He pays the taxi driver, and waits for him to pull away from the curb, before heading back towards the cottage.
He is plunged into the memory of his walk home Christmas Eve, after he had run out of gas; the long fateful walk that had altered his life completely. He blinks hard, shakes his head, tries to rid himself of the red, of the blood, that gushes before his eyes. He quickens his pace, eager to see Liz, to reassure himself that she is safe.
The gravel crunches under his feet as he enters the driveway, from where he is he can see Jackson standing with his back against the door. Red frowns, waiting for an explanation as he approaches.
"I had to lock her in," Jackson comments idly, smothering a smile as Red's expression darkens. The driver steps away, casually waving off the thanks Red offers him.
He grits his teeth, mentally preparing himself as the doorknob turns under his hand. He steps in and see's her slumped against the wall at the far end of the corridor. Her hair has come loose; she is barefoot, cheeks tearstained. When she looks up at him, her eyes are stormy, her jaw set.
"Lizzie..." He begins, not sure if he is furious with her blatant attempt at escape, or that he feels he needs to explain to her, that he needed to keep her safe. It doesn't matter either way, because she cuts him off with a jerky shake of her head.
She pushes herself off the wall, ignoring Red's offered hand, as she stands. He withdraws it slowly, studying her as she studies him.
"After everything that we've been through, Reddington, after the incident with Connolly, you're still just happy to shove me away when things get dangerous?" She demands, clenching her hands into fists.
"I've said that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, Lizzie, I intend to keep my word," Red responds, trying to stay calm and reasonable before her fury.
"I know what you've said, again and again, you promise that you'll protect me. Are you planning on including yourself, Reddington? You, who have wreaked havoc throughout my life? You, who have caused more pain in a few short years than I have ever experienced in all my life? Are you capable of protecting me from yourself?" Her voice is rising in volume, she is almost screaming at him, and Red is chewing on the inside of his cheek, guilt clawing its way up his throat. He can't respond, can't bring himself to utter what haunts him; that, eventually, he may be the death of Elizabeth Keen. Thankfully, she powers on in her rage, ignoring his silence, filling it with her fury.
"And what about you? Who is going to keep you safe?"
Red's eyes jump up to meet hers, confusion flickering through them. She steps forward abruptly and he notices that she is trembling.
"Who else do you have?" She snarls, and she grabs him by the jumper he is still wearing, roughly shaking him. His hands come up instinctively, grasping her wrists and smearing her skin red with blood. He stills, and so does she, because it is the most horrifying thing he has ever witnessed. It is a true testament of Raymond's Reddington's life, whatever he holds dear, ends up covered in blood. He drops his hands and jerks away, but she follows him. Tears are welling in her eyes now, spilling down her cheeks. She won't release him.
"You have me, Red, we're a team," she whispers, voice choked. "You're all that I have left, I can't lose you too."
When he still doesn't respond, her gaze flickers down to his chest, her fingers twisting the fabric she holds. Her breath is ghosting across his face, she is so warm.
"Connolly threatened you, he threatened you, so I shot him," Liz mumbles, and her voice is both hard and soft, hard because of the lengths she went to, soft because she does not regret it. Red stares at her, processing her confession.
"Lizzie," he breathes, pressing a kiss to her forehead before resting his own against hers. "I asked you to promise me that you would never do that again."
She tightens her grip, tensing, ready to fight once more. So Red leans back to smile at her softly, because right now she doesn't need to be admonished, she needs to be comforted. She'd murdered for him, and tonight he had almost thrown away her sacrifice. Her brows knit together in confusion, so he leans back in, lips brushing against the shell of her ear.
"Thank you," he rumbles, delighting in her huff of laughter as she in turn pulls back to look at him. Her eyes are still teary, but at least now she is smiling, no matter how wobbly it may be.
"You're welcome."
