Trigger warnings; there is a bit of violence, rather graphic, and some mentions of rape.
They stay no longer than four days, but Lizzie still manages to finish the book Red had insisted upon, and then another. She had tucked herself away in her alcove, nestled in a thick blanket and always with a cup of tea. Red had considered staying longer, seeing how comfortable Liz was there, but it was not meant to be. They needed to get to Paris, to keep moving and travelling the globe; with Ressler down, their only major enemy was the Cabal.
They had managed to revert back to some level of peace and comfort in their last few days in Iceland, after the incident the first morning. Red would cook, make sure that Lizzie would eat, and she in turn would do the washing up. They'd sit in the lounge room, each with a drink and always dessert, flicking through the movies, each taking turns at what they were going to watch. It had been enjoyable.
The hotel they are staying in is to Red's tastes; extravagant and lavish. Liz, though not as settled as she had been in Iceland, still manages to make herself comfortable, curled up on the couch and laughing gently at Red as he relays one of his own stories.
"I darted up the steps, slipping slightly on the marble, looking a complete mess. The poor young receptionist, Kamon, petite girl with exquisite hair and a... talented... masseuse, just stares at me, completely mystified, as this little beast of an otter scuttles around my legs, whiskers tickling me to insanity."
He delights in the way she laughs, her lips parted, so delicate and soft. She is absolutely enthralling. The way her eyes glisten with mirth, cheeks slightly flushed. Her laughter dies away as he continues to stare at her. He looks away, staring out the window.
"I should go get ready," Liz says quietly, standing slowly and heading off to her bedroom. Red's eyes track her departure in the reflection, heart heavy.
Red roughly grabs the glass of scotch off the table before him, slightly loosing the composure he had been desperately grasping to. He takes a deep drink, hoping to burn the taste of Lizzie away; if it hadn't worked yet, however, he doubted it ever would.
He sucks a breath through his teeth, remembers her slight moans, body pressed so close to his, hair so soft and tangled in his fingers. A steady stream of self-hatred pulsates through his bloodstream and Red finds that the heat of scotch sliding down his throat is similar to the heat of Lizzie's fingers as they raked over his scalp.
It would never happen again.
Red finds himself astounded at how fast Liz is able to get ready. She steps out, rousing him from his thoughts; shy as ever, her dress flowing around her ankles. It is stunning, blues and reds and greens all coming together, jewels expertly woven into the fabric from the neckline, to just below her bust. She looks radiant, the blue of her eyes brought out by shining gems and soft material.
He smiles at her, words escaping him, knowing they were not necessary. The way she beams at him makes it clear enough that she knows what he is thinking either way. He steps forwards, links their arms and leads her to the door.
"You're going to absolutely adore the food, Lizzie."
A reservation has been made for them at L'Ambroisie in the place des Vosges, much to Red's excitement. He is practically buzzing when they finally arrive, and he is aware that he is babbling to Lizzie, but it is worth it to see the way she grins at him as if he is a young child; her smile so full of affection.
One of the waiters greets them, showing them to their seats. Red notes that though Lizzie is impressed, she isn't gaping and staring they way she used to when he gallivanted her to expensive hotels and restaurants; she is becoming accustomed.
She elegantly takes her seat, lets Red order her drink, a sly smirk gracing her features. She holds the menu, eyes scanning over the options until she lets Red order her meal for her as well. He finds himself staring at her, unable to tear his gaze away. Perhaps if he had, he would have noticed the newest patron to arrive, escorted in by a waitress.
Lizzie's gaze flickers over his should and she seems to stiffen, her eyes widening before falling into slits. She wraps her knuckles around the edge of the table, turning her skin white. And then he hears it, an all too familiar voice; seductive and dangerous. Cold dread slithers down his spine.
"Raymond."
He turns in his seat slowly, a smile firmly in place, even though he can feel the fury seeping through Lizzie's body and into the atmosphere. Madeline Pratt smirks back at him, strutting forwards. A fur is draped over her arm and a necklace, chunky, golden and full of diamonds, sits on her collarbone. The dress she wears is emerald green, elegant and so very Madeline, cleavage on display and a very revealing slit up her thigh.
"Ah, Madeline, what a pleasure," he says, playing their game. He stands to greet her and kisses her on the cheek. She turns her head, briefly capturing his lips with hers. Red is certain that he hears Lizzie make a choked noise of protest. So does Madeline.
"And... you are Nicole, yes?" Madeline asks, sliding her arm around Red's shoulders. Her tone is patronising. Lizzie jerkily nods her head, eyes not once flickering over to him. Red manages to slide out of Pratt's grasp, certain that he would have been elated at the way Lizzie seemed to relax if his heart wasn't hammering against his chest.
"What brings you to this establishment, Maddy?" Red asks, bringing her unnervingly sharp gaze away from Lizzie and onto himself. She leers at him, her teeth seeming almost bared.
"Oh, I'm here with Jaeger! Have you met him before, Raymond? He is quite the businessman," She exclaims happily, and Red can see the enjoyment she is getting from this; noticing the twitch in his cheek, the way he glances briefly over to Lizzie.
"Yes, we're acquainted," he replies evenly, slowly shrugging on the jacket he had shed, hoping that Lizzie would notice. She slowly picks up her clutch and Red smiles to himself in pride.
Jaeger Gerver is a German mobster, just as trigger happy and cunning as Anslo Garrick. He is unpredictable, brutal and ruthless. Man, woman, child, if they ever crossed Jaeger Gerver, they would surely find themselves dead. Unfortunately, Red has done just that, one of the many reasons he does not frequent Berlin often.
"Are you leaving, Raymond?" Madeline questions; feigning innocence, her smile almost a snarl. Red's stomach jolts as her eyes flicker back over to Lizzie. "Can't contain yourself any longer? Well don't let me stop you, perhaps show the young girl a thing or two that I taught you?"
Red ignores her, brushing past and grasping Lizzie's hand. They walk briskly out of the restaurant, the wind blowing their clothing out behind them. Lizzie is holding his hand so tight that it aches and he considers whether it is from fear, or anger. There are two large black SUV's parked on the road and the doors are thrust open at their approach. He briefly wonders if he'll ever get a meal at his favourite restaurants.
They both dart forwards, immersing themselves amongst the crowds, dodging and running, trying to lose the mobsters that are pursuing them. Lizzie still has not let go of his hand, every muscle in her body is tense. Red throws a glance over his shoulder, noticing that their tail has fallen behind.
He tugs Lizzie down an alley. The silk of her dress slithers along the pavement behind him, her heels discarded long ago, replaced with the stealth and softness of her bare feet. Her breath puffs out of her and into the air like smoke, like the fire that raged within her since they met, that had slowly diminished, had been reignited.
I finally had a chance to see her, Sam. There's a fire inside she got from you.
Red shakes his head, he needs to focus.
They would not be able to wait out here much longer, it's too cold. They'd have to somehow find their way back to the hotel without being discovered.
Red grimaces as he hears a string of harsh German not far off. Lizzie tenses as he presses her up against the wall. He tilts his head to listen. She huffs at him in indignation before leaning against him and waiting. Footsteps jog past them; Red's grip tightens on her forearms, the unmistakeable clanking of weaponry accompanying them.
He sharply glances at Lizzie as she snakes her arm around his waist, before stepping quickly away from her grasp. The warmth of her fingertips is seared into his back, to accompany the burns already there.
"Where's your gun?" Lizzie asks, alarmed, and suddenly it all makes sense. Red glances up at the sky above them, swallowing. He was being too reckless, he needs to focus.
"I didn't bring one. I don't have any weapons."
"What do you mean you didn't bring any weapons? Are you completely insane?" she hisses at him, her eyes blazing with fury.
"How often do you take your gun to dinner, Lizzie?" he retorts, forcing nonchalance into his tone. She glares at him then, because she knows he has made a mistake, endangering them both. He looks away from her, back to the entrance of the alley.
"Only when I'm a wanted fugitive and the German Mafia have a grudge against my travelling companion," she responds, but the way she sweeps her hand down her dress in frustration indicates to Red that she didn't think to bring anything with her. She had been relying on him.
I believe I will always do whatever I have to do to keep you alive.
He just smirks, attempting to hide the roiling anxiety within him.
"Red," her voice is soft as she tugs on his sleeve. She has fallen completely still, except for that one delicate movement. A shadow falls across her face, and Red steps closer to her, grips her waist tightly, shielding her with his body, and bows his head in resignation. She breathes deeply, trembling slightly. Red doesn't hear as the footsteps approach, focussed as he is on Lizzie. Her face, her eyes, lips. The way her breath puffs over his face. She smells like the cocoa moisturiser in her bathroom.
Harsh hands grab at them, Liz letting out a yelp of protest as they are viciously torn apart. Red stumbles slightly, a jarring punch colliding with his jaw, before a gun is stabbed into his ribs. He can hear Lizzie struggling, but when he looks up he can see that they have done her no harm.
The click of high heels is distinct in the silent and dingy alley, a contradiction of wealth and filth combined. Red can smell her rich perfume, so recognisable, before she reaches him. Her fingers are harsh as they grip his chin, nails like claws as they sink into his flesh. He blows a kiss to her.
"Shall we take this inside?" Madeline suggests, eyebrows rising lewdly. She indicates the rusty door, further down the alley and Red internally groans. They'd run straight into the trap.
"Always, Madeline."
The mobsters roughly drag them inside; the gun is pressed so hard against Red's ribs he can feel the bruises forming. Lizzie has her head held high but occasionally she stumbles, gritting her teeth as she does so.
The warehouse is cold, freezing, and dimly lit. Dripping water can be heard, echoing off the concrete walls. The hum of electricity buzzes through the air, and the area smells of damp and mould.
Jaeger Gerver stands in the middle of the room, in between two stainless steel chairs. He is as imposing as ever; tall, broad shouldered and muscular, a strong jaw and a thick head of hair. His eyes are dark, so brown they look black. Madeline prances over to him, hips swaying. She throws her arms around the mobster's neck, kissing him deeply, before releasing him and turning back to Reddington.
"Jaeger promises that you're all mine, as long as you're dead by the time I'm finished with you," Pratt smirks. Gerver turns and exits the room without a word, two lackeys follow him. That leaves two in the room, not including Pratt. "But I plan to drag that on for as long as possible, you know I don't like it when we finish too fast, don't you Raymond?"
Red doesn't answer, will not play her game any longer. He needs to get Lizzie out. As they roughly undress him, tearing off his jacket, tie and vest leaving him only in a dress shirt his eyes scan the room for a weakness, for something that could be used as a weapon. He is then dragged forward towards one of the chairs. They snap handcuffs on to his wrists, joining them together behind his back.
"When I heard that you were on the run again, Raymond, I just knew it would be with her," Madeline begins conversationally, "with dear Nicole, except it's not is it? This is Lizzie."
Raymond has to stop himself from snarling, Lizzie's name so wrong on Pratt's tongue. She notices the way he tugs slightly on his restraints and lets out a harsh bark of laughter. She strolls casually over to the women in question and Lizzie flinches back from her; blue eyes like ice, cold and hard.
"Who is she to you, Raymond?" Her tone goes from conversational to vicious, dangerous. She grabs a handful of Lizzie's hair, yanking it harshly. Liz yells loudly, the pain in her voice shooting down Red's core. The slap is like lightning, Lizzie falling silent immediately, the outline of Madeline's rings imprinted on her cheek.
"Let her go, Maddy. Whatever you want with me, take it. Just let her go."
The older woman looks over to him, laughs mirthlessly as she releases Lizzie. She shakes her head, expression one of mock pity.
"I have heard stories, Raymond, so many interesting stories," she reminisces, "of how Anslo couldn't get you to scream, which I found rather unusual since I never had a problem with reaching such a result."
She flicks her hands at one of the mobsters and they disappear into the dark, the sound of a door opening and closing in the silence. Red stares at Madeline, heart thundering in his chest.
"So, since I'm not really interested in using my customary methods, I think we should try something new. What do you think, Raymond?"
He refuses to move, to acknowledge her words or Lizzie's presence in the room. The sound of the thug's footsteps returning makes his gut twist. He knows that his left cheek is twitching occasionally. His eyes briefly flicker over to the mobster; he is holding an electronic branding iron.
Lizzie begins to struggle in her seat, jerking at her handcuffs as the brute approaches her. He grabs the back of her chair, drags her over to the wall and plugs the iron in. As he stands he rocks back on his heels before swinging his arm and landing a punch that causes Lizzie's head to snap back. She gasps and coughs and Red's vision blurs with fury. Madeline grins at him, watching his every expression.
Pratt strides over to Lizzie and Red leans forward, feeling the metal of the cuffs digging into his skin. His throat tightens as she leans forward, grabbing Lizzie by the chin and forcing her head forward, running her thumb over the beads of blood on her lip; split from the punch.
She brings her thumb, smeared with blood, to her own lips, slipping it into her mouth. Red grimaces at the wet popping sound she makes; the thumb sucked clean once it remerges. Striking like the snake that she is, Madeline lashes out, her hand slapping Liz hard across the face, nails raking through skin. Angry red streaks leaking blood now accompany the marks of the rings.
"Oh Red, she tastes delicious, but I'm sure you're already aware?"
As the cuffs burrow into his skin, Red can feel hot blood sliding down his fingertips. He flicks the droplets onto the floor, steadily watching Lizzie. She is staring at her knees, ignoring the way Madeline looms over her.
The woman in question then turns on her heel, a flicker of frustration dancing over her face. Red wasn't reacting enough, he wasn't playing the game. She stalks over to him, arm extended as if to a lover. He flinches back, hoping to insult, but she ignores it, sliding her hand under his shirt. Her fingers are warm as they play over the scar tissue on his back. She smirks at him, leaning in close and whispering,
"Shall we give your lover a matching set?"
Every nerve in Red's body sets alight at her murmured words. She spins from him, the two brutes stepping forward, one grabbing the branding iron and the other tearing Lizzie's dress, exposing her back and breasts. She starts to shout, desperation leeching into her voice, high and panicked. One of the men runs his hand roughly over his shoulder, his calloused fingers contrasting greatly with her soft skin. He begins to reach lower before Pratt calls him off, though her eyes are only for Red.
"Madeline... Maddy, please, just take me and let her go," Red pleads, his voice rough. She answers by laughing, shaking her head. "Think Maddy, what does this achieve for you? I can't fathom what you think you will gain from this. You're a thief, not a torturer."
"Oh Red, you just don't understand spurned women do you? You don't understand how sweet revenge can be."
The iron is red hot, bright in the dimness of the warehouse and Red can't breathe, panic is choking him. Lizzie is frantically wrenching at the cuffs, the bottom of the chair screeching along the concrete as it slides forward. He can't get to her. He can't get to her.
"No, no no no, please!" Lizzie begs, tears beginning to stream down her face. One of the mobsters advances, leering down at her, iron in hand.
The blood rolls down Red's hands, hot, wet and fast as he struggles to break free, his muscles burning with tension. And then she begins to scream; she screams and she howls, but Red can still hear the sizzle of her skin, smell her burning flesh. She's thrown her body forward, trying desperately to escape, but the blazing metal is pressed against her.
"Lizzie! Lizzie!" He knows he's screaming, aware that Madeline is thrilled with his response, but she needs to know that he's here, that he'll get her somewhere safe. He screams until he chokes, keeps yelling her name even after she falls silent. Her head lolls to the side and he can see her eyes; they're glazed, but he knows that she can see him.
I'm not going to let anything happen to you.
His wrists are slick with blood, his cheeks wet with tears he did not realise he had shed. He stares at her, sure that this is what dying feels like, seeing the light fading in her eyes.
I have never lied to you.
Red feels the skin give way on his wrists, feels it peel away from muscle as the blood helps him slide out of his cuffs. He swallows, hard, past the pain, trying to stifle the shaking in his limbs. He needs to stay alert.
"Not the name I would prefer to hear from your lips, Raymond, but I suppose it will have to do."
Madeline has focussed her attention on to Lizzie, and so has her back to Red. He sizes up the mobsters, noticing their stances, where they carry their weapons. One of them roughly tugs Lizzie's head up by her hair, eliciting a moan, exposing her throat. He leans forward, roughly running his nose up her neck, breathing deeply.
"Shall we see if the boys can't get Lizzie to scream for you?"
Fury almost blinds him, but he breathes deeply before lunging forward, crashing into the closest man, arms wrapped around his neck. Red feels it snap with satisfaction, the blood of his wrists smearing against his victim. He has lost the element of surprise; Pratt and the other thug spinning around quickly.
Madeline knows him too well, knows that once unleashed he is unstoppable. So she flees, darts off into the night. The remaining man does not. He charges at Red; miscalculating his naval training, the litheness one gains from a life on deck. He stumbles past Red; not even having enough time to turn around before Red grabs the dead man's gun and puts a round in his head. He slumps to the floor.
"Red."
He rushes to her, getting their just in time to cradle her head as she passes out.
A/N; Sorry for the cliffhanger! Chapter 13 is underway. I really hope you enjoyed the chapter, let me know what you think!
