They find themselves at a McDonalds, in the early hours of the morning. Red has driven them as far from the Wall as he possibly could; only stopping to steal another car, hoping to throw the Cabal off their trail. Lizzie sits across from him, tablet in hand as she makes contact with Dembe. Red has always been hopeless with them and has delegated the job to her, hoping to distract her.
She hasn't spoken, merely sat in the passenger seat, tears sliding down her cheeks. Every now and then her breath had hitched and Red couldn't help but glance over to her, but she never met his gaze. He had tightened his grip on the steering wheel, trying to rid the images of her holding that gun to her head.
Forgotten fries and cheeseburgers lay abandoned before her. She won't eat and Red can't muster the strength to argue or push the point; he has no appetite either. Panic and anxiety have always been corrosive to his hunger and his veins are riddled with it.
"Dembe's organised us a flight to England," she mumbles, sliding the tablet over to him and indicating the address on the screen; an airfield. Red slips out of the booth, waits for Lizzie to do the same, before walking out into the carpark and sliding into their stolen vehicle. They drive in silence; Red feeling as if he is suffocating under the emotions that choke him.
Dembe is waiting for them on the tarmac. Who knows how close he had been, having left Denmark the same time Lizzie and Red departed Bali. Red just presumed he had flown in as soon as Aram had contacted him after losing connection with Red.
With Dembe is a squad of men that are there to deal with what has been left in Lizzie and Red's wake; the stolen cars, their belongings left in their hotel room. They disperse as soon as he and Lizzie drag themselves out of the car, sliding into the vacated seats and accelerating away.
"Brother," Dembe intones, walking to embrace Raymond, holding him tightly. It's as if he is able to sense that more than just the attack has rattled Red. Lizzie walks past them, pale and drawn. Red breaks away from Dembe and follows after her.
She has curled herself up on the couch, back to the both of them. Her breaths are short, haggard. She is crying once more. There is no possibility that Ressler survived and they are both acutely aware of it. If he had managed to survive the bullet wound, the Cabal would have made sure that they tied up loose ends. Red wonders if she blames him for her partner's death. Ressler was killed by the bullet that was destined for Raymond.
He looks at her, the way her hair has spilled over her face. It covers her temple, but Red can imagine that she can still feel the cold steel she had placed there. He feels sick and turns away. She needs her space and he needs his.
Moving down to the back of the plane, Red is aware of Dembe's presence following him. Sitting heavily in one of the chairs, he is concealed from Lizzie. A sigh gusts out of him and he tilts his head up to the roof of the plane, his eyes sliding closed. Her shaking hands and the glint of steel flash across his eyelids and they snap open. Dembe settles a gentle hand on his shoulder and Raymond feels his eyes sting.
"I could have lost her," Red whispers and his voice is so weak, so quiet. Dembe tightens his grip briefly, eyes searching over Red's face.
"But you did not, Raymond," Dembe replies, glancing down the plane, eyes resting on Lizzie's form before jumping back. "Have faith in Agent Keen's abilities."
Red shakes his head, throat tightening and tears once more pricking at his eyes. Dembe releases his grip, leans back in his chair, assessing his friend. He doesn't understand, he wasn't there, doesn't know what Lizzie had threatened to do.
This had been what Red had always wanted to avoid, but this was something he had been unable to predict, unable to even contemplate. He had known that his love for Lizzie would be dangerous, potentially deadly. He had known this and had been comforted by the fact that he could protect her, from anyone or anything that threatened her. What he hadn't predicted was that Lizzie loved him so fiercely in return, that it could drive her to such extreme and destructive lengths. He swallowed through the tightness in his throat as Dembe opened his mouth to speak.
"Go to her, Raymond."
And he did, because the only thing that could anchor Red in the swirling and turbulent emotional tide he was drowning in was her heat, her touch.
She rolls over at his approach, eyes swollen and red, and makes room on the couch, leaning into him as soon as he sits down. She is trembling slightly as she buries her head into his chest. He clutches at her, pulls her to him, as close as she can possibly be, presses a kiss to the top of her head.
They will need to talk, to discuss her actions, but right now what they need is comfort, the only kind they can find with each other. He breathes deeply into her hair, eyes sliding closed. The adrenaline of the past day has worn off and he feels her slump against him, her breaths evening out. He follows her.
Dembe rouses Red many hours later, but is careful to not jostle or wake Elizabeth. His expression is grim as Red extracts himself gently from Lizzie's grip. He holds a manila folder in his hand and indicates that Raymond should sit before passing it to him.
"The leak," Dembe begins, and his voice trembles with barely restrained fury, "It was Mr. Vargas."
Red flicks through the information, a steady burn of rage building within. Aram had worked quickly, as had Dembe, in assembling all possibilities and loose ends that could have led to both the FBI and the Cabal ambush. Obviously, they had been planned separately, the FBI not aware of the Cabal's presence. The latter had wanted Red arrested; the Cabal had wanted him dead.
"He leaked information to the FBI, knowing that the Cabal would find out about it. Why does he want us dead?" Red asks, eyes darting over to the woman curled up on the couch.
Lizzie shifts in his sleep, reaching out for him and finding a pillow instead. She drags it to her chest, falling still once more. Red returns his attention back to Dembe, having seen enough of Vargas' betrayal.
"I do not know, Raymond. When we track him down, we can ask."
"I can't go after him," he states, pointedly looking back at Lizzie, "so you can either organise something or send someone else."
Dembe nods his head, accepting the folder back and moving to the cockpit to make the necessary arrangements. Red goes to the bar and pours himself a scotch, downs it, and then pours himself another. Lizzie mumbles something in her sleep and Red sits across from her, watching her for the remainder of the trip.
When they land and are ushered out of the plane by Dembe, Lizzie is still quiet. Grief swims in her eyes and Red's heart aches at the sight of it. He grabs her hand and she squeezes his in return.
A black sedan is idling on the airstrip for them, the cool breeze of England a stark change to the hot, humid climate of China. The trip to just outside of Bath will only take an hour or so, but Lizzie falls back to sleep anyway. Red can't bring himself to let go of her hand.
She wakes on her own as they traverse up a dirt road, bumping along uncomfortably. Dembe's frown can be seen in the rear-view mirror; he's concentrating, yet is still managing to hit every pothole. Red stifles a tired smile.
Lizzie turns to look at him and her eyes seem so dim and Red can't bring himself to look back at her; guilt sliding through his veins, weighing down his chest.
"Where're we going?" Lizzie questions, her voice quiet. When she realises he won't meet her gaze she looks back out the window, pulling her hand away from him.
"I've got a secluded cottage up here," he replies, "It's fully stocked and no one will bother us."
They lapse back into silence, but when the little stone cottage comes into view Lizzie lets out a sigh and a small smile quirks at her lips. Red's heart just about leaps at the sight.
It's started to drizzle outside, so, after Red bids him to do so, Dembe escorts Lizzie inside with his umbrella. Red follows after them, trepidation in each step, taking in the quaint building. The stones are stained by the rain and ivy crawls up the side that faces to the east. The garden is full, loud in both colour and sound; the blooms of flowers, bright and the singing of crickets, present.
He walks up the stone steps and pushes the heavy oak door open. The stale smell of an unused house greets him, cold and musty. Red enters straight into the living room and hangs his coat in the closet to the side of the door. The hearth is cold, but Dembe is already crouched before it rolling up paper.
A lamp is alight in the corner, tucked behind the couch that Liz is curled up on, her eyes glued to the television that rests on a cabinet pressed against the stone wall. A news presenter flickers on the screen, their accent strong and their voice droning.
"It has been confirmed that Raymond Reddington and Elizabeth Keen were ambushed by the FBI whilst sightseeing at the Great Wall of China, yesterday," they state, staring down the lens of the camera. "This confrontation resulted in the deaths of twelve FBI agents and several of Reddington's security personnel, who reportedly initiated the conflict by opening fire on the crowd of civilians. These events have been labelled as acts of terrorism. The Chinese Government is now in discussions with President Obama, claiming that this blatant attack on Chinese soil will not be tolerated."
Red turns his gaze to Lizzie, she has her eyes squeezed shut, but a tear still manages to escape and roll down her cheek. He moves towards the remote, to switch off the television, but her voice pulls him up short.
"Don't."
Her eyes are back open and her teeth are gritted together. She is staring at the screen as the pronouncer continues. Dembe has stopped moving by the hearth. The house is silent except for the voice projected from the speakers.
"It has been reported that Raymond Reddington shot Assistant Director Donald Ressler point blank in the chest, leaving him to bleed out and die, before escaping with Elizabeth Keen."
Dembe stands from where he is crouching at the hearth, moving over to stand by Reddington's side. His steady presence is reassuring as an image of Ressler's face flashes over the screen. The presenter goes on to say that Ressler's body will be returned to America for a private funeral in a matter of days.
Lizzie's face looks to be made of stone when she leans forward, snatching at the remote and jabbing the power button. The screen snaps to black and the room falls silent. She turns to both of them, eyes hard. Red feels Dembe move away and disappear deeper into the cottage.
"I want to end them," she snarls, standing and striding over to Red. She seizes him by the already rumpled lapels of his suit and pushes him against the wall. His hands instinctively snap up to her wrists, but his grip is soft. He caresses her scar and her eyes flutter closed.
"We need to talk about your... actions today, Lizzie," is his reply and her eyes snap open. Her grip on his clothes tightens and she presses a bruising kiss to his lips, releasing a noise like a snarl as she does so. When she pulls away her eyes are a molten blue.
"They've taken so much, Red. They don't get to have you, either," she leans forward and rakes her teeth down his neck, before breathing against him, "you're mine."
Her hands slide beneath his shirt as his head drops back and thumps into the wall. He groans as she runs her fingernails over his skin, slowly nipping her way down his neck, salving the sore skin with her tongue.
Red feels his hands rise of their own accord, even as his mind screams at him to stop, that they need to talk. But they need this more, this physical reassurance that they're both alive, here with each other. She smiles in triumph against his neck as his palms skate over her abdomen, tugging her shirt over her head. He is still pinned against the wall, her leg wedged between his own. A growl escapes him as her fingers fall to his belt, nimble and impatient as she tears at the buttons.
He leans down to capture her lips with his, biting down on her bottom lip so hard that she emits a muffled squeal. She pulls back to glare at him before dropping to her knees and tugging, agonisingly slowly, at his trousers. Red's heart is thundering within his chest, breaths ragged as she stares up at him, smirk firmly in place.
Her hair is like silk as he runs his hand through it, gathering it in his grasp, but as his fingers graze her temple she pulls back and hisses in pain. Red freezes, the building heat and arousal plummeting as he spots the ring of purple marking Lizzie's skin. He feels ill and shifts away from her, moving towards the couch and leaving her crouching before an empty space.
Lizzie's head sags, a sigh escaping her as she turns to look at him. She rises slowly, grabbing her shirt from where it was piled on the floor and slipping it over her head. Red watches her as she cautiously moves towards him.
"I was once in Afghanistan conducting business with an arms-dealer," Red begins; his voice is hoarse, "We were traversing through the desert for days on end; only God knows how we survived it. This dealer, Malcolm, had a hidden bunker, completely isolated from anyone and anything. There were no roads in or out."
Lizzie shifts on her feet, her focus entirely on Red. She has her arms crossed over her chest and she is gnawing on the inside of her cheek. Her lips are swollen and she briefly runs her tongue along them.
"When we eventually got there, sunburnt and dehydrated, a message was waiting for me. One of Malcolm's men told me that Dembe had been taken."
Red's eyes flicker to the direction that he had seen his faithful friend disappear down. He clenches and unclenches his hands, moving his gaze back to Lizzie. She nods her head, encouraging him to continue.
"He had just turned nineteen, had just started college," Red states, "and he is strong, stronger than I could ever hope to be Lizzie, but... the things Dembe has gone through... the events that could trigger him are too horrible to even imagine. The... thought that after his survival, after all of his courage and bravery in fighting his demons, could be obliterated because of his association with me..."
His voice catches and he turns away from her, moving to the kitchen to find himself some scotch. Lizzie waits in silence as he pours himself a glass, takes a long drink from it.
"I never thought that I would ever be as frightened or terrified as I was during that time, struggling through the burning sands of Afghanistan, to get back to him, to make sure that he was okay, that he would be okay," he takes a larger mouthful of scotch, savours the burn as it slides down his throat. "But then you held that gun to your head, Lizzie..."
Red gives up then, can't go on any further, can't talk past the lump of fear wedged in his throat. Lizzie's eyes are full of tears once more and she walks forwards, a sob escaping her as she hugs him, arms slipping around his neck.
"Oh God, Red, I thought... I thought you knew I was bluffing. I needed them to let you go," she gasps into his neck, her hot tears spilling onto his skin. He tightens his grip on her hips, pulling her closer and shifting so that his lips are pressed to the shell of her ear.
"That is not the point, sweetheart," he murmurs, "that... was something I never wanted to see. And the fact that you thought I would just leave you... I can't comprehend that, Lizzie."
She pulls back to look at him then, her brows creased into a frown. Her hand rises and she traces a finger along his jaw line.
"I knew that if they took me, Red, and you got away, that you'd come after me," she states simply, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. It is the most obvious thing in the world. "They wouldn't have been able to stop you. It was a plan... I just, I thought you'd catch on."
He presses a kiss to her forehead, huffing out a laugh before looking down at her and nodding his head. She was right; he would have rescued her. He tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear.
"But never do it again," he rumbles, pressing his forehead to hers and breathing deeply, "next time we'll think of a better plan."
A/N; I'm sorry about Ress! I hope you still enjoyed the chapter! Thank you for reading!
