It is cold, the wind biting as it rushes through her thick jacket and gloves. The snow melts over her boots, in her hair as it tumbles from the grey clouds above. It coats the black marble of the tombstone in white, the gold lettering even starker in the dim light.
Liz traces her fingers reverently over his name, so cold and impersonal.
Donald Ressler.
Flowers, most vibrant and fresh, are laid by the stone, bright amongst the untouched white. She lays a bunch of red Snapdragons amongst them, feeling hot tears spilling down her cheeks. Red's hand is a comforting warmth at the small of her back. She turns to him.
He's chewing on his lip, face grave and eyes remorseful as he stares at the stone. He slides his hand from her back to fit into her palm, giving her a squeeze before turning and leading her back to the sedan, rumbling in the snow.
Dembe says nothing as they slip into the car and Liz breathes deeply, her sigh shaky and her chest aching. Red sits silently behind her, leaning forward and gripping Dembe's shoulder as they pull away from the cemetery.
They had not even been in Washington for five hours, knowing that speed and stealth were paramount to their assault on the Director. Red had at first, back in England, flat out refused to allow Liz to go with them, to take part in the attack. Surprisingly, before Liz had the chance to start an argument, Dembe had stepped in, taking Red by the shoulder and leaning in to whisper something in his friend's ear. Red's face was stony, lips in a thin line, but he jerkily nodded his head before disappearing into the house. He was quiet for the rest of the evening.
Liz still does not know what Dembe had said to him.
As soon as they stepped off the jet and slid into the idling car waiting for them they had headed to the cemetery, Red having promised Liz that they would do so. She needed to pay her respects, but even more so she needed to swear to Ressler that she would do all it took to avenge him. Her heart still sits heavy in her chest, anxiety thrumming through her being.
She grits her teeth as Red's phone buzzes; last minute preparations and checks taking place. His voice is a low rumble, serious and deep. He still grips her hand and Liz thinks she can feel a slight tremble in his fingers. He is nervous, twenty years of preparation leading up to this point. She knows that sleep has evaded him in the previous nights, having woken up to find him staring at the ceiling, tracing patterns over her bare skin, lost in thought.
It is Aram on the other end of the line, confirming that he is able to hack into the security cameras and disable them when Red's team is ready to assault the building, and possibly open the gate as well. As suggested, the fire alarm will be triggered to cause confusion and to draw the guards away from their posts. If all goes well the assault team should be able to stroll through the Director's front yard undetected.
The call ends and Red breathes deeply, turning to face her as Dembe turns on to the highway; they're only a few miles from the Director's house, the cover of night falling, painting the sky an inky black. His green eyes glitter as he stares at her.
"I love you," he croaks, bringing her hand up to press a kiss to her palm. It's shaky and she knows that there are tears in her eyes, but she smiles back at him.
"We're going to be fine, Red," she whispers and when he doesn't respond she leans forwards and kisses him, "and I love you too."
He then grabs the duffel bag by his feet, unzips it and begins to pull out their clothing; black jumpers and pants, boots and guns. They dress efficiently as Dembe pulls off the highway, but the fear within Liz is rising, the angst she feels is almost choking. Red's face slides into an indifferent mask; his eyes cold and calculating as he scans the scenery outside. He looks terrifying.
The road the Director's house resides on is empty; the only company are the towering oak trees that line the sidewalks and the stray cats that dart through the shadows. Liz knows that amongst the murky darkness a group of armed and dangerous men wait for them, hidden amongst the shrubs and trees.
Dembe flicks off the lights of the car and practically rolls down the road, almost silent. They pull up along the curb and Red turns to her once more, but his expression is hidden by the darkness. The rawness of his voice is not; he doesn't want her here, he is terrified.
"Be careful."
Be safe.
And then he opens the door and steps out onto the sidewalk, swinging his shotgun over his shoulder and holstering his Colt 45. His men emerge from the night, the soft tread of their boots and the rustle of their clothes, the only sound. Their eyes, glittering and bright with adrenaline, are locked on to their commander; their attention absolute.
Reddington radiates power; command in the deep timbre of his voice, strength in the confidence of his posture and the promise of death and revenge burning in his eyes. The men circle around him, awaiting his signal. Dembe comes and stands next to Liz, places a steady hand on her shoulder before leaning down to whisper in her ear,
"Raymond wishes for me to stay with you."
Liz smiles up at him, briefly squeezing his hand before returning her attention to Red. He is splitting the group. One half, specialised snipers, are sent off to take down the guards that patrol the walls. The other half stick with Red, preparing to infiltrate the building.
The tell-tale wail of a fire-alarm splits the silence. The night seems to come alive as shouts can be heard from within the towering walls. Red's men jog forwards slowly, waiting for the guards to retreat further into the property. With Aram being able to monitor security cameras, he will be able to see when it is safe to open the gate.
Liz breathes deeply.
Now it begins.
The great gate shudders and creaks as it slides along its hinges. Liz moves with the rest of the group, Dembe's looming presence a comfort behind her. Her weapon is slick in her hands, but her grip is tight and certain.
She can't look away from Red, can't help but notice that he hasn't looked for her once. His shoulders are rounded and his steps sure as they creep up the driveway. He is focussed, intent. His fingers have stopped trembling and Liz feels as if he is in his domain, his element. She, on the other hand, can't stop the shakiness of her breaths or ease the tension in her shoulders.
Over the harsh breathing of her comrades, Liz thinks she can hear the muted sounds of gunfire, hopefully their snipers. A figure, a few strides ahead of them, tumbles from the walls, falling to the ground, already dead, confirming her suspicions. The group does not hesitate, the front door and living room windows coming into sight.
The mansion is beautiful; the gardens leading to the oak double-doors are flawless. Ivy treks up the pale stone, the lights from within illuminating the green of their leaves. Figures can be seen hurrying past the windows, the occasional glint of steel alerting the assault team that those inside were armed.
They split once more, moving to position themselves either side of the bay windows that look into the living room. Red gives the signal and two of the men smash the windows with the butts of their guns, followed by throwing stunning grenades inside. Startled shouts can be heard and Liz's tightens her grip on her gun.
She watches in awe as Red launches himself into the room, fluent and without effort, as if he hadn't been shot in the chest only a few months ago. The other men follow suit. The flash and scream of gunfire can be seen and heard and Liz is frozen; she can't move. Dembe pushes her forward, not willing to let Raymond out of his sight, but not willing to leave her behind.
And then she can hear him shouting, above all else she can hear his deep voice, laden with authority, shouting orders at his men as they rush through the house. Liz hauls herself through the window, her clothes catching on the broken glass as Dembe follows her.
Bodies litter the floor, pools of red seeping around them. Liz steps over them, ignoring everything but the pounding of blood in her limbs, that rich voice disappearing further into the house. He has left a trail of bodies in his wake, obvious by his trademark shots; one to the head, one to the heart. She follows after him, grim determination saturating her bloodstream.
They round a corner, dart up a stair case, rush down a corridor. Liz's breaths are torn from her chest and she can hear Dembe breathing heavily behind her. She turns back to him, offering him a smile, which he feebly returns.
Liz is wrenched off her feet, the black-clad arm like iron around her throat. She struggles against her attacker, wondering how the team could have missed him. Dembe has his weapon aimed, but he doesn't have a clear shot. Liz can smell the man's sour breath as he presses closer behind her.
"Drop the weapon!" He shouts, almost hysterical as he jams the muzzle of his own gun to her temple, making Liz wince. She hears her SIG thud on the floor as it falls from her hand, watches as Dembe slowly lays his gun on the ground, raising his hands above his head as instructed.
The man moves the gun away from Liz's temple, indicating where he wants Dembe to stand. She takes the mere second she has been given to throw back her head, smashing into the assailant's with a sickening crunch, before swinging her leg back and savagely kicking at the man's knee.
He howls in pain, staggering away. Liz rushes forward, lunging for her gun, knowing that he would regain his composure, that he still carried a weapon. She can hear his heavy footsteps as he rights himself, hears the click of a gun. She spins around, her blonde hair fanning out around her.
Two shots ring out.
One to the head and one to the heart.
The assailant slumps to the floor, rivulets of blood running down his front, eyes already dim. She can see Red's silhouette at the end of the corridor, still aiming his gun, eyes blazing. He takes a step towards her as Dembe rushes over, pulls her to her feet.
"I had that covered," she says breathlessly as he finally reaches her. He brushes her hair back from her face, shaking his head. Dembe has moved away to grab her gun before placing it in her palm, expression solemn once more.
"Come on," Red says, turning and leading them down the corridor. The rest of the team are not in sight, but Liz can hear gunfire from deeper within the house. She doesn't look at her attacker as she passes his body.
"Where's the Director?"
"Locked in his bedroom," is Red's curt reply as they move through the house, going up another set of stairs and stepping over fallen men, Red's and the Director's alike. Liz looks behind to see that she is leaving crimson footprints in her wake.
When they come to a closed door, what Liz assumes is the bedroom, Red seems to falter. He turns to look at her, tilting his head. She takes a step closer to him, frowning. He looks insecure.
"What's wrong?"
He briefly opens his mouth, works his jaw as if he can't force the words out, before simply shaking his head and pushing the door open.
The Director sits on his bed, posture straight and aiming for something like decorum, as they stride into the room. His grey hair is dishevelled, blood leaks from a cut on his forehead and he is dressed in only his pyjamas. His eyes are cold and small, different without being magnified by his glasses.
He looks to Liz as she enters the room, a small smile flitting across his face. She notices the way Red seems to tense, only minutely, but it is still visible. She meets the Director's gaze, tilting her head to look at him.
"Blonde suits you," he drones, eyes darting to Red, "you look just like your mother."
Liz says nothing so he turns his attentions to Reddington, a look of amusement crossing his features.
"Very impressive, Mr. Reddington," he begins and Liz can see that Red is smiling back at him, but his eyes are burning, furious. "But I can't help but wonder, what is the plan now? Killing me, what will that achieve?"
Red scoffs, shifting his weight as he levels his gun between the Director's eyes. The air is electric around them, thick with suspense and tension. Liz is dimly aware of Dembe closing the door before coming to stand beside her.
"You're arrogant, Peter" Red states, his voice so jovial, "You've held secrets from your friends, secrets that are paramount for the functioning of the Cabal. Don't try to bluff your way out of this. Together with your death and the investigations of the journalists I set on your path, your Clandestine Government will be in shambles in a manner of weeks."
Liz watches as the Director's face morphs from fury to grim acceptance. He nods his head, looking away from them both and out the window.
"There was a time that I wouldn't have settled until I killed every single one of the Cabal's members," Red states, voice almost bored as he cocks his gun, "Suppose I'll just have to settle for you."
The blast of the gun causes Liz to flinch, but she does not look away as the Director sinks to the floor, lifeless. A sigh gusts out of her at the sight; there was no turning back now. She looks up at Reddington, his face is blank but his eyes roam over her with concern.
She wouldn't turn back now, even if she had the choice.
"We need to go," Red says and his voice is gruff as he grabs her hand and leads her out of the bedroom and out of the house. Eventually out of the country.
With Dembe they rush out to the car, already the wail of sirens could be heard in the distance. The roar of the engine is all Liz can hear for a moment as they tear off into the darkness, tyres squealing on the asphalt.
Dembe drives them, extremely quickly and dangerously, to an abandoned airstrip. They leave the car, Red having organised for someone to torch it, and ascend the stairs to the jet waiting for them. Liz's heart is still thrumming in her chest as the plane bumps along the runway and takes off into the sky.
Red has made himself a drink and now sits with her tucked into her side. They have changed; Liz into some comfortable clothes, jeans and a jumper, and Red, predictably, into a suit. She snuggles deeper into his embrace and he presses a kiss to the top of her head.
"So, how long is it until we land?" Liz asks, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she looks at him. His expression is so soft, so adoring as he looks at her. She is pleased to see that there is no trace of regret or remorse over his features.
"That depends, Lizzie," he whispers, capturing her lips with his, "on where you would like to go?"
Liz smirks at him, her fingers skimming up his front to begin untying the knot of his tie. She shifts so that she is straddling him, throwing a cautious glance to the cockpit where the pilot and Dembe are. Red presses a kiss to her collarbone, pulling her attention back to him.
"Well," she says breathlessly, "I suppose that right now, the only place I want to be is right here."
Red's hands begin to wander beneath the hem of her jumper, his fingertips dancing over her bare skin. He is smirking at her, pressing soft kisses just below her jaw.
"It's a good thing we have plenty of fuel," he breathes against her skin, a wicked grin transforming his face as he glances up at her, "this may take a while."
She laughs as he tilts her so that she is lying on her back and he holds his weight above her, resting on his forearms. She smiles up at him and he smiles back. Liz never believed she could be this happy, especially as a wanted criminal or with a wanted criminal.
God, she loves him.
A/N; There you have it! All done! I hope you enjoyed the final instalment! Thank you so much for all your support! I have a new piece of work underway, which I am unbelievably excited about so stay tuned for more! Thank you again!
Below I have listed the songs that greatly inspired this piece of work;
Ragged Mile – The John Butler Trio
You – Keaton Heason
Back Down the Black – Boy & Bear
Bloodsport – Raleigh Ritchie
Tomorrow – Daughter
Fire Stone – Kygo
One Way Or Another – Until the Ribbon Breaks
Trouble – TV on the Radio
Bullet Girl – John Butler Trio
Little Lion Man – Mumford & Sons
Trouble (Robots Don't Sleep) – Robot Koch
