He hasn't said a word since they left the kitchen — she wonders if she could possibly have hurt his feelings. To his credit, he had waited for her to dress before striding out into the entrance hall and leading her through a small side door to what he called the "service corridor", which seemed to curve all the way around the snug little home.
He'd led her through the corridor counter-clockwise about a quarter turn, then stopped and looked up and down the outside wall. She wasn't sure what he'd been expecting to see, but what was there was just a long hank of bright blue cable coming through a rough hole in the outer wall, coiled up on the floor. She couldn't even see a connector on the end — it was just a cut cable.
He'd stood there a moment, looking very much like he wanted to punch something (or someone), then he'd turned and stalked back the way they'd come. She'd stayed still, wondering what they would do. Did he have a sat phone? Was it safe enough to slip above ground at night long enough to contact Dembe, or Mr. Kaplan?
He'd come back quickly, though, before she had time to work up a good worry, with a toolbox in one hand and a stepladder in the other. She'd raised an eyebrow at that, but he shot her such a quelling glare that she'd subsided quietly to lean against the inner wall and watch.
And become intrigued with him, all over again.
She'd watched, as he took a pair of wire strippers, pliers, and a connector, and neatly and efficiently capped the cable.
She'd watched, as he took a handful of cable clips, a hammer, and the stepladder, and tidily tacked the cable up, over the ceiling, and down the inner wall.
She'd watched, as he'd measured up the wall from the floor, taken a small drywall saw, and cut a small neat hole in the inner wall. All silently, ignoring her completely.
As he crouches down by the wall, feeding cable, she enjoys watching the muscles in his back move smoothly. She also can't quite help (and doesn't really want to help) admiring the tight curve of his ass.
He straightens up, finished, sees her watching him (checking out his ass), and smiles sardonically at her, taking his turn to raise an eyebrow. Well, she thinks, if I did hurt his feelings, he's more than earned an apology.
"I'm sorry I doubted you, Red," she says sweetly. "I don't know why I bother to continue to be surprised by your hidden depths. Sometimes I think you're nothing but depths." And she grins at him, making friends again.
"It's also curiously sexy," she adds, reaching out to run a hand up his forearm, "Watching you work with your hands."
And she sees the tension in him ease as he laughs, low and rich.
"Well, now," he says, taking her hand and pulling her into him. "That's the kind of surprise I can enjoy giving you." He bends his head and gives her long, deep kiss, then pulls away, leaving her breathless and dizzy.
"Come on, then," he says, letting her go with a cheerful pat on the butt. "Let's go and see what Dembe has for us, shall we?"
And he collects his tools and ladder, and strolls off along the corridor, leaving her to follow, shaky-limbed, in his wake.
In the library, it turns out — completely unsurprisingly, now — that he has put the cable through the wall directly behind the desk. He pulls a sleek-looking laptop out of a drawer and plugs the newly capped cable into the Ethernet port without so much as blinking an eye. She rolls hers behind his back, wondering just how many disguises he wears at once, anyway.
He logs into Hotmail (Oh, for God's sake, she thinks, seriously?), clicks a few times, and then gives a noncommittal grunt.
"Well, Lizzie," he says, turning to her with a smile — although she thinks it's a bit strained, now. "Fresh air and sunshine are in our near future — Dembe will be picking us up in the park tonight."
"So… it's all clear?" she asks, unsure of his reaction. "Really? What's Ressler up to — did Dembe say anything?"
"He managed to send the bulk of the task force to Brazil on a false lead," he answers, pride in his tone now. "We'll already be in Switzerland by the time they get back."
She just looks at him, and he smiles, a little clearer, this time.
"Safe house in the country," he says. "And we can be a lot more effective above ground, right? Are you ready, Lizzie, to fight for yourself?"
She takes a deep breath, in, out.
"For myself," she agrees. "And for you."
Later, they've eaten lunch, and arranged the rest of the food as best they can — Red assures her that cleaners will be through within a week to scrub all trace of them from the house.
He's in his bedroom, packing up a small bag of clothes and what he terms "necessities of life, Lizzie."
She couldn't care less about clothes, and is prioritizing the work they've done, not willing to let go of the information he's shared with her, the pieces of himself that his business represents. She's gathered her copious notes into a leather case that she found in a cupboard. She also dug up a small camera, in the same drawer the laptop had come from, and is taking carefully sectioned shots of his crazy-quilt of notes and mapped lines on the wall when he comes in.
"I thought you'd be packing," he says quietly. "It took me a minute to find you in here."
"What you've given me here is far more important than clothes, Red," she replies earnestly. "Your trust, your belief that I can work with you, be a part of your team, of this fight — that's what I need."
She reaches out for his hand, but he moves away slowly, and sits heavily in the recliner in the corner of the room.
"We… we should talk about what will happen, out there," he says, an awkward discomfort and unhappiness etched onto his face.
"I know it won't be easy," she says, a little surprised, and a little put off by his tone. "I'm not stupid or naïve, Red. This time, here, safe and quiet, it's been… it's been a lovely little interlude from reality, I know that. I know I'm being hunted, on two fronts, now. But, together…"
"That's just it," he interrupts, clenching and unclenching his fists in uncharacteristic agitation. "You need to think carefully about how you want to… behave, outside. It's likely better, safer, if we remain… business partners, at least in…"
"You… you have got to be kidding me," she says in angry disbelief, striding across the room to stand in front of him, her hands on her hips. "Were you not the one, just last night, asking for more time, time to be together?"
"I thought we'd have time," he says, misery in his voice, crawling across his face and body. "I honestly didn't expect Dembe to succeed so soon. I expected more from Ressler," he admits. "I can't imagine why."
"Hoped for better, maybe I'd buy," she snaps. "You have nothing but disdain for his abilities as an agent. As for us," she continues, angrier and angrier, "I don't see what difference it makes where we are. Unless you're worried Dembe will disapprove."
"Now you are being naïve," he retorts, glaring, flexing his fingers. "If we're… together, openly, it's not just the Cabal and the FBI you'd have after you. It's every enemy I've ever made."
"Oh, that's right," she seethes, bitterly sarcastic. "I'd almost forgotten how much you hate vulnerabilities. And you expect me to believe that you have feelings for me? That you've had them, for ages? I'm only just discovering you, us, and I think it's worth fighting for, but if you…"
"Oh, shut up," he says, standing in a rush, his broad body crowding her, his hands slamming into the wall on either side of her head. "Don't be so willfully obtuse, you infuriating creature! You should know by now exactly how far I'd go for you, Lizzie." He's roaring, now, hoarse with rage, control snapped, tendons popping in his neck and arms. His charismatic presence has always made him seem larger than he is, but now, as he looms over her, red-faced and furious… she'd be frightened if she weren't so pissed off. "It's you I worry about, always, always. You're already a target, to be selfish enough to dangle you out in the world like bait…"
The sound her hand makes as it drives into his cheek is truly hideous. It hangs in the air between them like a specter.
"Don't. You. Dare." She bites out the words, ice to his fire. "Don't you dare think that you have the right to make that decision for me, for us. If you don't want me, if you…"
"Are you really that blind?" he interrupts her again, dropping back into the chair, leaving her sagging against the wall. Exhaustion suddenly paints every inch of him, his anger and tension fled as if it had never been. He looks away from her, past her, out the door as if he wishes he could escape.
"I'm in love with you." His words drop into the air like stones.
She stands there in front of him, her hand throbbing, throat sore, heartsick; she looks at the reddened shape on the side of his face with regret, and thinks that for all his years of acquired knowledge; for all his innate, canny brilliance; for all his sharp insight into human nature, he can be just as stupid as the next idiot.
She takes a breath; sighs. She straddles his lap easily and takes his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her — but gently, this time.
"You're an idiot," she says calmly. "Do you think this is just a lark for me? A pleasant way to pass the time while we've been stuck down here?"
"Lizzie," he starts.
"Now it's your turn to shut up," she says coolly. "I've said it before, but I know it didn't take, so let's try it again. I care about you. You bulled your way into my life and made yourself a part of it. You can't undo that, no matter how much you might want to, no matter how hard you try. I might be new in this aspect of our relationship, but not in all of it — I don't know if I'm in love with you or not, or if we have a future together in that way. But you're one of mine, now, regardless. I do love you, Red — I've killed for you. Or have you forgotten Yaabari?" Her voice is getting higher and faster; she's angry all over again.
His face and body are perfectly still, his features frozen behind her hands. He couldn't speak if his life depended on it.
"Do you really want to know how we ended up here, Red? Why I… what was it you said? Why I threw my whole life away?"
He manages a slight nod, transfixed by her animated rage, by the blazing crystal of her eyes.
"Connolly threatened your life, Red, that's what happened. Oh, he had nasty things in store for all of us, everyone I had left to care about even a little — and I didn't flinch. Then he said, like he was ordering a fucking drink in a bar, that he would see you dead, and I didn't hesitate to shoot him in the heart."
"Lizzie," he breathes, shocked out of his anger and frustration, bereft and wanting, wanting something he couldn't name.
"That's what I'm willing to do for you," she cut through him without even blinking, tears now running down her face unheeded, unnoticed. "For us — and that was before… us. I'm not afraid to face the world with you, Red — it will be infinitely better than facing it alone. So I guess it's up to you, like it always is. Do you want me, or don't you?"
And as she waited for him to speak, to recover himself, she wondered where all these words had come from, inside her. Where all her words and feelings and passion had been hiding since the death of her fake life — where Liz had been hiding for over a year now. Doesn't matter, really, she thinks, but it's good to feel strong again.
He opens his mouth; shuts it again.
He blinks, thoughtfully; tilts his head to examine her face.
His eyes are suspiciously shiny, but she doesn't say anything, doesn't move. He has to break first, or she'll lose, maybe everything.
Then he smiles, and she nearly sobs in relief. It's a smile she has never seen on him before, his face completely clear of any emotion but a pure gladness that pierces her heart.
He reaches up for her hands, then moves in and kisses her, soft and full.
This time, for the first time, it doesn't burn.
It doesn't spark like wildfire that threatens to consume; she's not stricken or blinded or lost.
Instead, it warms, full of a quiet heat that promises more — a kindling rather than a flash.
It feels, she thinks, full of wonder, like he is giving her a piece of himself to keep safe.
It feels, she thinks, like a slow fall, like sinking, like changing into something else, someone else.
Someone better — still herself, still Liz, but more so, maybe than ever before — different, stronger, braver. Everything is clear and bright, all colours and shapes, and her senses have gone sharp like the blade of a knife.
He breaks away, breathing faster; his eyes glint green as grass.
"You might not be sure, sweetheart," he says, his voice flowing rich and wrapping around her like a blanket. "But I am. You're right. I'm an idiot. To think, having had a taste of what could be between us, that I could walk away from you, from us — no one has ever been so foolish.
"I love you, Elizabeth, with everything I am. And I can wait with you, live with you, work with you, until you feel it, too."
"Together, then," she says, her heart full, lips quivering, just a little.
"Together," and when he says it, it's a vow, an oath. "And against the two of us together, love, they haven't got a chance."
A/N: And that's all she wrote, folks. This last chapter was an absolute BEAR, I have to say. Thank you so very much for reading, and for the many kind words and all of your encouragement. Specific thanks to Michelle-My-Belle for helping me refine things, more than once. And for FilmsAreFriends, who started this off with an intriguing idea, I hope you're happy with how it all turned out. I leave y'all with a last thought of The Jeans — I know I will remember them fondly;)