Thank you for the comments. I'm sorry to Redlisted. I know Lizzie is being a little bit mean (in her defence Red is provoking her a bit – and I'd be pissed if he'd left me for a year ;-)) but that'll make it sweeter later ... I hope.
I am thinking of posting this story on AO3 – I've been reading Blacklist fanfiction there so it seems like the thing to do. Genuinely I don't know anyone in 'real life' who reads my writing - it is nice to know what people think.
Anyway – I might manage another update before Wednesday but I don't think so. For now I'll leave you with these words (followed by my own not so skilful ones xx).
Though it's been said many times many ways ... MERRY CHRISTMAS.
Elizabeth considers closing the door on him but she knows he won't be so easily put off and that he'll only make some caustic remark about her lack of social grace. And she knows if she locks him out that he'll somehow gain entry and then she'll have to deal with the ramifications of that too. He follows her inside the house, follows her up the stairs and into her bedroom. Finally as he's about to follow her into the en suite she turns and says sharply, "I've got this".
"Lizzie, you can let me help you with this or you can come with me to the ER. The choice is yours". He replies.
She pauses, not because she doesn't need him but because she doesn't want to relinquish control so easily this time. Finally she steps into the bathroom and he follows. He steps around her and searches the medicine cabinet for what he needs. She doesn't even protest the intrusion, she knows that if she just lets him have his way then this will all be over quicker. She places her gun and ID on the window ledge, more for something to do than for any other reason. She is attempting to distract herself from the fact that fate is about to put an end to their unspoken no touching rule.
He gathers a towel and brings it and the medical supplies to the counter top. He pulls her seldom used bathroom stool from the corner and motions for her to sit on it. He retreats to the bedroom and returns having removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and carrying the chair from her vanity. He sets it down behind her, close enough to the counter top that he can reach all that he needs.
When he sits down she shifts uncomfortably, almost involuntarily rising from the stool. This is as close as they've come in all the time that he has been back; all the time that he's been back and she's been sober. Her pulse starts to race and she recognises the flight or fight impulse that is taking over. She's already acknowledged that she needs his help so flight is not an option; God help them both.
He waits till she settles again, before pulling his seat closer to her. He needs to be close enough to see and tend to her wounds so he only leaves a small gap between their chairs, his legs straddling her on the stool. She sits rigidly in the chair, finally accepting the inevitable.
"Lizzie, you're going to have to remove your blouse" he says as casually as he can. "No" she snaps back almost instantaneously. He tries not to rush her, doesn't want to force her hand so he waits for her to make the decision herself. He can see through the tears in the material that there are lacerations to the skin over her shoulder blade, they don't look deep but they'll need to be cleaned and dressed.
Finally she reaches for the buttons and starts to remove her top. Her mobility is restricted by the wound and the already emerging bruising, so he assists as she takes it the rest of the way off. He's prepared to drop it on the floor but she keeps it within her grasp, pulling it around her body, using it to maintain some modesty. He knows she's feeling vulnerable so he lets her hold it like a security blanket despite the fact it's covered in dirt and dried blood. Some battles are not worth fighting.
With her almost bare frame in front of him he can see the extent of her weight loss and the injury to her arm from the gun battle a few months previous. He wants his touch to be delicate and tender, so he waits for the heat of his anger to dissipate before proceeding. As he begins to treat her he avoids any direct contact, knowing she doesn't want to be touched.
"Lizzie, I'm going to clean the wound with this antiseptic. It may sting a little" he says warning her. She just nods in response, resigned to her fate. He tips the bottle up and lets the liquid pour over the breadth of the wound; watching her body stiffen further in response. He knows he's doing all he can for her but he hates watching her suffer. He can't think of anything else to do so he purses his lips and gently blows onto her skin, hoping to take the edge off.
For her this gesture is far more intimate than any touch she could have imagined. It's born out of compassion, out of a feelings she can't reconcile herself with. It's like a gentle caress and coupled with the residual heat from his body it is too much.
Instinctually she jumps from the stool; dropping her blouse on the way. She crosses to the window and turns lifting her gun and aiming it directly at him. She hasn't meant for this to happen, it was not her intention when she placed the gun on the ledge but she means to warn him off.
To his credit he remains in his seat, motionless; a look of mild indifference on his face. He can see at this distance she is trembling, that the struggles of the year are manifesting in her defensive response. He waits for her to blink, for a sign that her conscious mind is taking over from the impulsive before rising from his seat.
He steps towards her, placing his hand on hers and gently pushing the gun down and away. He slowly but deliberately lifts his hand to cup her cheek, all the while leaving a small distance between their bodies. He doesn't want to over step the boundaries considering her current state of undress but he's not above a little intimidation.
He drops his head and whispers in her ear, "we both know you won't shoot me Lizzie".
The timber of his voice, his alluring scent and his close proximity bring on a physical reaction from her. She feels her body rise just a fraction as if pulled towards his. It's a small movement, almost imperceptible. Almost.
Red pauses, wanting to savour the idea of her body wanting his. He brushes his thumb lightly across her cheek. Involuntarily she closes her eyes. For the second time tonight he relieves her of her fire arm, setting it back on the window ledge before leading her back to the stool.
He returns to the task of tending her wounds but now the barrier has been broken, they have touched, he isn't so careful to avoid contact. He remains focused on the task but takes pleasure in the heat that meets his finger tips when his skin meets hers.
Eventually the wounds are cleaned and dressed to his satisfaction. He decides he can clean up once she's resting so he lets her know the task is complete. "That should do for now" he says. She doesn't move but over her shoulder he can see her jaw flex and he knows she has something to say. He waits while she gathers her thought, comfortable to be close to her and of some use.
"I'm sorry" she whispers still with her back to him, her voice thick with emotion.
"Don't be" he says before rising from his seat and retreating to the bedroom again.
Elizabeth continues to sit on the stool, embarrassment stopping her from following him even though, having been touched by him for the first time in months, she now feels bereft of the contact.
He returns carrying a piece of her clothing, she stands and he helps her put it on. She's looking at him while he fastens the buttons on the front. He is so close, so distracted by his tasks and she has to resist the urge to reach out and touch his face. He seems surprised when he looks up and sees her looking at him so intently. Again he waits, stepping back and giving her time to speak.
"Thank you" she finally manages. He just smiles that small dismissive smile in response. He leaves her again, having heard Dembe arrive, something she still can't make out because of the residual effects of the blast. She takes his leaving as disinterest, thinking wrongly that she'll soon find herself alone again.
She exits the bathroom, removing her shoes at the closet door and sits on the edge of the bed. The room is dark and she doesn't move to turn the light on, exhaustion preventing her from even this small task. Alone in the room she finally lets the days dramatic events wash over her like a wave. She feels herself bow under the weight of it all ... But then she hasn't made it this far alone without some strength so she rights herself, the few tears that have escaped the only evidence of her short lapse.
When he re-enters the room she makes eye contact. He sees surprise registered on her face and considers that she's assumed he had left for the evening; without discussion, without taking leave. He frowns but remains silent, placing water and pills on her bedside table and reaching for the light switch. He can see in the lamp light the moisture on her face and he knows the decision to stay with her tonight was a sound one. He then goes back to the bathroom to clean away the remnants of the medical supplies and her ruined clothing.
When he returns she is sitting exactly as before. He leans against the door frame, watching her as she watches him. He can see in his peripheral vision that the water and pain medication he had Dembe bring are untouched.
"Lizzie" he says simply, his tone indicating the warning he wants to impart.
She continues to stare back, unmoved and unmoving. When he pushes away from the door frame she quickly, if unsteadily rises to her feet, making her way toward the bottom of the bed. "Lizzie" he says again, the cautionary inflection this time unmistakable.
She turns to face him, "I don't need you here" she says. He continues to progress towards her, taking her elbow and guiding her around the bottom of the bed and only releasing her when she is again settled on the side. He can hear her laboured breathing and he knows she's running on her last remaining store of adrenaline. She too knows this is the last stand, she may have put off the inevitable break down but she can't hold it back for much longer.
He walks back around the bed, returning with the water and medication, depositing the water on the night stand and the pills in her hand. She places the pills beside the water.
"I want you to leave" she says.
"And I want you to take something for the pain. It appears neither of us is destined to get what they want out of life." He says dryly.
He decides that further argument would be fruitless so he touches her face, as he'd done in the bathroom a short time before, then leaves the room, pulling the door closed behind him. He waits there on the threshold, for sounds of movement or distress. Inside she continues to sit motionless; the water and medication untouched.