A/N Hi. Turns out l night need to change the rating for the next chapter, can't imagine how that happened! *she says looking sheepishly away*
Unless I clean it up a bit, and I'm not sure yet, then I think I might be moving to an M rating.
I hope you enjoy this; I'm pleased with how it's going but definitely planning to finish before The Blacklist returns in the New Year. I feel this has to be resolved before some truth is told, spoiling my vision of them broken then reconciled. The stories about her being the daughter of his old enemy and him using her to achieve some vengeance just kill me!
When she finishes in the bathroom she comes back into the bedroom, finding a fresh glass of water and more pain medication. She gladly takes them, hoping to stave off the mounting discomfort and knowing she'll need some relief if she's to dress alone, and since she's a grown woman she's decided that she will have to manage.
When she's checked her appearance in the mirror for the umpteenth time she walks out of her bedroom and goes down the stairs to find Red. She can hear movement in the kitchen, and smell the aroma of fresh coffee and something else, something sweet.
Slowly she walks into the room, hoping he won't hear her coming and that she'll have a moment to savour the sight of him. But of course The Concierge of Crime is nothing if not observant, and he's known she's been on her way since she started on the stairs.
"Lizzie" he greets her with a warm smile on his face. "Please take a seat, I assume you're hungry".
"Eh yes I guess" she says tentatively sitting herself at her own table. "Good, you've been neglecting yourself for some time. Let's begin the task of correcting that situation, shall we?" He says as he continues his task of flipping pancakes. She ignores the jibe, knowing the truth of the statement and the futility of denying it.
"Can I help?" She asks him. But he gives her an incredulous look before continuing. When he's plated it up he carries bits and pieces over to her. Before her eyes are pancakes, fruit salad and a selection of store bought but oven warmed pastries. He's also showered and changed, looking as impeccable as always, and she wonders just how he's managed to do all this in the time it took her to simply get herself dressed. "Thanks" she mumbles, not knowing what to say.
She starts on the pancakes since they are still warm from the pan. They are delicious; she isn't surprised to learn that he can cook. There seems to be no end to his talents.
"Did you make these from scratch?" She asks, knowing he has – she's can't imagine he would be satisfied with premixed ingredients of any kind.
"Lizzie, you wound me" he says with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.
She just smiles in response and goes back to her pancakes before moving on to the fruit salad. He stands to retrieve the coffee and pours her a cup while she just watches him. Not only has he stayed the night, not only did they share her bed but now he's waiting on her like it's the most natural thing in the world: and somehow it is.
When they are ready and he's tidied up to his own satisfaction, continually refusing her assistance, they leave together for the Post Office. Dembe is waiting outside and she takes her seat assisted by Red.
When he takes his seat he reaches for her hand. She looks down at their hands almost the whole way. Red talks over business and other arrangements with Dembe, not cautious now of her presence, but occasionally giving her hand a small squeeze so she knows he's thinking about her.
When they reach the Blacksite he rounds the car as Dembe opens her door, he then offers his hand again and helps her to stand. She's a little stiff to be sure but she could manage alone. But she lets him. Enjoying the warmth of his skin, knowing they'll be physically separated while they are on site. In the elevator he rests his hand of the small of her back, standing close to her. He's always had a way of invading her personal space but now anyone looking at them would be suspicious.
When the doors open he steps back, she thinks she hears a small humph of disappointment but when she looks at his face it's even, a mask of confidence, bordering on smug pretension. That's the face she hasn't seen since they stepped inside her house last night, yet she recognises it; feels comfortable, reassured almost, knowing that it's part of him.
They make their way to the control room and continue the debrief from the previous day. All is as it was, almost. It seems instead of no touching he's intent on touching her at any given opportunity. The small of her back, her elbow or her hand if no one is near them. She should perhaps be perturbed but instead she's buoyed up by these. It gets her through the imposed isolation of the Post Office.
Then wordlessly they return to her house, he prepares dinner and they turn in for the evening; he in the guest room and her in her bedroom. But she comes to him again in the night and they return to her bedroom, sleeping much as they did the previous night.
This becomes the new status quo, sometimes in her home, sometimes at Fredrick's, sometimes in some elegant hotel that he's familiar with and knows will be safe. Unintentionally they've spent every day and night together. It has not been acknowledged or openly discussed by them; both more than comfortable with the arrangement as it stands.
Weeks later she's in the meeting room, a briefing from AD Cooper having just ended. Only she and Meera hold back, both are using the coffee machine, passing cups and sugar and milk in industrious silence. Elizabeth is surprised when she hears Meera's voice, almost oblivious to her non intrusive presence.
"What's with you and Reddington recently?" Meera asks.
Elizabeth tries to keep her expression neutral, tinged with a little confusion as if she doesn't know exactly what Meera alludes to.
"I'm not sure what you mean, I think everyone's had to adjust to having him back. The teams expanded again. We went from manhunt back to full on blacklist mode." She stops there, aware that if she continues she'll start to move into 'protesting too much' territory.
"I hope this doesn't surprise you, and I have a strong feeling that it won't but don't you see how he moves around you? Like he's always anticipating your need. How he's either touching you or so close he might as well be."
"I hadn't noticed" she responds but she can see Meera is unconvinced. She's attempting to control her breathing, her heart rate even, but it's difficult for her to keep her composure while Meera voices aloud all the little things she savours in her head.
"You don't exactly discourage him. You seem ... Comfortable with it. I'd even go as far as to say you reciprocate." Meera says examining her friend, her colleague.
"I don't know what you mean" she says as calmly as she can.
"I'm going to call it devotion" she says then pauses "I'm going to call it that because the other thing that it might be scares the shit out of me. And it should scare the shit out of you too Liz." Meera says continuing to look at her. She feels the weight of her gaze, knows how skilled an interrogator Meera can be.
"Meera, I ... I mean ... I think he's just..." She's flailing around in her thoughts, trying to come up with some plausible excuse but it's not fast enough.
"That's what I thought" Meera says taking her coffee and walking from the room.
Fuck she thinks. Fuck fuck fuck.
"Fuck" she says out loud when the silent cursing doesn't seem to help.
From the door way she hears a soft, "tsk tsk", then he says, "language Lizzie" a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
"Don't reprimand me Reddington. You're the cause of all this." She spits out.
"The cause of what my dear?" He asks, his smile widening, wondering how she'll explain the conversation he's already overheard and amused that she reverts to his surname when she's shaken.
But she can't say anything. To explain why he's to blame, and she's certain he is, would be to say things out loud that she's not ready to hear, let alone acknowledge. Or maybe it's that she thinks he's not ready or not willing to hear them.
"How much did you hear?" She asks knowing him well enough to know he's not come to the party unprepared.
"A bit" he says appraising her. Before she'd be infuriated by his tendency to avoid her questions, side step the truth, but now she realises what he's admitting to.
"What should I say? Meera isn't going to stop her probing. She's good at her job!" She says panic rising.
"Calm down Lizzie, what truth do you wish to tell her?" He asks, eyes gazing at her.
"What truth? Are you kidding me? How about the actual truth. How about something so convincing I don't have to answer any more questions!" She blurts out.
"And what is that truth Lizzie" he says stepping forward, watchful as she swallows nervously.
"Red" she says, her voice strained.
He steps closer, touching her hand, slowly lifting his eyes to hers. "Everything will be fine Lizzie, everything is fine. I'll speak with Agent Malik but you must try to be calm." he reassures her.
He then walks to the counter, finishes preparing her drink and brings it to her, cupping her hands as she takes it.