ooooo Chapter 3 ooooo

He thought of her words as she had looked at the empty landscape ... 'There's nothing.'

Nothing.

The word resounded in Reddington's head. He had always wanted the best for Liz and now he seemed only to be able to offer her the worst. He was being forced to take her with him and to convince her that she should continue to fight at his side; that it was worth the effort and she should not give up. He had to give her at least a little hope ... but, hope for what?

For him, the situation hadn't really changed. He was used to looking over his shoulder all the time and being consumed by a swirling mess of feelings which included desperately needing to survive, needing to seek vengeance and, above all, needing to protect those he loved.

But what was left for her? What did she have?

Together they had to focus on what was important for them both in the near future: trying to end the Cabal.

If she could just focus her attention and energies on that, maybe it would help her forget the emptiness that was threatening to swallow her.

Liz's silence began to make him feel uncomfortable. She was usually quite chatty, sometimes rather more than he cared for, to be honest, although he loved the sound of her voice.

Now, listening to her silence, he felt completely useless.

After they got back to the villa he proposed to prepare the dinner.

'I'm not really hungry, … ' she replied.

'I understand… How about a glass of whisky on the terrace?'

She nodded silently. A drink was a good idea. It would help her forget; at least for tonight.

Getting out the tumblers he prepared the drinks and put a few olives in a dish to accompany things. As he sat beside her he struggled to think of a way to break the heavy silence that had settled around them. He would dearly like to know what she was thinking about but somehow couldn't find the words to ask. And Liz just sat drinking and then pouring herself another glass. And another one. He suddenly realised what was going on. She wanted to get drunk; and it was all going to end very badly if he didn't stop her. Gently he placed his hand over hers as she reached for the bottle to pour herself another refill.

'Maybe that's enough for tonight?'

'It's you who proposed it, Ray.'

Ray ...

... He had dreamt about the day she would call him by his first name. But not like this. Not that way …

'Just one glass!' she insisted.

'It's the fourth …'

'As long as I can still think clearly it's not enough. '

'Lizzie, trust me, it's not going to change anything. You'll just have an awful hangover tomorrow morning.'

'So what …?'

So what, indeed. There was nothing he could say in response to that question. So nothing, Lizzie, get drunk if you enjoy it. He should probably encourage her to get as drunk as possible. It would block out what was happening, even if it was only for a few short hours. After all, how many times had he done exactly that? Alone in a luxury hotel room.

A deep sadness threatened him as he watched her. He was about to do the same, but he didn't, and just finished the olives as she sipped her fourth glass of scotch. The sight of her getting more and more drunk was beginning to make him feel sick. He wanted to close his eyes and shut out the sad sight. But, instead, he forced himself to watch. Because the whole thing was his fault. He was to blame. Not her. Sitting there with the evidence of his failure right in front of him, he truly and utterly hated himself; in a way that he never had before.

Suddenly, Liz stood up. She was surprisingly steady on her feet. The look of anger she gave him chilled him to the bone.

In a second, she grabbed his tie and the front of his shirt collar, forcing him to stand or be strangled. She pushed him fiercely back against the terrace wall. The alcohol was clearly fuelling her strength, added to the fact that Red refused to resist or fight back in any way.

He felt the impact jar the barely healed exit wound in his back and heard himself grunt with pain. The pressure against his chest was making it hard to breathe and time slowed down.

He let her do as she wished. Guilt swilled inside him, stirred up like silt from the bottom of a river bed by the sight of the confusion and anguish in her eyes. He wanted her to beat him up, to make him pay for all her suffering, physically. He deserved it.

He choked.

The pain was spiking through his ribs and he could feel the blood beating in time with his heart as it pounded against his barely healed wound. Unable to hold her stare any more, afraid that she would see the pain he was feeling, he turned his head away.

She slackened the pressure suddenly.

Air burnt down into his starved lungs which had been crying out for oxygen.

He coughed repeatedly, unable to stop, and finally kneeled down using the wall for support. Nausea clawed at his insides and he didn't dare look up at her.

Liz looked down and it was as if a fog cleared from her brain. Reddington was hunched at her feet like a wounded animal and she realised what she had just done. He hadn't even tried to defend himself at all. He had just let her attack him; she could have killed him and he would not have raised a hand to resist. She realised that he would have just let her do it.

She took a step back, scared of herself. A second step. Turned and ran away.

He struggled desperately to stand up and catch his breath. It was dusk, and he only had a vague idea which direction Liz had taken as she ran away. He stumbled awkwardly, struggling to gather lungfuls of air as he tried to run but he was really unsure where she had gone. A helpful ray of moonlight prevented him from colliding with obstacles until he finally stopped moving.

Gradually his raw and rasping breaths quietened and he became aware of a soft moaning sound away to the side. Looking closer, he found Liz stretched out in the dirt, weeping. One of her arms was scratched and bleeding.

Without saying a word he knelt down beside her and carefully lifted her into his arms. Gently he hugged her against his chest as if he wanted to prevent her from leaving. But she had neither the strength nor the slightest envy to do so.

She couldn't understand why he had followed her; not after what she had done to him.

Eventually Reddington managed to get her back to the villa. He helped her to her room and got her to lie on the bed while he fetched a first aid kit so that he could disinfect her scratched arm.

She let him do everything. When she wanted to talk he softly pressed a finger on her lips, there was nothing to say. He understood why she did that and needed no explanation. No apologize. He was even wondering why it hadn't happened earlier. He deserved every seconds of that evening.

He sat beside her until she fell asleep and then made his way back to the terrace where he lay in a deck chair looking up at the stars.

He missed Dembe. He was always there to comfort him when things went wrong.