Hi, I am posting again so soon because I'm out at a teaching conference tomorrow (a la Tom Keen - except I'm driving, paying for my own fuel and not at all involved in the murder of Viktor Fokin -) ) and I can't see me updating before Sunday/Monday.
This is still dark and angsty but I've got the feels too ;-)
Thank you again lovely reviewers' xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Chapter 5
Life continues like this for a number of days. Through his subtle and delicate attention he gets her to eat more and though she doesn't sleep through the night she naps in the library, in the sitting room and only in his presence.
For a few days at least they both find, in that house, in the garden and in each other's company, a peaceful coexistence. Though they know that life is not destined to continue like this, they enjoy the chance to exist, in the vacuum between the past and future. This reality is a reprieve for both of them.
Just under a week later he comes to her, while she's waiting on him in the sitting room. "It's time" he says simply and she looks down briefly before standing and walking to him. She considers the type of person she wants to be. The type that's dragged wailing and begging to the gallows or the type that walks with dignity and pride. She's opting for the second choice, she shouldn't care what he thinks but she knows Raymond Reddington will respect her for it.
He has her coat over his arm and as she approaches he holds it out, helps her to slip it on. It's a tiny gesture but it makes her think of the past, of how life was and for the briefest of moments, how it could have been.
In the car she says, "You seem to know more about me than anyone, you seem to know the truth when all I've known is the deceit, so I wondered if you'd answer a question for me".
"If I can, if I think it will make things easier for you" he replies.
"Easier" she says huffing out a dry laugh that he chooses to ignore. "Knowing Tom was employed by my father, and that you got close to me to draw him out, I wonder if there has ever been anyone who's ever loved me for me."
"I'm truly sorry that you had to be involved in this Lizzie" he says.
"If not me then some other poor soul. At least I've got no one to mourn me. Is this why you advised against the adoption? So the child wouldn't be orphaned? If it is then ... Well, that was the right thing to do. So many of your actions make sense to me now. It's like the pieces of a puzzle falling into place. You must have laughed at how blind I was." she says quietly before looking out into the distance, like she's lost in thought, she then quietly continues, "Were you disgusted when you realised how I felt about you? I didn't see it. I felt like I was the centre of your universe, it was seductive. I was wrong, I get that now."
"Lizzie" he says but he holds back from touching her, from wrapping her in his arms and whisking her away from all of this anger, all of the bitterness, all of the sadness that he's lived with for so long. The car slows; the area they are in is far more rural. She knows they are getting close, close to wherever they are going, close to the end.
She turns her body to him, lifts her head but doesn't meet his eyes, "I want to ask you something, and I know I've no right. You can lie to me if you want, if you can manage such a kindness." She stops, her brow furrowing further. He studies her, waits to hear what she has to say, his heavy heart dreading the words.
"I can't imagine what's about to happen but I'd like not to die alone. It doesn't have to be you, Dembe even. But I need to feel like there's someone there." As she finishes speaking she tilts her head back further, resting it on the head rest, her vision blurring, the effort to focus too much.
Again he wants to say something, to comfort her in her greatest time of need but he can't. Just a while longer, he thinks to himself, and this will all be over.
Just as Dembe pulls up outside an isolated farmhouse he leans over to her, allows himself to touch her hand, "This is very important Lizzie. Whatever happens, whatever you hear and whatever you see others do, keep your eyes on me, listen only to my words. Do you understand?"
She looks round at him, surprised by the softness she sees in his eyes, "yes" she whispers.
He offers her a small, subtle, conciliatory smile before he exits the car and walks around to open her door. He lightly holds her upper arm, leading her around the house to the agreed rendezvous point, each side having assessed the benefits and drawbacks of such a rural location.
Red, Liz and Dembe walk in silence to a clearing twenty metres behind the house, as they round the corner both Red and Dembe draw their weapons. She doesn't lift her head but she can see at least three figures opposite them and another two keeping guard from the perimeter. They are outnumbered and as a result, outgunned. She frowns; this isn't like Raymond Reddington.
Red releases her arm and she takes a few steps away from him. Standing off to the side; her eyes fixed on him, like she agreed.
"Hello Red" the man in the centre of the three opposite them says.
Red only responds with the shallowest dip of his head.
"And this I suppose this is my long lost daughter. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Come and say hello to your old man" her father continues.
At the word daughter Lizzie almost turns her head but she seems a subtle tightening around Red's eyes, a flexing of his jaw, and it's enough to hold her gaze.
"What's the matter Elizabeth, cat got your tongue? According to your husband you're quite the talker. Bit of a screamer too sometimes" he father says his tone turning caustic.
"Enough!" Red almost shouts in his most commanding voice. But it's too late, the words have cut Lizzie to the bone and instead of looking at Red she drops her head in shame. "Look at me Lizzie" Red says directly to her, without breaking eye contact with the men opposite, his voice low so those around won't know his words.
"Why'd you bring her? You think I care what happens to the little FBI bitch?" Her father asks, laughing at them.
Red's anger flares. He wonders how the man can speak this way to and about his own daughter when he'd done everything he could to protect his. He wonders how he could have stayed out of her life, failed to learn about the person she is, neglected to acknowledge her achievements. "You haven't changed. You've always something to say, some derogatory remark to belittle those around you and buoy up your own fragile ego".
Hearing Red's voice, trading insults with her father makes Lizzie lift her head. She sees the anger in his eyes, the fury in his tight grip on the firearm.
"What do you want Red?" Her father finally asks.
"What I want is often of so little consequence. Moreover what I want is impossible to achieve. But I'll settle for your death" Red tells him, lifting his gun and aiming it, not at her father but at Lizzie.
After a moment of silence her father says, "Go ahead".
Lizzie looks past the gun, directly at Red. It all happens so very fast but her eyes focus on him and she sees his lips moving, understands the words 'get down', instantly and without question she drops to the ground. Even before the action is complete the air is filled with the sound of gunfire and Red steps in to shield her.
A bullet from across the divide, catches her as she sinks to the ground, just before Red's body has hers completely guarded. It grazes her forehead, slipping over the hairline as she falls. As darkness consumes her she wonders if this is the end or a lucky escape.
There's a beeping, a high pitched persistent beeping somewhere close by. It's steady but trill, possibly the most annoying noise ever heard. Lizzie wants a glass of water, she wants something for the pain in her head, she wants a lot of things but above all she desperately wants the noise to stop.
Battling against the temptation to return to the relative comfort and safety that the darkness offers she fights to open her eyes. The lights around her are too bright; increasing the pain she feels. Little by little she adjusts, allowing her to examine the room that she is in.
It's obviously a hospital room, and the monitors and wires she sees explain the bleeping. It hurts her head to move but she reaches over, silencing the noise permanently.
Not dead, she thinks to herself. It's not a surprising thought; she considers it from a distance, unemotionally, but with a little wonder. But her thoughts are interrupted by the door opening and Ressler walking in.
"Ah good, you're awake" he says.
"What's with the machines?" She says, indicating the monitor and other medical paraphernalia.
"Precautionary." Ressler says, shrugging his shoulders. "Head wound. Well, graze might be more accurate but there was some blood loss and the doctor said something about trauma."
Lizzie thinks for a moment, while Ressler takes his seat, and then asks the question, "Where is he?"
"Gone." Is all Ressler says, he short explanation enough for the moment.
They sit in silence, considering the events of the past few months.
"He's a fugitive again, the deal is over. No more immunity, no more FBI help in his misguided crusade." Ressler offers by way of further information.
She nods her head, wincing at her forgotten injury, "what happened?"
"He called me, right off the bat. You hadn't even been picked up by his people yet. He had a plan and said we either followed it or we wouldn't be involved. Cooper almost had a freaking coronary, Jesus so did I. But it was his way or the highway. You know what a stubborn son of a bitch he can be" he says.
"He didn't plan to kill me?" She asks.
"The hell if I know" Ressler responds.
They return to silence, while she considers everything Ressler told her and everything she knew or thought she knew about Raymond Reddington. Without doubt she's fated to spend many hours that way.
The next day she is released from hospital, sent home to recuperate from what is a minor injury. But the FBI take her in before she has a chance to begin the healing process, spending hours grilling her about her now deceased father, 'in the wind' Raymond Reddington, her escape from the safe house, and her involvement in any and all crimes committed.
She had little to tell them. What she learned about that night came from Ressler and Meera, or through the details the FBI themselves let slip during her interrogation.
The deal Red struck with Ressler meant that they weren't outgunned, not by a long shot. Red had asked for a small team, headed up by Ressler and told them to stand their ground some distance from the meeting place until they heard the signal; a signal that turned out to be gunfire.
Cooper had of course reneged on the agreement, arranging for a small army to be ready to move in. Red had only just slipped their grasp; a testament to his foresight and contingency planning. It earned Lizzie an immediate suspension and almost a demotion for Ressler, but he hadn't kept Cooper in the dark so in the end he kept his job.
The interrogation over, they return her to her own home. The parting words from Cooper leave her in no doubt that they are dissatisfied with her answers. She knows it's only a matter of time before it costs her her job; you can't go to work at the FBI every day with a Reddington sized black cloud of suspicion hanging over you.
Weeks pass and she's still on suspension, while they try to deal with the aftermath of the shoot out. The death of her father left a hole at the top of his organisation that many desired to fill, which resulted in more bloodshed. Lizzie's employment status takes a back seat while the body count rises.
During this time she's contacts by a lawyer, wanting to inform her about her father's will. At first she hangs up on them, saying she wants none of his money but when they start turning up at her door she realises she'll have to deal with it.
While she might be out in the cold with the FBI she still gets visits and calls from Ressler. She wonders if he still has contact with Red; he checks on her more than anyone, seems to have more interest in her recovery. Despite their history, it was Ressler that Red decided to contact, decided to rely on. Maybe he still is. One afternoon, when he's popped over, in the guise of returning a few of her personal belongings from the Blacksite, she thinks it's time to send a message.
"Donald" she says using the name she rarely uses but Red frequently does. "I'm ok." She says. "I was a means to an end, I get that. One day I'll look back and shut the door on this, but I think as hard as I try I'll never quite be able to forget him".
Donald looks at her for a moment, he seems uncomfortable. "Listen Liz" he begins, then adjusts his stance and clears his throat in an awkward type of cough, "I don't want this to come across as romantic or whatever, I'm just trying to be a good friend here. But when you look back, try to look passed the bull shit and the lies, there has to be something beyond that, right?".
"Oh yes. Very romantic. Watch out Hallmark don't try to poach you away from the FBI" she says laughing at his attempts to guide her.
Ressler just rolls his eyes, dismissing her criticism. He knows she gets it. "He didn't leave straight away that night, he knew the task force would be moving in, he knew he risked arrest and a lifetime in a hole in some desolate Blacksite, but he wouldn't leave until he knew you'd live".
Emotion grips her, constricting her throat and making speech impossible so she just nods her head to acknowledge the words.
"So what's your plan for next week?" Donald asks to shift the conversation away from a topic he's becoming less and less comfortable with.
"I should be in New York on Monday. I think there will be days of meetings, paperwork to look over and sign off on. I don't want a penny of his money but giving it away is proving difficult. Plus there's some legitimate family money, much of it still tied up. I have the feeling this is going to drag on" she says to explain the complicate affair to Ressler.
"Any plans to see the city?" He asks further.
His question prompts a small frown for her. Suspicion is too strong a word, but Ressler never asks this many questions. Maybe he's here in an official FBI capacity, making sure she doesn't flee the country with her father's millions. "I might treat myself to lunch with what is surely going to be my last government pay check" she tells him with the smirk, which belies the apprehension she feels about the future.
When he leaves she switches on her computer and finds a nice hotel she can stay in. Despite what she's about to inherit she sticks to a budget. What she told Ressler is true; she wants nothing from her father. Before she logs off she sees a restaurant advertisement and she thinks about her throwaway remark about lunch.
As she is always tempted to do but finds little time to indulge, she spends the next hour browsing page after page of restaurant listings. Some are way beyond her price range and not really her scene; something about old school elegance seems to make her feel at home recently. The process leaves her hungry so she orders takeout and returns to her task.
Later when she's eaten she manages to book a table at a well thought of uptown establishment that's been around longer than she has. Then there's nothing to it but to look forward to her moment of indulgence.
The days fly by and before she knows it she's a few days into her trip, countless meeting attended and countless more to go. But today is the day for her little luxury and so she's in a taxi and headed towards the restaurant.
Upon entering she approaches the reservations desk, "I have a one o'clock reservation" she states. "Agent keen?" the maître d' asks. She gave her name for the booking, she gave a contact number even, but at no time did she mention she was a federal agent. This does not bode well for a quiet lunch.