New chapter for you guys! Enjoy!


17: Laughter

Knapp watched as Dana strode into his office. She was beautiful and slender and he felt a hunger heat low in his belly when he watched the way her body moved, the way her ponytail swung. She was aware that Knapp looked her over the same way a butcher studied a cow, imagining the cuts he could extract. Knapp noticed that Dana's face was clear of makeup, a thin line of eyeliner traced along her lids conservatively. Without speaking, the woman handed to him by a stone-faced Dana and he noticed how clear her skin was without the caking of makeup. For a moment, he admired it with his cold hazel eyes, enjoying the way he made her own eyes turn down to the ground with discomfort. However, when she handed him the manila envelope and sat down in the chair that sat in front of his desk, he immediately knew something was wrong.

There were six photos, the fronts muted ink, not glossy, so knew they were printed, not processed on picture stock. One of Schmidt screaming, him slamming his gun into the side of a restrained woman's head, then a picture of him crumpled, half in the lap of a male that was also restrained, a visible circle impacted on his forehead and gore could be seen on the floor.

It only took three pictures and Schmidt was dead. That quickly.

The last three were of Raymond Reddington. The picture snapped above him, capturing the top of his head as he gazed down a lethal black rifle. Knapp flipped through the last two. Reddington holding onto the woman, Elizabeth Keen, and the last one was of FBI agents filling the house. After the last picture, Knapp started flipping through them repeatedly, getting faster and angrier each time.

"What is this?" he demanded, continuing to glare at the photograph of the dead Schmidt, the young man's eyes still open as his skull was cracked open. "WHAT IS THIS?!" he demanded again, his voice a roar that made his eyes narrow to slits. He flung the pictures across the room, the light way they fell to the ground not satisfying him so he picked up the large rock he used as a paperweight and chucked it against the wall, gratified with the way it cracked the sheetrock.

"He's dead. The plan didn't work," Dana replied coolly, noticing how much like a temperamental child Knapp looked, throwing anything he could get his hands on.

Those hard hazel eyes snapped to hers and the humorous thought left her head. "Didn't he have the girl? Elizabeth? How did Red find them?"

She handed him another envelope, smaller than the first, and filled with the glossy photographs. "These were emailed to us."

He snatched them from her with greedy fingers. Three pictures. Carter was tied to a chair, his face pressed against the plastic covering the floor and blood was so thickly caked onto him it was impossible to tell what color his skin was. His eyes were milky white with death and a same bullet wound had buried its way between his eyes and exploded out the back of his head, just like Schmidt's.

"Carter." It hadn't been Knapp's idea to hire him. It had been Tom Keen's. And now a partner, Knapp's second in command and someone he was also quite fond of, was dead. "Carter gave him the location. That fucking old coward!"

He paced for a moment, the way an agitated tiger paced in its cage.

"He was a fucking kid," he said, the lethality still in his voice, "Schmidt was a fucking kid and thanks to, to Tom, that fucking snake, Schmidt's dead and we've lost whatever chance of Reddington we had."

His head was faced downwards, as if he was speaking to the ground. Suddenly, Knapp's head snapped up so violently Dana jumped a little. "You. You've been talking with Tom. Bring him to me. I want him here."

She nodded and got up to leave.

"I want him HERE!" Knapp screamed at her. When she left, the heel of her boot stamped down on the picture of Schmidt's dead body, denting the paper and almost tearing it.


Elizabeth had suffered from a concussion along with some irritation to her lungs and trachea that was caused by the smoke bombs that had been used in the ambush. Ressler had some swelling in his brain and a gunshot wound that had shot through his shoulder. He was in surgery immediately after they were transported to the hospital by the FBI. Amazingly, Cooper had let Reddington ride along in the ambulance, Dembe following in the car. One of the agents had attached a tracker to the underside of the car and, although Red suspected they were tracking him in some way in order to let him go, it had stayed put as the vehicle trailed behind.

The hospital smelled like bleach and rubber and the brightness made Elizabeth's head throb and her eyes remained closed, trying to retreat to the dark of her own head. She was wheeled into a hospital room and moved onto the bed manually. A blanket was thrown over her and a tentative hand touched her shoulder.

"Agent Keen? Agent Keen can you hear me?"

She let her eyes flutter open and was met by a nice looking doctor, his head blocking out the bright lights overhead.

"Well, hello. I'm Dr. Fitzpatrick and I'm glad to see you're awake."

"I'm at the hospital," she said, not asking it but more or less saying it to comfort herself.

"Yes, you are," Fitzpatrick said, his tone as bright as the lights that filled the hospital. "And, for the most part, you're pretty healthy. Some bumps and bruises but your pupils are a little uneven so we're going to run a concussion test and hopefully send you on your way."

She was in the room for about an hour before she was handed a small bundle that contained her FBI weapon, badge, and the small wallet she carried on her person. The gun had a plastic zip tie that was inserted through the barrel and secured near the chamber to make sure it would stay open and unloaded. She shakily held onto the weapon, draping her coat over it, and made her way to the door of the hospital room. She stepped out to find Reddington slumped in the chair next to it, his head leaning back against the wall. Dembe was sitting next to him, flipping through a Good Housekeeping magazine out of boredom. He looked up, saw Lizzie watching him, and quickly tossed it away onto the end table.

"Hello, Agent Keen," he said, smiling to her. He then reached over and shook Reddington awake. She liked the way he snorted when he jerked upright.

"Hmmm?" he said, blinking his eyes and smacking his lips once or twice. Red's eyes fell on Lizzie and all drowsiness was shocked away. "Lizzie," he exclaimed, standing too quickly. She watched as he shut his eyes against the vertigo and then quickly blinked back to her face. Raymond saw the white butterfly bandage taped over the split on the side of her forehead and he felt the warmth of anger and protectiveness bloom inside his belly, high up near his lungs and heart. He had grown familiar with it.

Lizzie watched him look at her face, the bruises there, the ones she definitely felt. She saw the way his brow furrowed in concern. Her phone was in her back pocket and she remembered the last thing she had said to him. I'm worrying, Lizzie… She suddenly felt guilty.

"The doctor said that you had arrived with the ambulance," Lizzie said, not really knowing how to start off the conversation. Her head pounded and the thoughts behind her skull were clouded and muddled. "You…you saved me, didn't you?"

Raymond's mouth hung open slightly and she watched the way his lips parted. Lizzie remembered back to that drunken night when she was able to taste those lips, feel them pressed on her own and she shook her head slightly, just the smallest of movements. Red closed his mouth and nodded.

"Yes."

"Thank-" but the word never escaped her lips. It lodged itself stubbornly in her throat, making her choke a little bit and making tears spring into her eyes. She noticed how wrinkled Red's shirt and vest was and there was a streak of blood on his sleeve. Elizabeth was thankful for the distraction.

"You're bleeding, are you alright?"

"It's not mine," Red murmured, tossing his head towards the exit. Dembe hurried across the lobby and went out through the automatic doors, no doubt to start the car. It was dusk outside, nearly night.

"Oh," Lizzie said, glancing again at Red's shirt and noticing more and more patches of blood.

"I'll bring you home," Reddington said,

"Home," she murmured in agreement. She wanted a bed. Wanted to close her eyes against the unforgiving fluorescent light and inhale the smells of her own home, not the sterile professionalism of the hospital. "Good idea."

As they left the hospital, Red's hand hovered lightly against the small of her back and she actually slowed down, wanting the contact to grow stronger, press against her more fully. The car was waiting for them and Lizzie blinked when Reddington pulled away from her to open the door and she gladly sank into the leather of the seats. She turned her head, following Red with her eyes as he came around and sat next to her. Red caught Dembe's eye in the rear view mirror and nodded.

The car pulled away from the hospital silently.

They drove in silence, Red's legs crossed and his hand resting on the middle of the seat between them. Liz watched it, her head tilted back and hair falling into her face. Her arms were wrapped around herself in a hug. Her piece was on the ground, open and still unloaded. The woman's eyes followed the lines of his slender fingers and his well-maintained nails, short but not chewed. He was graceful enough not to look at her, but chose to turn his gaze out the window.

Lizzie reached out and let her own hand rest atop his. He readjusted and cradled her hand in his, his skin smooth and warm and inviting. The warmth spread from his fingers and seeped into her skin, leeching its way up her arm and into her lungs, then dripping down into her stomach where it settled in a contented mass. She found it intoxicating, addicting, and she wanted more of his touch. Was it the stress of the situation she had just escaped from? The adrenaline clouding her mind and drawing her to him?

She remembered the night she had kissed him, laying on the man's chest and smelling his cologne and tasting his lips.

No. This wasn't just some stress reaction.

Elizabeth Keen let go of the hand she was clutching and slid across the seat. Wordlessly, Reddington lifted his arm and accommodated her as the maneuvered herself, bringing her feet up on the seat and looking out the window. She was half laying across the backseat, her back tucked against the side of Red's body, his arm looped across her belly. She let her hands rest on Red's forearm, her fingers rubbing the fabric of his dress shirt. She felt him trail his fingers mindlessly across the side of her body.

Raymond didn't speak as he turned his head and kissed Elizabeth's lower temple, the short hair of her eyebrow barely touching his lips. She felt good against him, warm and whole…and safe. The way she fit into his side felt right, as right as the sun shone every morning. She smelled of hospital, the light flowery and vanilla scent of her shampoo now gone. Giving in to the goodness of Elizabeth Keen, Raymond let his head fall to the side, resting it against her hair.

"How many people did you kill to get me and Ressler?" Elizabeth asked. Red could feel his arm rise and fall with each breath of her lungs.

"Four," he murmured, his voice low and rustling the baby hairs that wisped from the back of her neck. Elizabeth shuddered from the information and from the heat that came from him, could smell his cologne now mingled with the sweat from the crusade he had just carried out. As if answering her shiver, Red kissed the back of her hair and went back to resting his head against her. "Four men, I shot them," he said gravely.

"Four," Lizzie repeated.

The car wove its way through traffic, the two back seat passengers seeking solace in each other as they looked out the window. Dembe had turned on the radio, the music playing softly up by the driver seat, some quiet crooning voice of an indie singer accompanied by some lightly toned string instrument. Lizzie was grateful for the quietness of the music. The act of straining her ears to listen preoccupied her and the tracing of Red's thumb along her side made her close her eyes and drift off. Reddington felt the woman's body relax into his side and he let his own head fall back against the seat, his eyes cast sidelong to watch the D.C. buildings slide by like giant stone and glass cliffs. Lizzie's perfume was gone, wiped out by the tang of her own panic and sweat, but he didn't mind. Her hair tickled the side of his face and neck.

In the solitary privacy of her own head, Lizzie thought. She felt the strength of Raymond's arm slung across her middle, felt the warmth from him and how natural and protective he felt. If she tried hard enough, she could convince herself that she still felt the pressure of Reddington's lips pressed against hers, still feel the solidness of his chest. There was a lustful heat that shot through her middle that made her mind drift to the more carnal parts of Red, the strong fingers of his hand tracing along her bare, naked skin or the way his trousers always hinted at how entitled of a man he really was. Grateful that no one could see into her head, she wandered farther into the lust of her own mind. The heat of his mouth traveling down her body or how much pressure he would use to bite the inside of her thighs….

Lizzie twitched and chased the thoughts away, momentarily embarrassed in the lustfulness of her own thinking.

Dembe drove them back to Reddington's apartment. Raymond had made up his mind that there was no way he would let Lizzie stay in her home, alone, and possibly in even more danger. He was bringing her somewhere he knew would be safe, somewhere where the door could be watched and Red would be near. Naturally, the best choice would be his apartment.

The car looped up to the front of the building and Red gently nudged Lizzie awake. "Come on, Lizzie. Let's go and get you cleaned up."

"Mmmm…alright," Lizzie muttered, stretching in the back of the car and Red followed the lines of her body with his gray-green eyes, liking the way her slim waist flared out into a gently curving hip.

Before the heat could rise into his belly, he got out, looped around, and held the door open for her.

She didn't even bat an eyelash about being at his home.

As they moved up the elevator and down the hallway, Raymond's hand never left the small of her back and she didn't mind at all, actually liked the way it felt. Outside of Red's apartment, she waited patiently as he removed a key, undid the deadbolt and knob lock, and stood aside to allow her to enter first. Dembe was going to park the car and then post a watch at the door, which was relocked by Reddington once they were inside.

With the flick of a switch, the lamps turned on, not too bright and casting a warm glow over the leather furniture and stacks of books. Red took the jacket from Lizzie's shoulders, his fingertips lingering on the base of the woman's neck, and hung it up, turning back and realizing that she had not moved, stayed put with her back to him. A hand was brought up to her mouth and Raymond noticed the way her shoulders shook slightly.

"Lizzie…?" he murmured, his eyebrows furrowing and he reached out to her.

The only answer was the ragged breath of a sob, clawing its way out of Elizabeth's throat. She was stubborn, trying to keep the tears in, but the gasping and choking noise had escaped her, which made her even more upset. She felt like a howling child, shaking and dramatic, a big show.

Right when the tears finally forced their way past her eyelids, Red pulled her to him, making her back press flush against his chest. His chin tucked over her shoulder and he stroked a hand through her hair, ignoring the wet of the tears that splashed down her face and hit his temple. His other arm looped around her waist, holding her to him and feeling the way she shook.

"I have you," Red hummed, his voice low and as soothing as the warmth of a bath, "You're safe."

He held her like that until the cries and sobs turned into sniffles. One or two small little hiccups escaped Lizzie's lips and Red let her go and came around, lifting up her chin to face him and he had to resist the urge to smile at her. Warm thumbs wiped away the tears that dripped from her red eyes and she gratefully shut them, bringing up her own hand and forcing Raymond to cup her cheek in his palm. She looked up at him, her lashes just as dark and as thick as her hair, making her blue eyes spark up at him like diamonds or the clear waters of the sea. His brow furrowed as he looked down at her, drinking in her beauty like a man gulps water once he drags himself out of the desert.

Lizzie's voice was quiet yet challenging.

"I'm done being patient."

The sentence was terrifying, but it was also something he had wanted to hear for a very long time.

Lifting his other hand to her face and feeling the softness of her skin, Raymond Reddington dipped his head and claimed her mouth and allowed himself to push forward until she was pressed against the door. Elizabeth let out a muffled gasp and Red momentarily hoped Dembe didn't hear them, but he stopped worrying when Lizzie tug gently on his bottom lip with her perfect teeth. He hummed lowly, almost sounding like a possessive growl, and tangled his hand up in her hair, his other hand clutching at her hip, keeping the woman's body pressed as close to him as he could get. She looped her strong arms up around his neck, her hand pressed against the back of his head, feeling the short bristles of his hair. Red's heart skipped when she felt her smile against his lips.

Lizzie was soaring. The moment was surreal, and, the when she allowed Raymond to reach around and run his hand from her back all the way down over her ass, she knew he wasn't going to stop this time, and she didn't want him to. Raymond Reddington explored her mouth and she was intoxicated by him, the sheer attraction making her dizzy.

The kiss slowed, turning into slow caresses, more gentle than lustful, and when Red pulled away, she was looking into his eyes, hooded by the enticing desire between them. He found himself tracing the lines of her face with his nose, kissing whenever he reached a temple, the tip of her nose, or her lips.

And, for the first time in a long while, Lizzie laughed. Her cheeks were the color of soft roses and there were two dimples that perfectly sat at each corner of her mouth. It was a strong sound, bright and shining like the burst of fireworks on the Fourth of July. Her shoulders hunched forward and her teeth were even and white and she even brought up a hand to cover her laughter. It was contagious, and soon Raymond was laughing too, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him, feeling the warmth of her breath on his neck and the shake of her giggles vibrate in his arms. She pulled away, put her hands to his face, and pulled him to her for another, gentler, round of kissing, the both of them smiling against each other's lips.