I am SO SO SORRY about the long wait. I actually bought a new place, so I was moving and trying to get my life unpacked out of random boxes! Here's some danger followed by some fluff so i hope you guys enjoy!
Thanks!
19: Sweet Morning
Dana always wondered why books she had read referred to the dead as "peaceful"… to her they looked simply dead. Expired. Used up. To be peaceful would suggest an air of calm, however it still demanded life, demanded the breath that the dead could not give. She remembered being a little girl back in Spain, standing in a white dress looking down at her abuela. Even then as a child she didn't think the old woman looked peaceful. The dead looked dead. Peace was something people used to deny the inevitability of the end. Sugarcoated it so that it tasted good in the moment, yet managed to turn sour once the realization came as they were lying on their deathbeds.
Schmidt was no exception.
It had taken sixteen hours and two large bribes to get Schmidt's body back in Knapp's possession. Dana had overseen the care of the young man, she had two heavyset gunmen to set him up on a linen covered desk, his feet hanging off the end. There was a neat circular entrance wound on the man's forehead, a little to the left, but just as fatal. Cloth padding sat beneath his head, hiding the cracked and gaping hole the bullet had left in its wake. The young man's eyes were closed and glasses gone and he looked much younger than his twenty-something years.
Death didn't scare Dana, it was what came after. Where would she go? She had been lost for all of her life, would she continue to be lost once she left the shell of her bones?
Dana wondered if he had been religious. It was popular for young Americans to be outspoken against organized religion, or any religion for that matter, and the woman wondered if he was drawn to the skepticism and indifference that some atheists held. At the very least Dana hoped for an agnostic…then maybe there was something up there to receive the poor boy's soul.
Her fingertips found the linen that was draped over Schmidt's body and she began to pull it up over her head when a voice stopped her.
"Don't. Please."
Obeying, Dana smoothed out the cloth and stepped back as she watched Knapp make his way into the room. It was his office, his desk that Schmidt had been laid on, yet Alexander Knapp was now just stepping past his doors and moving over, his eyes turned onto the boy's face, lingering on the circle that was his death wound. For once, Knapp did not look hungry.
"We need to get him out of here," Dana pressed, watching as the man loomed over the body. For once, she saw something in his eyes that could be interpreted as sadness, yet she remained wary.
Knapp nodded absentmindedly, not fully hearing her. He then tossed the linen off of Schmidt's body and let it slide to the ground. Knapp3 began digging in his pocket and could feel the coldness of the dead body through the fabric of Schmidt's pants. . He found a sleek black fold and a metal money clip, several bills and a credit card clipped between the silver. An ornate and flowing A was etched on to the silver, an equally decadent K cast slightly behind it. She watched as he held the two things in one palm while his other hand ran through his brown hair, much less orderly than it usually was. His lip twitched slightly with a snarl that had tried to claw its way past the control he had, the glint of his two gold teeth flashing into view.
"Fucking idiot," Dana heard the man mutter. "Stupid fucking idiot. Not following plans," he looked up suddenly and jabbed a finger at Dana's chest "This is why we have plans! This is why we have a protocol!"
She knew there was no point to argue with the man's grief, his words had nothing to do with her and everything to do with him. Her arms crossed in front of her and she studied this side of Alexander Knapp, the side that had no control, that was lost. A bolt of anger shot through her and she felt the words in her mouth, hot and biting, snide and cruel.
"He wasn't even your best employee."
Words can trigger a sudden and violent change. The emotion in his eyes was smothered out, choked off by the eerie calm that somehow held his inner lethality in its palm like a loaded gun. Knapp watched her, his lips straight, chin slightly elevated, and shoulders relaxed. Like the calm before the storm, she knew that this was a problem.
"You're right, Dana." Alexander murmured, sniffing casually and pocketing the belongings into his slacks. "He wasn't our best employee. In fact," he continued, reaching down and laying the linen back over Schmidt's body, cautiously covering the young man's face. He then straightened and made his way around to where Dana was standing. Those hazel eyes bore into hers and she felt slightly sick. "In fact, neither are you."
The silence made it hard to breathe.
"He wasn't our best employee. You're not my best employee. Actually…all of
you are nearly useless to me...nearly…almost…."
Knapp reached out and enjoyed tugging on Dana's hair lightly, like a teasing
lover might.
"Except you." He nearly whispered. She felt the threatening rise of hope start in her chest. Except her? Knapp gave a sad little smile.
"You…you are truly useless. Worthless. You might be worth $100 to some sad, pathetic bastard wanting to get his rocks off in the back of an alleyway…but to me, to the rest of the world, you are worthless. I've thought about killing you many times, but I didn't, I was hoping, wishing, that there was something you would be able to do for me. Repay that favor that had saved your life, but you're not even good on your word. What's the point?"
He suddenly tangled his fist deep into her hair, yanking her head to the side and drawing a surprised yelp from her, she threw her arm out to help prop her up and keep her balance. She had placed it on Schmidt's leg through the linen and she tried to ignore it. The man leaned with her and crowded her face, making it so she was forced to share the same breath as him.
"Tom will be collecting your things…."
Shoving her away, he turned his back on her, making her absolutely invisible to him. An insect he didn't even care about enough to squash.
Lizzie awoke in a warm bed, but she was not alone. Around her middle wrapped a strong arm, keeping her pulled flush against the body behind her possessively. The sun was not yet fat with the late morning and the she read the alarm clock on the bedside table. 8:25. Liz felt the dullness of a slight headache pound at her temples, but she ignored it, savoring the warm puffs of breath that dusted the back of her neck.
Raymond Reddington was asleep behind her, holding onto her naked body in his sleep as if he was afraid she'd run away in the middle of the night.
He probably was afraid of that…Lizzie thought with a pang of sadness. She remembered finding him in the middle of the night, listening to the story he had shared about wishing he had drowned and drifted away as a little boy. Comforting did not come easily to her…but she found that with Red, she had wanted to do it. Wanted to tell him just how much she had really needed him and how genuine she was.
As if being aware of her thoughts, Raymond tightened his arm around her middle and nuzzled deeper in her neck, murmuring something incoherent as he did so. Lizzie smiled and pressed herself even farther back, feeling the naked skin of his chest against her back. He had worn pajama pants, yet she was still naked.
Hunger complained from her stomach with a low gurgling and she decided to make some breakfast. Gingerly, as not to wake him, she lifted his arm and shimmied her way out of the bed. Once her feet touched the padded carpet, Lizzie hesitated, waiting for the man's eyes to crack open, yet the criminal slept on. She smiled, thinking of him as the concierge of crime, but looking like a sleeping puppy. Momentarily transfixed, Agent Keen watched him sleep, studied the way his face relaxed and the listened little snore that escaped through his nose. Affection welled up inside of her, keeping her warm as she sorted through the closet for something to slip on and cover her nakedness. She wasn't self-conscious in her body, but the morning light brings modesty with it.
Slipping on a light blue dress shirt with narrow darker lines, Elizabeth moved her way to the kitchen. The living room was quiet and orderly, and she cringed slightly as she glanced at the door, knowing that Dembe was behind it standing guard. The woman knew that she would be embarrassed, even though she had no reason to be.
The kitchen was small…cozy…the kind of kitchen that would be described as "quaint" or "charming" by a bullshitting landlord. A couple yards of counter space and a granite topped Island that could replace the bulkiness of a kitchen table had the stovetop and oven built into it. A stainless steel fridge, sink, microwave, and small dishwasher made the space look more luxurious and expensive than it actually was. The inside of the fridge was well lit and Lizzie scanned the shelves and drawers for food. Butter, eggs, and cream were easily accessible so she fished them out and set them next to the loaf of sliced French bread that Red had kept rolled up in some parchment paper. In the taller, slim pantry cupboard she found cinnamon, vanilla, and brown sugar. Below the stove was a drawer that held a flat skillet style pan. An automated coffee machine clicked on and started to whirr a good morning.
Lizzie hummed to herself as she mixed the eggs, cream, vanilla, brown sugar, and cinnamon. The gas stove lit with the click and hiss of propane and the skillet sat and warmed itself, two slabs of butter slowly melting into two rich puddles across its surface. Lizzie dunked the slices of bread generously into her batter and set them on the stove with a satisfying sizzle. It was a rich recipe, passed down from her grandmother and almost always reserved for cold mornings and bad days. Although her life was upside down, she did not consider this morning to be particularly bad, but she had felt a craving stick to the back of her throat and was pleased to find that Red had all the ingredients. She plucked a spatula out of the canister of utensils and flipped the slices of French toast, the cooked sides looking golden brown and enticing.
"Lizzie…" the voice murmured from the living room.
The woman turned, her brown hair mussed and cheeks rosy from the heat of the stove. "Good morning," she said, smiling a Ray. He was wearing a t-shirt, plain and unassuming, along with dark pajama pants, the same combo he had worn when she had woken to find him sitting in the living room.
"You're making breakfast?" he asked, padding to the other side of the island and pulling out one of the stools to sit on. This morning he wore glasses, the frames black and a little bolder than normal wire-rimmed. She decided they looked nice on him.
The smile didn't leave Lizzie's lips. "Yeah, I was hungry," she said, raising her eyebrows and watching the spatula as she lifted the three pieces and transferred them to a plate. She dipped three more and laid them down on the griddle and was answered with the satisfying sizzle.
"Butter?"
"Of course," Red said, hungrily watching the way Lizzie's fingers expertly moved around his kitchen. "There's powdered sugar in the pantry."
Lizzie found it, dipping her hand inside and pinching a liberal amount of the sweet powder and sprinkling it over Reddington's breakfast. Opening a drawer and finding a fork, she slid the plate across the counter just in time to flip over her own slices.
"You can eat," she said, looking up and watching as Red made no move to dig into the French toast. She moved her thumb to her lips and mindlessly licked off the stray powdered sugar that had stubbornly clung to her fingertip.
Raymond gave her a smile and wished he could the sweet and savory combination of sugar and Lizzie's skin. Instead he got up and went to his fridge. "I'll wait for you," he said, taking out two tall glasses and milk. By the time he had poured them and went back to the island, Lizzie had already flipped over the decadent pieces toast.
"This was my grandma's recipe," Liz said, turning and twisting the brown sugar shut before she returned it and the cinnamon back to the pantry shelf. "I'll warn you, it's not subtle at all. Pretty heavy but one of my favorites." The eggs and milk were returned to the fridge before she fished out her own plate. The slices were collected in a neat stack on her spatula and she slid them onto the waiting plate. Going silent with a little click, the stove began to cool once it was turned off. Reddington watched delightedly as she slathered her breakfast in butter and ignored the powdered sugar.
"Just the butter?" He asked as she seated herself next to him.
"She was a second generation Finlander," Liz explained. "Butter on everything, French toast, waffles, pancakes…even cinnamon rolls. The French toast is so sweet and rich I've always preferred it with a little salty balance instead of just maple syrup or more sugar."
His gaze followed every move she made, the movement of her hands, the way she stood with one leg relaxed and her hip popped…even the way her eyes nearly fluttered closed when she took a bite from her sweet breakfast. She smiled at him through chewing.
"Go ahead, have a bite," she said, acknowledging Red's food.
He did, the corners of his lips curled up as he sliced at his breakfast with the side of his fork. The French toast was heavy on his tongue, thick with cinnamon, vanilla, and the swirls of brown sugar. He loved it, the saltiness of the butter fought back the sweetness, allowing it to be tasty and not overbearing like a dessert. Lizzie watched him as the tip of his tongue darted out to swipe the powdered sugar off his lips.
"This is dangerously good," he purred, taking another bite. His eyes were crinkled with his smile as his jaw worked. "But I always pictured you as a bagel-on-the-go kind of breakfast person."
Lizzie raised her eyebrows. "I am. I have a killer sweet tooth first thing in the morning, and if I can fight it I usually just have toast or a bagel, always coffee."
Raymond liked that little secret about her. He tucked it away in his head, ready to use later to pass the time. She poured the both of them some coffee, taking a few tries to find the cupboard that housed the cups. The smooth lines of her body made a dull heat start to rise in Red's stomach, the reaching of her hand flowing down into long line of her arm, the dip inwards at her waist and the curve of her rolling hip back down her exposed thigh and flowing to her foot. His mouth went dry with the sweetness of her and his breakfast and he decided that she was more beautiful in his kitchen wearing one of his shirts than she was in a gown in the middle of a ballroom.
"What are you doing about the taskforce?" Red decided to ask, trying to cut away the tension as he sipped his coffee, "Won't they be missing you?"
She took a drink from her own cup and brushed away to the bedroom. Red watched behind her, silently thinking that his shirt and her body was a lethal combination. After a few moments of rustling, Lizzie returned with her phone.
"Hold on, missed call," she said, thumbing through her home screen. "It's from Cooper. He left a message."
The woman held the phone up to her ear and listened attentively. Red helped himself to a few more bites of the candied French toast. A smile parted Lizzie's lips and the man couldn't help but smile himself.
"No work today?"
"Cooper decided to let me have a paid leave, a week, or however much time I need. I just need to come in and report what happened to me, he has the medical file already."
"You're not going to want to spring into this, how Knapp knows about you?" Red pressed.
Lizzie's face hardened. "I want to focus on Tom. I was actually going to ask you if you were free today. If you wanted to come to the storage locker."
Red swallowed and his jaw worked reflexively. "You should not worry about Tom, Lizzie. You have the taskforce, you have yourself. You have me…" he added a little quietly. "I'm going to make sure you are safe. The FBI needs your help with Knapp."
She sipped, her eyebrows knit and determined. "How can I just forget about someone who lied and flipped my life upside down, Red?"
He was quiet, but nodded, showing her how much he cautiously understood. Lizzie moved to where he sat and he set down the cup, his hands instinctively going to her waist. He drew his thumbs up and down her hips. He looked up at her, momentarily feeling as vulnerable as he had during the night, worried that she would dismiss him easily and without refrain. Once again reassuring the criminal mastermind, Lizzie leaned down and pressed her lips against Red's, loving the way the powdered sugar was traceable on his lips.
