The Ocean Between Us
A/N: Thank you again for the wonderfully positive response to this story! Each and every one of you who was kind enough to review, fave or alert, you're amazing! Also, sorry for the cliffhanger in the last chapter, and although we're far from being past the drama, I hope this chapter will make up for this. You will totally make my day by reading, enjoying and, if you feel like it, reviewing.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Nada. Null. Though I wish I did.
Chapter 4
The next time Liz opened her eyes, she had no idea where she was. As her eyes fluttered open, searing pain reverberated through her skull and she let her head fall back onto the bed again. She took a deep breath and tried again, opening her eyes fully at once. Blinking, she groaned and looked around. After making fairly sure she was at a medical facility of some sort, her eyes landed on the drooped posture of the man dozing in the armchair next to her bed.
It must have been early in the morning but the sky outside was already deepening to a daytime lapis. Sunlight was streaming in through the window in soft rays, lighting up small specks of dust that floated haphazardly in the air. They landed on his hair and shoulders then swirled away in elaborate, convoluted patterns when he breathed. Long, luminous sunbeams fell on his back and carved out his silhouette with decisive strokes, making it seem as if he was surrounded in a cocoon of light, an actor in the limelight. So appropriate.
It was a rare opportunity to see Red like this.
Normally people when they slept they seemed calmer, rest wiping out all theirs worries and wrinkles, if only for a fleeting moment. Not Raymond Reddington. If anything, he looked tense and alert, as if he might wake up any second. She imagined years on the run and living outside the law did that to a person. As she looked closer, she saw he had blood, she realized it must be her blood, on the backs of his hands and his shirt cuffs and there was a smear even on his collar. It was such a dissonance seeing this version of Red, the elegant, powerful, dangerous man that he was, huddled in a plastic hospital chair in dirty and creased clothes from the day before. There were traces of a five o'clock shadow on his normally immaculately shaven cheeks and dark circles were beginning to bloom around his eyes. He looked tired. Tired and worn-out.
When the facade of his charm and his costume of elegantly-cut clothes interwoven with bravado were dropped, it was apparent that the years of loss, violence and danger had not left him as untouched as he liked to show to the outside world. She knew he wouldn't like anyone, especially her, seeing him like this but she was glad, even though the sight was strangely heartbreaking to her.
He was many things – a criminal mastermind, a ruthless businessman, a cold-blooded killer, a source of information, a silent benefactor, a shoulder to cry on, but never just a person. She remembered the King auction, where he was put on display just like a fake vase or a Picasso painting. That was what he was reduced to. It was like people did not really want him – they wanted either to get the information he possessed or to get even. It was as if he was not human anymore but a number, and item of value put on sale. The worst of it all was that Red seemed to believe it himself.
She swallowed, suddenly ashamed of herself. That was how she had treated him for a long time herself, the reason why she kept holding on to him. Out of her curiosity and thirst for answers. He was not a man, but an asset, a bringer of practical, material things: information. With a new pang of shame she realized he knew that and he didn't expect more from her. He accepted everything she threw at him – her anger, all her accusations and harsh words, not to mention a pen in the carotid – as long as she would just let him be a part of her life.
Liz ran a hand over her face. With him looking like this, looking like a normal vulnerable human being for once without all his flamboyancy and theatricality, it was easier for her to see all that for the first time. She had already caught a glimpse when just two weeks ago they sat together and he spoke about Eugene Ames' daughter but now she saw it clearly. A flesh-and-blood person, capable of feeling pain, love and loss like any other. If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you poison us, do we not die?
Still, he could be cruel, manipulative and cold. He killed Sam. He inserted Tom into her life. He kept her past away from her. How could all of this fit into one person? And how did she feel about it all? She felt her eyes prickle, mostly out of confusion at her own feelings, and she sat up, knocking over one of the IVs. Not her most graceful moment. His eyelids were fluttering open immediately. She turned her head as a stray tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly. She didn't want him to know how shook up inside she was.
He gave her a soft smile. "Hello, Lizzie. How are you feeling?"
"Peachy," she replied with a grimace. "What happened?" she asked matter-of-factly, trying to cover the chaos she was feeling inside with a curt tone.
"There was a sniper," Red replied, his voice turning low and serious. "The bullet nicked the side of your head-" he watched her hands wander to the bandage around her head instinctively, "-but it's only a flesh wound, nothing serious," he added, leaning a bit closer. He winced a little as the stiches on his arm strained where the bullet went through his bicep as he pushed her away. He would never tell her how close it was. He preferred not to think about it at all. "You're going to be fine."
She tried to muster a small smile. "If that's how all birthday celebrations with you around look-"
"This is not funny, Lizzie."
she pursed her lips. "Do you know anything about the shooter? I imagine if you had caught him, we would be having a different conversation right now."
"Indeed. The shooter has remained-" he pursed his lips, "-unfortunately elusive for now but he will be found," he said, his voice holding a deadly promise.
"How long was I out?"
"A couple of hours. You had a minor concussion."
"Wow, a blackout and a concussion. The perfect birthday."
Red was about to reply when Dembe walked in, a phone in his hand.
"I know what you said but you really want to take this," he said and handed Reddington the phone.
"Excuse me," he said and got out of the room. "Who is this?"
"How is Agent Keen doing?" came a raspy voice from the other end. "Did she see how bravely you jumped in front of that bullet? Pretty impressive although reckless, Mr. Reddington."
"Who is this and what do you want?" Red ground out.
"Only your attention, Mr. Reddington. You are not a man easily impressed so we had to do something that would catch your eye."
"Color me incredibly impressed," he practically growled out. "Although I am not sure this is the sort of attention you want from me. Because from this moment on, you've become the center of my world and you are not going to like it, I can assure you."
"I would be careful of the threats I make, Mr. Reddington," came a short laugh from the other end. "You are not the only man with resources around here. Today you've seen but a small display of my power – how easily I can reach the people you care about."
Red felt his eye twitch. "I don't have the luxury of having such people."
"Oh, I think anyone with eyes would disagree."
"What do you want?"
"How about we meet to discuss this in person? Just the two of us?"
A moment later Red stood unnoticed in the door to Lizzie's room, watching her talk to Dembe, the two of them sharing a laugh and an easy camaraderie he would never suspect yet at the same time was not surprised about at all.
Even after all she had been through, all he had thrown at her, she had managed to remain a good and honest person, and she would not be broken. Wherever their journey might take them, in all that darkness he lived in, she had become a ray of light for him, just by being in his life, by being who she was. And now she was once again in danger because of him. Standing there looking at her, he promised himself it would be the last time.
Then her gaze caught his and something flashed behind her eyes. He chose not to see it and instead plastered on a bright smile. "Wonderful news!" he announced, walking into the room. "The good doctor says we can take you home."
Liz was all too ready to leave and soon they were speeding through the streets of DC. Red was unusually quiet and Liz took a moment to observe him from the corner of her eye. She noticed the network of lines around his eyes was deeper and his smiles seemed strained. There was something weighing heavy on him and she was once again reminded of her earlier thoughts. She knew what she had to do. She had known for a while but didn't want to admit it. The shooting had changed that, though. She had a good suspicion the bullet was aimed for Red rather than for her and that made it about his safety. And there was something, one thing, that she could do to ensure it. And if it meant he would leave, she would deal with that because he would be safe. Or safer.
"Do you need anything?" Red asked as they stopped in front of her motel. "Do you have your rat repellent on you?"
Liz shot him a sideways look and got out. "Could you wait a moment?" she asked him, leaning in through the window.
Curious, he got out of the car as he waited for her. She came back soon with a small package in her hands that she offered to him. He took it on instinct. One glance at the object confirmed his suspicions.
He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you concerned anymore I'll up and leave and you'll never see me again?"
"No, I'm not concerned about that."
He strived to keep his expression neutral. That was what he wanted, after all. To have all these emotions and impulses contained within him, and only him. Curiosity and thirst for information could trigger a certain amount of recklessness but anything deeper would be much, much worse. But now he had it confirmed that it was not – and could never be – how she looked at him. It was both pain and comfort.
"But I am afraid," she added suddenly, looking a bit surprised at her own words.
"Of me." It was not a question.
"Of losing you," she said simply and shifted her eyes, unwilling to meet his gaze. Then she quickly turned away and went up the stairs to her apartment.
He stood there motionlessly for a long while after she had disappeared from his sight, his fingers growing white from the strength of his grip on the box.
So there wasn't that much action in this chapter but this will change soon, and Liz needed to sort some things out in her head. I hope you liked this and if you did, please leave a review!