The Ocean Between Us

A/N: Honestly, you guys, I'm thinking of just taking all the reviews and putting them on my wall. They make me glow with happiness. Really. It makes all the time and effort totally worth it :D

As always, my special thanks go out to inmate23 for her invaluable feedback and encouragement!

Plus, a shout-out to fellow Blacklist writer Michelle My Belle – you know what for:) If you haven't checked out her stories yet, I recommed you do, they're great!

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

Chapter 7

Liz woke up slowly, well-rested and calm like she hadn't felt in a long while. Not opening her eyes, she let herself languish in the last strands of sleep still clinging to her as the events of yesterday came back to her hour by hour. Tom and his revelations about her real father. The passports he had left behind to her bewilderment. A crazy jog through Washington in the rain. And Red. There for her yet again. That terrible drink. Her relief at knowing he hadn't killed her real father. And then-

Ray.

Suddenly her eyes flew wide open, all remnants of sleep forgotten. She had called him by his first name. It shouldn't be that big of a deal only it was. In that one word she had admitted out loud to him and to herself that she didn't think of him anymore as Red Reddington, number four Most Wanted, the Concierge of Crime, but as Ray, a flesh-and-blood man who had become a part of her life, a person who she felt comfortable enough with to call when she needed help, confide in when she was a mess, and scream at when he disappointed or angered her (the last case being the most frequent one).

She didn't just care about him. If he were to disappear right now, he would leave a gaping hole in her life that she wouldn't know how to fill. She couldn't define the place he occupied in her head and her heart but she knew it kept growing every day and whatever she did, it didn't seem to stop. But there was still this chasm between them made of broken memories and unanswered questions, this crazy game of chess they were playing. He was there the night of the fire. He didn't kill her father but what role had he played that night? Why was she so special to him? There were still so many things he wouldn't tell her. So many things she needed to learn before she could stop and think about anything else, especially the tangled mess of her conflicting feelings towards him.

Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet grunt to the side and she looked in the direction of the sound. Her eyes focused on the immobile figure slouched in what looked like a very uncomfortable position, half-sitting half-lying in an armchair a couple of feet from her bed.

She slid from under her covers and threw on the bathrobe that was waiting for her on the dresser next to her bed. She went to the bathroom and when she came back, she quietly padded towards Red's still asleep form. He was still in jeans and the T-shirt he had come for her the night before. He even had his shoes on, a sad reminder he was a man on the run, always ready to get on the road on a moment's notice.

She stood close to the armchair, undecided whether to wake him up. The dark circles under his eyes were proof enough that he didn't sleep well or deeply so instead of shaking him awake, she crouched next to him, allowing herself a rare moment to study him without him knowing. This was the second time in so many days that she was allowed a glimpse of Red without his armor of suits, charm and parables, and she wasn't going to miss such an opportunity.

Like when he had slept by her hospital bed, this time he also seemed tense, determined, ready for action. But above all else, he just seemed so…human. So ordinary. Not the larger than life persona he put between himself and the world as a shield, but a normal man with strengths and weaknesses, good and bad sides like any other. She felt a familiar ache settle in her chest as she watched him. Her broken, dark guardian angel in a fedora.

Suddenly a chill ran through her and she stood up, a purpose to her movements. As always wherever Red lived, several blankets lay neatly folded in the wardrobe. Such a prosaic thing, from the very first time she had heard about this apparent quirk of his, her profiler's sense told her there was more behind it. Far from being just another eccentricity as he liked to advertise it, it spoke of his deep desire for security. At night, Red Reddington needed the warmth of a blanket to feel safe. The fact that this hardened criminal, this world-wise and extravagant man could need something as trivial as blankets, or someone as plain as her, was mind-boggling even now after almost two years of knowing him. But it was also such a human, natural thing. Everyone needed safety, and she herself knew that craving all too well.

She took out two thickest blankets out of the wardrobe and put them snugly around him. As she arranged the material over his shoulders, she let the backs of her fingers graze the outline of his jaw ever so gently and linger there for just a moment. She had never touched his face before and the curiosity got the better of her. She let her thumb catch on the slight stubble on the edge of his jaw and even this butterfly of a touch elicited sparks sizzling through her skin. Suddenly she realized she couldn't hear his breathing and he was eerily immobile as if-

With an exasperated sigh, she straightened up and crossed her hands over her chest.

"You're pouting, Lizzie," Red remarked in an amused, perfectly-awake tone, his eyes still closed.

She quickly drew her lips in a thin line. "How long have you been awake?" she asked, vexed.

He opened his eyes, humorous sparks dancing in his gaze as he looked at her standing over him, irritation emanating from her in waves.

"I'm not a very deep sleeper," he deflected, deciding it was wise not to tell he had been awake long before she even got up from bed.

In his long years in the criminal underworld he had mastered the art of sleeping without actually falling asleep. His sleep was always vigil and never deep, and he couldn't remember when he slept more than three hours at once. Not that his nightmares would let him anyway. That was why her screams brought him to her room instantly in the night. Still, all his vigilance went through the window as no amount of training could ever prepare him for the completely riveting yet unexpected feeling of her fingers on his skin. It took all of his considerable self-possession not to jump at the electrical sparks that went through him at the contact. Still, it was definitely better to keep all that to himself. His face was still tingling pleasantly from her touch and he preferred not to change the delightful sensation for a rather different kind of tingling, like one coming from a punch in the jaw.

Her embarrassment at being caught made her snappy, "Don't you have your own bed?"

"As a matter of fact I do," he replied moving the blankets a little to the side to straighten his arms. "But you wouldn't let me rest in it. You were screaming so bad, Lizzie, that I thought you were being skinned alive in here. It must have been a really bad nightmare. So I stayed with you and it seemed to calm you down."

She swallowed and put her arms tighter around herself. She didn't remember a thing. "When I was a child, that was what Sam did when I had nightmares about the fire. He would sleep in an armchair next to my bed and it always helped," she recalled, her surprise turning into a tired realization. "But of course you knew that."

"Sam was much younger, though," he remarked lightly and sat up straighter in the armchair, wincing in the process. "I'm sorry to say I'm not as sprightly as I used to be. Or they don't make armchairs as comfortable as they used to." He let out a hiss as he worked his fingers on his nape, trying to untangle an unpleasant knot that had settled there.

"Well, you can thank yourself for that," she said without remorse. "It was probably because of that god-awful lighter fluid of a drink you gave me yesterday."

He chuckled. "Still, you were out like a candle in seconds."

"Hmpf," she replied eloquently.

There was a soft knock on the door, and after a moment, Dembe came in with a phone.

"Raymond. You were waiting for this one."

Red straightened up even more in the armchair and took the phone from him.

"How did you sleep?" Dembe asked Liz as Red spoke with his caller in hushed tones.

"Surprisingly well, contrary to what it must have seemed to you, though. I'm sorry if I woke you up, too," she said apologetically, her eyes drifting off towards Red.

"Don't worry about it. Among us, there is no such thing as undisturbed sleep. You get used to little sleep. You can't ever get really used to nightmares, though," he said, his voice wistful and his gaze shifting towards Red. Liz's eyes followed his. "But since you started working with him, he is better. Calmer. Lighter. I think he is even beginning to like the person he is when he's with you."

Liz felt a vise slowly close around her heart. She highly doubted Dembe's words. Most of the time, she argued with him, challenged him and threw everything he did for her in his face. Hardly what you would call a positive influence.

"-and he seems to have a calming effect on you," Dembe continued. "At least when you're asleep and he's not actually interacting with you," he reserved.

She chuckled, relieved at the change of subject. "Yeah, that's probably the only instance, though."

His lips creased upwards. She really liked when he smiled, it lit up his whole face and the whole space around him. She couldn't help but smile back.

"I remember that one time in New Orleans when-" Dembe, in an uncharacteristical bout of loquaciousness, launched into a story about one of his and Red's exploits that soon had Liz in stitches.

"When you're finished exchanging notes about me," Red's somewhat miffed voice cut through their cheer and they both looked at him. "-maybe we can actually start the day," he finished somewhat sourly and offered the mobile back to his bodyguard. "Dembe, call Grisson and tell him to arrange everything for today."

Once Dembe left, Red turned his gaze on Liz.

"Dembe has a flair for dramatics and is a hopeless romantic at heart," he remarked. "You may want to take anything he says in private matters with a fistful of salt."

"He only told me about that one time you were both pursuing this salsa dancer in New Orleans but she turned out to be a he," she said with a straight face.

"Ah, yes, good times," Red let out a laugh, shaking his head. "I was so sure of myself and couldn't understand why she wasn't responding to my advances."

"I suppose that doesn't happen often," Liz remarked, her voice a bit tight. She could imagine that once Red really turned on his formidable charm on someone, they usually didn't even know what hit them.

That led her to an uncalled-for yet clear conclusion – Red didn't want her. He just wanted someone, the Cabal probably, to see her rejecting him, time and again. All his innuendos, all this cat and mouse were a half-hearted attempt, just another act in the game he was playing with the clandestine organization. Because if he did really want her, she would probably not stand a chance, either. She felt her cheeks bloom at the realization, and then a tightness around her throat. Since when did she think of Red in these categories?

"I was arrogant," Red's deep voice broke her train of thought. She couldn't be more grateful. "But it was a valuable lesson," he added and seemed to fall deep in thought. Then suddenly he chuckled, satisfied with something, and his gaze was back on her. "Do you know how the fox got the cheese from the crow, Lizzie?"

She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"He used his vanity and pride against him."

Liz rolled her eyes, not in the mood for another of Red's parables. "It's too early for me to even try to understand what you're saying," she said and wrapped her bathrobe tighter around herself. "I need coffee." With that, she turned towards the door.

"Lizzie," his voice stopped her. There was no trace of his earlier facetiousness; something deep and raw had taken its place.

She pivoted slowly on her heel.

"Thank you for the blankets," he said softly. "You didn't have to."

"I know," she admitted. "But I wanted to."

~o~O~o~

"You should really try to get out of the stereotype for the locations for these clandestine meetings, Tom," Red remarked with a shiver of disgust as he breathed in the musty air of the space he was led to by Connolly's men. "Believe me when I say that contrary to common belief, dank old warehouses are not the best places to conduct business."

"The Fulcrum," the other man said without introductions. "Do you have it?"

"Good morning to you, too, Tom."

"I haven't come here to exchange pleasantries with you," Connolly snapped impatiently

Red smiled pleasantly and gave him an innocent look. "Why? Is there somewhere you need to be?"

Connolly clenched his jaw. He was taking his pledge as DA in under an hour and he was pretty sure Reddington was aware of it as keenly as he himself was. He was making a point that he had the upper hand. But only for now. When the Cabal finally offered him a place at the table, he would make it his life's goal to hunt Reddington down and rub that smug smirk off his face.

"How about I offer you a better deal?" Red said, clasping his hands behind his back.

"There is no deal. There are just my conditions and if you don't fulfill them-"

"Yes, yes, I know," Red chirped in snarkily. "You will wreak terrible vengeance on me. For the sake of both our busy schedules, let's just skip the feeble threat part of the banter altogether and get down to business, shall we?"

"There is no business," Connolly said. "And I don't think you are taking me entirely seriously, Reddington."

"Believe me, I'm taking you very seriously," Red assured him, a dangerous undertone to his voice that sent an unpleasant chill down the other man's spine. "If I weren't, we would be having an entirely different conversation."

The silence that followed was only interrupted by Red's laugh. "Don't worry, Tom, no harm will come to you! Despite your strange taste in meeting places, I want to do business with you," he gave him a piercing gaze. "You obviously want an in with the Cabal."

Connolly blinked. How the hell did he-

"I can offer you that."

"I don't need your offers," he said after a while of stunned silence.

"Oh, I think you do," Red assured him, narrowing his eyes at him. "If you want to stay alive, you do."

"What-"

"Do you really expect you will just walk in to the director's office, announce you have the Fulcrum and demand a place at the table? Do you think the director will open his arms and make you his right hand?" Red asked not really expecting an answer. He saw in Connolly's eyes that was exactly what he was planning to do. "He will kill you, your family and everyone you ever bought a newspaper from," he stated blandly and saw that had never occurred to the other man.

Red would be only too happy to let that unfold but apart from the fact of making the director aware Red no longer had the Fulcrum himself, Connolly had a sword hanging over Lizzie's neck. In order to save her, Red's strategy needed to be more refined. For now. A bit of crude force never hurt a good plan.

"The Fulcrum is a target on your back. It won't help you to get into the Cabal," Red continued, seeing he had already managed to cast doubt in Connolly's mind. "If you tell the director you have it, he'll kill you faster than you can say 'I solemnly swear'. If you threaten to use it against him, he will also kill you but slowly and painfully. I can spare you both and get you in without all the killing business."

"How?"

Red allowed a small twitch crease the corner of his mouth upwards. "Do we have a deal?"

"I- I need to think about this."

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear," Red enunciated. "This is a one-time offer. If I walk out of here now, the next time we see each other won't be quite so benevolent."

"And what if I say no? I will have no scruples revealing everything I have on Agent Keen the moment I get back to my office."

"Oh, I know you have no scruples," Red chuckled. "But I also know you're not stupid. That's why you won't deal your last – your only – ace and forsake your only chance to get in with the Cabal. Think about it, Tom. Is some ordinary field FBI agent worth losing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? You can be a powerful man, Tom, if you let yourself."

Connolly clenched his teeth, fear fighting with greed and lust for power in his gaze.

Red looked at his watch and raised an eyebrow at him. "Well? I don't have all day, Tom."

"All right," he finally relinquished.

Red gave him a bright smile. "Good decision," he approved with a nod and turned to leave. "Oh, one more thing, Tom," he added casually on his way out. "Agent Keen. Everything you have, you give up to me."

"And I'm supposed to trust you?"

"I keep my word. No harm will come to you from my hand."

"You get me in, you get Agent Keen's file."

"Very well. You'll be hearing from me soon," he offered over his shoulder.

Only when he got into his car did he allow himself a satisfied smile. The crow took the bait.

As the car started, Red caught Dembe's uneasy glance in the rearview mirror. He narrowed his eyes. "What is it?"

Dembe handed him a tablet. "Footage from yesterday."

As he watched the video, Red's face grew still and placid. The only sign that what he saw had any effect on him was the grim, tortured look that darkened his eyes.

~o~O~o~

"What is this place?" Liz asked, somewhat bewildered upon entering Red's hideaway of the week. It was unbearably opulent and you could build a car with the all the steel and chrome sticking from every surface. Or a locomotive. And then there were the two statues of naked Greek gods framing the entry to the living room from both sides, their proud masculinity in full display. She grimaced and quickly swept past them into the room.

"No one I know personally," came the reply. Red was standing close to one of the huge bay windows overlooking the river, only in his shirtsleeves and vest, a drink in his hand. "And from what I've seen so far I doubt I'd ever want to know. But I have to admit the bathroom is divine. I never knew there were so many kinds of bubble bath," he continued in an upbeat manner. "Can I offer you anything, Lizzie? Food? Drink? Bubble bath?" he asked smiling with his customary composure.

She narrowed her eyes at him, taking the time to examine him more carefully. His tone was casual and his expression urbane as always but it seemed uncharacteristically stilted. Her suspicions were confirmed when he stepped closer and out of the half-shadow near the window. The fine network of lines in the corners of his eyes was more pronounced than usual and his lips formed a grim line. He didn't make eye contact with her and there was a resigned tiredness in the angle of his shoulders and the way he held himself. He looked sad. Old and sad. She felt a pang in her heart. She had seen him like this before, when she hurt or rejected him. Or when something had gone horribly wrong.

"What's going on?" she asked, anxiety coloring her tone. "A new blacklister?"

He let out a humorless chuckle. "There is nothing new about this one."

She looked at him, still not sure what this was about. "Red?"

"Tom Keen," he stated coming closer to her, the gravel in his voice making her squirm inwardly.

Schooling her features into something hopefully neutral, she faced him, now guarded. "What about him?"

The second she saw the press of his lips following the working of his jaw, she realized he knew about her seeing Tom.

"I thought we went through this once already," he said gently. "You do remember how it ended the last time you kept Tom's continued presence in your life a secret from me?"

"Are you scolding me?" she asked incredulously, feeling anger starting to rise within her. "Again?"

"Yes, I am, Lizzie," he confirmed. "And you haven't denied it, either," he pointed out. There was no anger in his voice, just a disappointed tiredness and resignation that somehow weighed on her more than all the angry words in the world he could throw at her. "This sort of reckless behavior-"

"Don't you dare call me reckless!" she exclaimed reproachfully. "I told you I would find the truth on my own since you refuse to tell me and that's what I'm doing!"

He took a deep breath and stepped back. He gave her a sour look, his mouth pinched as if he was considering but trying not to say something cruel. "And what have you found out so far?"

"Was my father a member of the Cabal?"

Red's face froze in that strange, calm expression he so often employed. The only sign that he had heard her was the minuscule twitch under his left eye.

"I see Tom has become truly desperate to stay in your life if he's feeding you such information. And you let him," he added.

"What else am I supposed to do if you won't talk to me? If you won't help me?" she asked, the sharp edges of her words blunted somewhat by the silent plea that bled into her tone. "He does."

He sighed. "Lizzie, usually I don't ask questions I already don't know the answer to but I'm going to make an exception," he said. "Are you still in love with Tom Keen?"

The question was like a slap to her face. He himself pushed her in Tom's direction when he refused to give her answers, and now he had the audacity to not only reproach her for it but throw it in her face. What hurt most, though, was that he obviously thought her weak and stupid enough to run back to Tom at the first possibility. He must think her so damaged and spineless if he believed she could still have deeper feelings for a man who had hurt her, lied to her, and betrayed her.

Unbidden, angry tears came to her eyes but she wouldn't let them fall. Red knew her so well, knew everything there was to know about her, how could he already not know this? Not see it? Because even for her, it was all starting to click into place. And it hurt so much. She wouldn't let him see that, though.

Her blue eyes turning almost black, she steeled her jaw. "Screw you," she spat and stormed out.

She sat in her car for a long while, with her head propped against the steering wheel and the tears falling freely, half-hoping and half-fearing Red would come after her. He didn't.

When she was sure she was able to drive, she dialed Ressler. He was a bit surprised because bars usually weren't her thing but he must have heard the desperate tone in her voice and promised he'd meet her at Joe's in fifteen.

When Donald got there some time later than promised due to some nasty traffic, he saw the unmistakable red-and-blue of police sirens cutting sharply through the night gloom that had settled over the capital. An unpleasant feeling settled in his stomach and he stopped his car in the middle of the street, not caring about the honking from behind him. He vaulted himself out of the car, speeding towards the police cars and flashing his badge to the uniforms guarding the perimeter.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes.

Liz's car was wrapped around a lamppost, its left side riddled with bullet holes.

tbc.

I'm sorry for the cliff-hanger (ducks behind her computer)! I promise the update will come soon as I now have the rest of the story pretty much outlined and ready to go so I hope you'll stay tuned.

Oh, and reviews make smiles:-)

Red refers to a fable by Aesop 'The Fox and the Crow'.