When Samar regained consciousness the next day she asked for Reddington, according to the nurse standing before them.
Liz and Aram exchanged confused glances, but she quickly pulled out her phone, swallowed her pride, and called Red.
"Lizzie?" he asked, his tone a mixture of surprise and concern.
"Red. Samar's awake and she asked for you. I don't know why, but can you come to the hospital?" Liz asked, serious, anxious.
"I'll be right there," Red responded without hesitation and Liz immediately heard the line go dead.
Liz turned back to the nurse. "Can I see her?"
The nurse nodded. "You can, but she requested to speak to Mr. Reddington before seeing anyone else."
Liz's brows furrowed in confusion. What was Samar doing?
She turned back to Aram. He shrugged, indicating that he was just as baffled.
They stood together, silent. Aram's arms were crossed, his fingers anxiously twitching against his ribs, and he was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Liz rubbed her scar absentmindedly, staring at the clean, white linoleum under her feet.
Liz felt like they were waiting endlessly, like time had completely stopped, but Red arrived in less than ten minutes, Dembe following close behind him.
He strode toward them with purpose, and the nurse presumed this was the man they were waiting for. Red nodded briefly at Liz and Aram before wordlessly following the nurse into the room.
Once inside, he nodded at the nurse, thanking her. She responded with a smile, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.
Red turned his gaze toward the hospital bed. Samar was staring right back at him, her face cold, practically expressionless.
She remained silent, leaving Red slightly uncomfortable, though he would never show it. He cleared his throat. "Agent Navabi, I'm happy to see you awake and recovering," he spoke in a collected, measured voice, his Concierge of Crime mask securely in place. Or so he thought.
She remained quiet, not removing her gaze from his features.
"You asked for me?" he asked, wondering if she'd forgotten.
Still nothing. He was becoming more and more unsure by the second. So he pulled out his usual weapon: a tale from his life of crime.
"I was in Iran a few years ago. Met a lovely woman by the name of Nasrin. She made me the most delicious-"
Samar finally spoke, abruptly halting his words, her voice cutting, angry.
"Cut the crap, Reddington. I almost died yesterday."
He frowned, narrowing his eyes. "I am aware of that, Agent Navabi. Why did you ask to speak with me?"
"I'm going to say this as clearly as I can. And I'm going to say it once. Got it?"
He continued staring into her eyes with confusion, trying to read her mind, before nodding almost imperceptibly.
"Life is short. Our lives may be shorter than most. We lead dangerous lives. Liz has a dangerous job because she works with you. She does this job, puts herself in danger on a regular basis, to help you. But even without this job... we both know she is in danger with or without you, Reddington. The damage is done. You're already in her life. Don't make things worse by pretending that whatever it is between you doesn't exist. It exists. She loves you and god knows you love her, so stop being a fucking idiot. Love each other together rather than apart. You're both in danger every day of your damn lives, so you might as well be happy while you can." Her voice was measured, so controlled. "Do you understand?" she asked slowly, her eyes boring into his.
He clenched and worked his jaw, lips slightly parted, trying to think of the right words to say. Quickly realizing there were no right words, he closed his mouth, his lips turning down at the corners.
They continued to face off silently before Samar asked again, firmly, "Do you understand me, Reddington?"
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, tried to keep his mask in place.
He was failing, so he just opened his eyes and nodded, knowing his pain was clearly visible, written across his features.
Keeping her gaze on his distraught face, Samar replied, "Good." She settled back onto her pillows, suddenly relaxed, like she had been tense with the weight of the words she had just handed over to him, that were now his burden to carry.
Red guessed that meant he was free to leave, so he turned on his heel and strode out of her room, continuing past Liz, Aram, and Dembe, all the way out of the hospital, ignoring Liz's concerned, confused calls after him. Dembe spared the pair a reassuring smile before following behind him wordlessly.
When they got in the car, Red was silent, unmoving, processing. Dembe knew to leave him be. He didn't have to ask where Red would like to be taken.
Arriving at his apartment in Bethesda, Red proceeded straight inside, poured himself a rather sizable glass of scotch, and sat in his favorite armchair, his cat immediately leaping into his lap. He allowed her to snuggle up to him, barely registering that she was there. As his free hand stroked her head, the repetitive action and the furry presence began to straighten out his muddled thoughts.
Damn that Navabi.
He knew she was right.
She was absolutely right.
He had been so desperate to keep his Lizzie safe from him, from his world, that logic had escaped him.
He had been so focused on himself, on his negative thoughts of himself, that he found it impossible to believe that she could feel the same way about him as he did about her.
He had been so focused on the thought that he didn't deserve happiness, that she deserved so much better, a safe, normal life, that he hadn't even considered himself as an option for her happiness.
He knew she deserved happiness, more than anyone he had ever known. He didn't deserve happiness, but she sure as hell did.
He loved her more than he thought was possible after all the darkness he'd been drowning in for over twenty years. And she deserved to be loved as deeply as he loved her.
So why couldn't he be the one to give her that love? To make her feel safe and loved and happy every day for the rest of her life?
If she loved him and wanted him, how could he possibly deny her that? All he wanted was for his Lizzie to be happy – he couldn't deny her happiness, even if he so desperately wanted to deny it of himself.
Even if her happiness meant that he, an undeserving monster of a man, would be happy too.
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Liz watched Red walk away, confused, but her thoughts immediately turned back to Samar and she hurried into the room.
She froze in the doorway, gripping the doorframe as if she needed physical support. She couldn't hold in the tears of relief upon seeing her friend awake. Alive.
Samar looked exhausted, but the smile stretching slowly across her face was the most genuine, most joyful, most grateful-to-be-alive smile Liz had ever seen.
"Liz."
She could hear the smile in Samar's voice, see it in her shining eyes.
The tears spilled over from where they had collected on Liz's eyelashes and she rushed forward to Samar's bed, grabbing her hand desperately, holding on as if their linked fingers were the only defense against the tears threatening to drown her, threatening to stop her from making sure Samar was real.
"Samar," she whispered, her friend's name coming out in a ragged breath.
She clutched Samar's hand tightly, brushing the fingers of her free hand through Samar's curls lightly.
"How are you feeling?" she managed to ask.
"I've been better," Samar smirked.
Liz grinned, wiping the worst of the tears from her cheeks before pulling the chair closer to the bed and sitting down, never once letting go of Samar's hand. She had the ridiculous, illogical fear that if she stopped touching Samar, her friend would vanish.
"God, Samar, I was so scared," she breathed. "I can't imagine losing you, not after we've just-" She swallowed, unable to continue.
Samar squeezed her hand and gave her a sad smile. "I know. But no need to worry, I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me now."
"I wouldn't want it any other way." Liz assured her.
Samar cleared her throat, and when she spoke her voice was rough with emotion. "I could hear you, by the way. When I was unconscious. I love you too, Liz."
Fresh tears rolled down Liz's cheeks as she gripped Samar's hand even harder, beaming.
She didn't say anything. No words were needed.
Just friendship.
Just love.
After a few moments of companionable silence, Liz remembered Samar's mysterious conversation with Red. If she weren't planning to voluntarily offer up why she had asked to speak to him before anyone else, Liz would have to ask.
"Why did you need to speak to Red? He seemed a little..." Liz paused, tilting her head, trying to come up with the right word. "...off. When he left."
Samar watched as Liz searched her face, making sure her expression was unreadable. She had known that Liz would ask. That's just who Liz was.
"Samar," Liz pressed.
Samar sighed before giving the most vague answer possible. "I told him some things he needed to hear."
Before Liz could demand more details, Samar felt a sharp pain slicing through her abdomen, causing her to wince and hiss sharply.
Liz bolted up from the chair. "What is it? What do you need?"
"No, no, I'm fine. Just a little pain. To be expected. I was shot, after all."
Liz's expression was laced with worry.
"I'll let the nurse know and I'm sure she'll give me more pain meds," Samar assured her, pressing the call button.
Liz's brow remained furrowed, but she nodded.
"Also, my hand's going a little numb," Samar smirked, looking down at their joined hands.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I didn't even realize-"
Liz tried to pull her hand away, but before she could withdraw out of her friend's grasp, Samar caught the ends of her fingers, drawing Liz's hand back in, twining their fingers together.
Samar cut her off mid-apology. "You don't have to stop. Just maybe let me have my circulation back? You're holding on so tight, it's like you're watching a horror movie or something." Her eyes glinted with mischief as she grinned up at Liz's anxious face.
Liz huffed a quiet, fleeting laugh before speaking, her voice bleak, a wisp of shadow. "Well, the last couple days have been pretty horror movie-esque."
Samar softly brushed her thumb over the back of Liz's hand and gave her a warm smile. "I know. So don't let go."
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That night Liz dreamt of death.
It was a doubly hellish nightmare, featuring both of the people she held closest to her heart. She woke up at 4am, drenched in sweat, trembling, tears streaking her cheeks.
She allowed herself to cry, for everything she'd lost, for everything she thought she'd gained, for everything she'd almost lost. Her dream was a heavy reminder of the reality that very nearly could have been if Samar hadn't made it through surgery, if Red hadn't survived that shot from the sniper months ago.
She let herself cry for all the other versions of herself.
The innocent Liz from two years ago, happily married, getting ready to adopt a baby and start a promising new job.
The fractured Liz, who had been chipped away piece by piece as everything she thought she knew about herself and her life was proven untrue.
The Liz from just a week ago who thought requited feelings meant something.
The broken, empty shell of Liz that could have been left behind if Red or Samar had been taken from her.
She cried for the pain Samar must be feeling, the pain from losing Farhad, the pain from the bullets. She cried for what could have been if Red hadn't claimed her feelings were invalid, if he hadn't claimed she was only desperate. She cried for the blissful ignorance she would still be in if Red hadn't opened his damn drunken mouth in the first place.
She cried until she couldn't remember why she was crying, her nightmare, her life, just distant memories. She cried until her mind was a complete blank, her only focus the ragged tearing in her chest, the heavy burning in her eyes, the way her body was shaking with the exertion of trying to get the right amount of air into her gasping lungs.
Her mind was empty to everything except the tears.
And then suddenly it wasn't.
She knew what she had to do.
She hurried out of bed, throwing on a jacket and slipping on shoes before rushing out the door of her motel room, the first wisps of dawn threading into the darkness of the night. She drove as quickly as she could through the near-empty streets.
She was returning voluntarily to the apartment she'd hoped she'd never have to see again.