AN: It's been so long since my last update that I had to re-read the whole thing before I could even get started on this chapter. Talk about painful! It's so funny how much my writing style has evolved since the beginning. This is my first multi-chapter fic, and boy does it show! It's closer to the end now than the beginning, but nowhere near done, it seems. Apologies are needed for this long, drawn out wait, assuming anyone was actually still waiting. I'm sorry about that. Inspiration ebbs and flows.
Still disclaimed, nothing is mine.
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Dapper in his cream-colored three piece suit, Red made an effort to keep a safe distance away from Zonkey while seeing Denny and Lizzie off on their trail ride. Zonkey's shedding hair wasn't his concern. It was the slobber that he always left by fumbling through his pockets. Luckily, the little guy was far more interested in sniffing out Hudson and hitting the trail than begging for treats. Wearing his pack for the trip, he looked even more stout and adorable than usual. Liz hadn't loaded him up fully, and instead had only packed their lunch and perhaps a few too many first aid provisions, at Red's behest. Unbeknownst to her, he was channeling his nerves about giving her the day alone with Denny by fretting over their safety.
She mounted and turned to glance at Denny, already astride Ruger. He was decked out in ostentatious western wear that had obviously never been worn. She couldn't help but smile at the apparent contraction. Though his outfit looked like dude ranch, rhinestone cowboy garb, he was obviously at ease on his mount. His collective body language was that of a very accomplished horseman, and she could tell immediately that he was.
He caught her looking at him and returned her smile. "All set to giddy up?"
"Ready when you are." She returned her gaze to Red. "You two have fun at Veritas. Get drunk if you please, and if you taste anything you like, don't come back empty-handed."
"Certainly," Red replied. "I only wish you were coming with us."
"If you're afraid of missing me, there's at least two dozen horses that could have your name on them. Hudson can wait while I tack one up for you." She grinned down at him, suddenly curious about what he might wear for their trail ride the following day. Before he could reply, she added, "What are you gonna wear tomorrow, anyway?" Visions of snug blue jeans danced in her head, and god help her, they were delightful visions indeed.
"You'll just have to wait and see."
"Will you be riding English or Western?" Well-fitted English riding jodhpurs would probably make his ass look even better, she thought wistfully.
He hadn't given it any prior thought. It was really the least of his worries. "I think I'll go Western." The horn on the saddle seemed like a good idea. At least he'd have something sturdy to grab onto, if necessary.
As if reading his mind, she replied, "You'll be fine. If you can handle me, you can handle a horse just as well."
"You think?"
"I know." She leaned down towards him. "Come here."
He did as requested, resting a hand on her thigh and angling his chin up to give her a kiss that quickly turned into three.
"Okay, okay. We should all arrive back at around the same time, and I'll make dinner."
"Sounds good. You guys have fun today."
"Not too much fun!" Denny piped in. Shirley headed over to him and gave his leg a quick squeeze, and then walked back over to Red and linked her arm with his, steering him towards their awaiting car.
-...-...-...-...-
The private tour that Red booked included generous samples of literally every wine made at the vineyard, followed by a light lunch with fine cheeses and fresh baguette outside on the picturesque mezzanine. Both were sufficiently buzzed by the end of the tour. Red regaled Shirley with his quintessential cheerful story-telling all the while, but in the back of his mind, as always, was Lizzie. He hoped that she and Denny were getting along well. She certainly wouldn't call him just to say that she was miserable with the man, so he'd have no way of knowing if that was the case.
When the conversation hit a natural lull, he resorted to his old standby, one that also came naturally to him - unabashed flattery. His eyes met his old friend's and he smiled softly. "You look as radiant as ever, you know. Denny is one lucky flamingo."
She chuckled, her slender fingers toying with the stem of her saugivnon blanc. "Yes, he is, and you're still a shameless charmer."
He lifted his eyebrows in expectation, his lips pursed, clearly not satisfied by her response.
"And what I didn't admit to you in front of Denny, back in Boston, is that you're surprisingly polished for a man who's spent over two decades on the run. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't quite this." She waved one hand in the air. "Still handsome and suave as hell, Raymond Reddington. Your wanted poster did you no justice."
He laughed heartily. "That was taken after I'd been holed up for seven months in Phonthong. I didn't have so much as a haircut the entire time."
"So, someone got a photo of you and then you slipped away again?"
"More like I arranged for someone to get a photo of me before I slipped away, but yes. And I've been meeting up with Denny with some regularity over the past few years..." He trailed off. "Ah, I shouldn't be surprised. Why on earth would Denny relay information about my appearance?"
"Indeed."
He finished his glass of wine and immediately poured another. It was now or never, and 'never' was a far from viable option. He canted his head and chewed his cheek, searching for the right words. There could be no natural segue for such a grey swan of a subject.
"What?" she asked. His deeply-engrained tells hadn't changed over the years.
"I have a matter of great import to discuss, and frankly, I don't where to begin." He lightly drummed his fingers on the table, unable to sit still.
"Take your time." Her whole demeanor morphed instanty. She was treating him with kid gloves, like a traumatized defense witness on the stand, but Red didn't mind. He could use all the help be could get.
"I'm afraid I've invited you and Denny here under somewhat false pretenses. A conversation he and I had over dinner in Boston gave me a hunch that I couldn't resist following to its conclusion."
Shirley's face was a well-practiced wall, ready to absorb anything. "I take it you've reached one."
He nodded slowly. "Yes, yes, I have... Denny had a daughter out of wedlock thirty-eight years ago. You can do the math, I'm sure. It was after he'd met you, yes, but before you'd reconnected and married. The woman had a fiancé, and she wanted to raise the child with him, make him believe that she was his, and not tell him about Denny. She only let him meet her once." Red knew that she must have a million questions already, but because she stayed mum, he just kept talking. "She'd send him photos whenever she needed money, always from a different address... until one day, when the girl was four years old, the photos just stopped. He never heard from her again."
"God, I... I can't believe he never told me. That's horrible. So my husband has just been living with this, all this time."
Red reached across the table, palm up, in invitation. She gladly took it. "The universe is incomprehensibly vast, but the world is so, so small. With a tilt of the axis, it seems, some things just fall into place... It's Elizabeth. I ran a comparative DNA analysis last night. She's his daughter."
Shirley deflated, instantly boneless, her jaw slackened and opened slightly, but only for a second. Then she shifted back into her well-practiced interrogation mode. "That's... your Elizabeth? Liz? The woman we sent on a trail ride with Denny? Who's all alone with her right now?" She pulled her hand away and clasped her own, under the table.
He regarded every nuance of her newly transformed facial expression - the widening and then crinkling of her eyes, the slight upturn of her lips. Shock. Incredulity. She was a little wary, of course, but not unhappy, and he couldn't have been more relieved. "Yes," he replied.
"Oh my god, what if he's hitting on her? You know him, Raymond! Are you NUTS?"
"Could be," he chuckled. "But look at you, already protective of your step daughter. It's very sweet."
"My step daughter! My brain hadn't even processed it that far yet."
"You should consider yourself lucky," he quickly replied, his chin angled upward, open and confident.
"And you should be worried. Imagine his reaction if you'd slept with me, and multiply that by ten. You're sleeping with his daughter!"
"Your step daughter."
"If you were worried about that, you wouldn't keep reminding me."
Red sighed, slouching back in his chair before taking another sip of wine. He drawled his reply slowly, carefully choosing his words. "True, I'm not. Denny however, well... I've already given that a lot of thought, and no small measure of concern. Still, my greater concern is for Lizzie. She's long believed her father to be dead. To tell you the truth, I thought he was dead too. I don't expect her to be angry with me, but this will dredge up a lot of long-buried, fractured memories that she'll feel compelled to re-examine. It won't be easy for her."
This time it was she who offered her hand, and he took it before continuing, "I'm hoping that Denny will be grateful enough for me finding her that he won't shoot me. Life is full of risks. It seems I always take them."
She squeezed his hand, her gaze softened but steady. "So is love."
-...-...-...-...-
After watching their partners retreat towards Red's car, Liz lead the way through the large paddock and over to the gate that opened up to the trailhead. With little thought, she dismounted, unlatched the gate, and swung it open for Denny and Zonkey to pass. When she'd closed it behind her and remounted Hudson, she was mildly annoyed to look up and see that her companions had already gone along without her. "Don't you think I should lead, since I'm the only one who has ridden these trails?" she called out, trying to mask her annoyance.
Denny didn't even turn around as he shouted his reply, "Denny Crane is not a follower!" Evidently he'd chosen to ignore the fact that he'd just followed her to the trail.
She swore under her breath, but realized that since Zonkey was loose and following Ruger, it might actually be best for her to take the rear, so she could keep an eye on him.
The woods were surprisingly thick for the cool season, and the rhythmic sound of leaves crunching underhoof was both loud enough to excuse the two riders for engaging in minimal conversation, and soft enough to lull them deep into their own respective thoughts. The lull of hoofbeats was one of the most therapeutic aspects of riding, for Liz. It was also the one she felt that Red would most appreciate, and she continued to look forward to it all afternoon, as pleasant as her ride with Denny was.
The pair was able to keep their mounts at a trot or jog for most of the ride, rather than walking the whole way. They took breaks for Zonkey, whose little legs had to work the fastest at their pace, though he kept up with a vigorous enthusiasm that surprised Liz. Along the way, they passed numerous placards denoting the historical civil war events that had occurred on the spot. Some pointed out the sunken-in battle trenches that were still there, or the ruinous foundations of old plantation houses. They paused to read each one.
Denny's unwavering enthrallment by the local war history brought a smile to Liz's lips. She could just imagine him the following day, pointing out the upcoming placards to his wife and proudly recounting what they say before reaching them. He'd probably get the facts all mixed up, and the names too, but everyone would let him get away with it to have his fun. Hell, Red would probably jump in with some intentionally-contrived facts of his own, just to amuse himself.
A few slight detours for felled trees did little to complicate the journey, much to their mutual delight. When they arrived at the river, they dismounted, loosened their mounts' girths, and replaced their bridles with halters, tying them loosely to trees near the riverbank, so they could drink and graze. Liz unloaded their lunch from Zonkey's pack while Denny walked around, plotting out their campsite for the following day.
The river before them stretched out wide and fairly shallow, and the afternoon sun glittered across the surface. Together, they rolled a log near the riverbank and then sat upon it, just a few feet apart. It was just broad enough for them to balance their food in between them. Red had packed their lunch that morning - Eartha Kitt's pimento cheese sandwiches with bacon, on thick-sliced tomato basil bread, with raspberry lemon squares for dessert, and bottles of lime San Pellegrino to drink.
They chatted for awhile about their respective careers, each expressing mild interest in the other, and Denny was on his best behavior. He had some good stories to tell, especially from his younger years. Back then, he'd struggled valiantly for independence from his lawyer father who expected him to practice law exactly as he did. Just as he'd told her, Denny Crane was no follower.
Liz had a single question of great import that she was itching to ask the man beside her - had been itching to ask for their entire ride - had been waiting for lunch to ask, but here they were, and damnit it was unfair, and did she really want to ruin a possibly grand surprise? Wasn't it wrong to put her guest on the spot? Wouldn't it get back to Red, and wouldn't he be displeased? Didn't curiosity kill the cat? How many times had she died already?
Enough, she was sure. Too many, most likely.
But ah, restraint had never been her strongest suit.
"Denny, do you remember yesterday afternoon, what word you used to label me in relation to Red?"
He set down his raspberry lemon square to eye her suspiciously, unaware of the stray blob of raspberry perched on the corner of his mouth. "Why would you ask me that? Are you testing me?"
"Oh, no! I'm sorry. I'm not, I promise. Nevermind." Her cheeks flushed slightly. Of course this sounded like some kind of mad cow diagnostic question. He was probably used to that kind of thing, and he obviously hated it too.
"Uh huh.." He picked up his raspberry lemon square and took a huge bite, his face a closed-up wall. Well, she deserved that.
She'd have to return from another angle. Her mind made quick work of finding a better question. "Do you think Red will ask you to be a groomsman? Can flamingos be groomsmen? I'm unfamiliar with the etiquette."
"Of course they can, but I don't know. We haven't spent much time together over the years. He probably has closer friends now."
Her veins began to vibrate in a heady anticipation. She took a long pull from her mineral water, the fingers of her other hand digging into the tree bark. "Well, for whatever it's worth, I hope that after he asks me, he asks you."
"You were speaking hypothetically, right?" he replied, not missing a beat. "I took that as a hypothetical question."
Right. The madcow man is still, first and foremost, The Undefeated Lawyer, The Denny Crane. She suddenly recalled a particular story that Red had told her, and in an effort to school her features and inject some levity, she said, "Will you do me a favor?"
"Anything for a beautiful woman."
"At my hypothetical wedding, can you please stay out of the hypothetical coat check closet?"
"Better have your wedding outdoors, just in case," he replied, and the two burst into laughter.