My muse for this chapter was the song "Unsteady" by X Ambassadors. SO much angst and uncertainty. Just when Red and Lizzie seem to have found some common ground, everything changes again. Will they ever be able to find the place where they can just be together?
Chapter 2- Unsteady:
The noises outside their cell become louder, more frantic, staccato gunfire pinging the shadows of the dungeon. Shuffling and shouts echo down the corridor, sounds bouncing off the stone surrounding them. Lizzie presses a last kiss to Red's lips and moves, leveraging herself off of him, reaching for her discarded clothing.
Red watches her replace her pants, tucking himself back inside his own. Their eyes never stray from the other's face; no longer touching, yet still connected.
The iron bars of the cell are thrown open, the clanging sounds like an explosion next to their heads. There is shouting, loud, angry commands, and a pair of hands grabbing Lizzie roughly out of the darkness. She twists around, desperately seeking Red's eyes once more, but the men in black descend on him as well, blocking her vision and she is dragged out of the cell. There is smoke everywhere, stinging Lizzie's eyes as she tries to follow the shadowy figure out of the lower level.
Behind her, Red is shouting her name. She turns again, but another figure at her back grabs her shoulders, spinning her around, hands digging into her back, forcing her forward. How can this be the end?
Red lurches as two heavily-outfitted men drag him from the floor, his ribs protesting their force. He watches Lizzie's back disappear around the corner of the passage, a flash of her frightened eyes when she turns back to find him.
He calls her name, but she is gone and they are pulling him forward. His mind is screaming his resistance at them, but his body follows, back straightening, the determined, easy guise of the Concierge slipping back into place. He will not go slouched and despairing, no matter the turmoil inside his heart.
His captors herd him out of the cell, in the direction of the others and he goes willingly; will he have another chance to see her before the end?
Gunfire erupts around them in the hallway, their jailors returning fire. Lizzie pulls herself from the haze of her disheartenment enough to wonder who is shooting at them here.
Red and Lizzie are hurried up a steep, stone staircase, the faceless black-clothed men rushing them to the top. Lizzie is the first to burst through the door at the apex of the staircase, and out into the night, burning bright with searchlights all around and suddenly, it's like the world shudders into slow motion. She stops, dead in her tracks, her head slowly turning from side to side, eyes sweeping her surroundings, disbelieving. Her mouth ajar, she takes it all in. The FBI is everywhere, swarming the ancient stronghold, helicopters hovering overhead.
She spins around, her eyes searching for Red's face. He is gaping around them in shock, his usual surety replaced by an expression of utter surprise, hand shielding his eyes from the glare of the lights. And then, he finds her, gaze settling on her, taking in her tender features smudged with dirt, her beautiful eyes piercing him with her stare.
She wants to run to him, then, to throw herself into his arms and reassure herself that they are both still alive, that this is not a dream; that in some bizarre twist of fate, they have been escorted to freedom rather than marched to their death. She is about to close the distance between them when she hears her name being called frantically.
She whips around to find her partner running towards her across the grass.
"Ressler! How did you find us?!" she exclaims when he reaches her, sweeping her into an uncharacteristic hug, spinning her around.
"You don't actually think we believe anything Reddington tells us, do you?" he teases. "We tracked you. When he insisted on this undercover op being just the two of you, Samar added a GPS tracker to the underwire of your bra," he blushes, uncomfortable. "After Zurich…...well, let's just say the Bureau doesn't want any more close calls where Reddington's involved."
Liz smiles away her incredulity, "I'm going to overlook the gross intrusion of my privacy in favor of gratitude right now," she jokes.
She glances at Red over Ressler's shoulder; he is being looked over by a paramedic. She can see a flourish of purpling bruises exploding over his ribs and her heart constricts as he winces in pain under the medic's attention. Red lifts his eyes, catching her watching him. His eyes blaze and she can feel the heat searing her from here, heavy with all that is unspoken between them. She swallows; there is so much they need to say, but it will have to wait.
Ressler is speaking again, pulling her attention away from Red's heated gaze.
"Do you need a doctor, Keen?" he is concerned; mistaking the look of pain that has shifted over her features.
"No," she answers hurriedly, "No, I'm fine…My head is just a little sore," she covers with a bland explanation.
"We should get you checked out. You could have a concussion," Ressler signals to a paramedic.
"No, Ress, really I'm fine. It was a bump, that's all. I didn't lose consciousness and I'm not nauseous," Liz insists, waving him away. "I need to check on Reddington." She brushes past him, swiftly crossing the space to the ambulance where Red is being bandaged.
"What's the verdict?" she asks.
"Bruised, possibly broken, at least three ribs," Red smiles up at her ruefully, cocking his head to the side. "You need to be examined as well."
"I'm fine," she replies.
He looks at her pointedly, "Lizzie, you're not. You're likely in shock. You suffered a blow to the head and you were unconscious for at least two minutes. You could have a concussion."
"Are they taking you to the hospital?" she asks, changing the subject back to him easily.
"Nothing they can do for ribs except wrap them and that can be done here," he gestures to the medic. "An x-ray is an unnecessary procedure which will only confirm what I can already feel."
"What about pain meds?" she queries. "They must hurt."
"I am quite certain that the medication I have already at my disposal quite exceeds whatever they would prescribe here." Liz quirks an eyebrow at this, but refrains from commenting on his secret stash of prescription, and likely illegal, drugs.
Ressler ambles over to them, file in hand.
"You almost finished here?" he asks the medic. "I need to debrief you both," he tells them.
"Tomorrow," Red answers immediately, before Liz can reply.
"We need an explanation for what happened here tonight. We need to know how this whole thing went down," Ressler is ever the company man, pleading the case for expediency.
"Agent Ressler, Agent Keen and I have had a very trying 48 hours. I am jet-lagged and injured; Agent Keen likely has a concussion. We both need to rest. We will debrief with you in the morning," Red answers the agent's protest in a clipped tone, leaving no room for argument.
Ressler stares at him for a moment, duty and compassion warring on his face. "I'll escort you back to the hotel," he sighs. "The FBI has a block of rooms reserved in the city."
"No need!" Red responds cheerfully. "We already have accommodations at hotel near here, undoubtedly more well-appointed than the FBI could afford. I have certain standards, you know, and our belongings are already there."
"Fine," Ressler answers tightly, lips pursed. He turns to Liz, "If you really do have a concussion, you need to see a doctor and we need to arrange for someone to stay with you at your hotel to check on you tonight."
"Nonsense, Donald!" Red's voice cheerfully interrupts again. "Nothing will happen to our dear Agent Keen. It's all taken care of."
Liz shrugs her shoulders as if to say why bother arguing with him?
"I'll be fine, Ressler," she reassures him. "I just want to get a shower and some sleep. We'll talk tomorrow, ok?" And suddenly, he's sees how tired she is, how worn from the ordeal.
Ressler lets out a frustrated breath, "Ok, Keen. You two get some rest and I'll meet you in the morning to get your stories." He starts to walk away, then turns around again. "I'm glad you're alright."
Liz smiles tiredly at him, "Me too. And Ress? Thank you," she says with feeling. She knows she owes him for this, for giving her time and for saving her.
Ressler shakes his head and turns away again, heading for the tactical response camper. "Don't mention it," he throws over his shoulder.
Lizzie turns back to Red, her eyes nervously searching his face for some sign of what he is feeling. She is grateful to him for buying them some time to talk, and grateful as well to have this moment with him, not under the FBI's scrutiny; not yet at least.
Red winces as the medic pulls the end of the bandage tight one last time, tucking it into the top of the piece that is already tightly wound around his chest.
"We're all done here," the medic tells him. "Keep the bandage dry or you'll have to re-wrap it. You're going to be sore for a few days; you'll probably want to take something for it, but it sounds like you've got that covered. I can give you a shot of morphine before you leave," he offered.
"No, I'll be fine," Red brushes away the offer. "I think I want my wits about me tonight," he says meaningfully, his eyes on Lizzie' face again.
He cannot read her expression and it's killing him. He needs to know what she is feeling, now that the danger is over and they know they are going to live. Does she regret what they did? Does she blame him? Is she pulling away?
"Let's go," she tells him.
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The ride to their hotel is a silent one, both of them tense in the backseat, each unsure of what the other is thinking and unable to talk about it with the junior agent driving in the front.
Lizzie's eyes follow the city lights the car moves along the quiet streets. It is late and the usually crowded thoroughfares are empty.
She cannot look at him and not know how he feels. Her chest is tight with the weight of unnamed emotions. What they had experienced in the prison had changed her. Was it possible that it didn't hold the same meaning for him?
She stares out the window, eyes unseeing as her mind wanders, remembering. She was in his lap, his hands on her hips. He had kissed her like she was his only salvation. He was inside her, moving and she wanted him so much. If this was going to be the last…..Lizzie's eyes drifted shut, her head resting against the window. She arched over him, his breath warm on her neck, coming together in the most spiritual way, a divine and heady pairing; the moonlight their only witness. Her eyes snap open. She'd told him she loved him. And it's true; she does, she realizes. Tears prick her eyes: what if he doesn't feel the same?
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Red's anxiety is like a sharp weight in the back of his throat, clawing at him to escape.
He watches her from the corner of his eye as she stares out the window, unwilling to look at him. How can he tell her, what can he possibly say? Those moments in the dungeon were the most precious thing to have ever happened to him. He still can't believe it was real. She was everything he had dreamed she would be: soft and muscled beneath his hands, satin lips and cool flesh meeting his, passionate and eager; unreserved as she sought her pleasure, offering herself up for his exploration; and, oh, so lovely. Red closes his eyes and hears, in his memory, the sighs escaping her lips as his body did things to her that he had only fantasized about.
He watches her again, willing her to turn to him, trying to read her thoughts in the language of her body. She is his light and he is terrified she will walk away. His need for her is a prurient burn in the back of his mind, blissful, awakened, wanting. How could he have her and not want more?
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It is well after midnight when the car finally drops them at the entrance to the hotel they have been staying at. They stand, staring at each other, for the first time since the ambulance, as the car pulls away from the porte-cochere.
With a deep breath, Red extends his hand to her, "Shall we?"
He breathes a sigh of relief when she closes the distance between them and grasps his hand firmly in her own.
He leads her through the lobby and into the elevator. The ride up is quiet, but he keeps her hand in his, taking a small measure of comfort in the fact that she lets him.
Lizzie's heart is pounding, she can feel each pulse in her temples, in her throat, in the surge of blood that pulses in her veins. She has never been so aware of her own body or of his, as she stands next to him, her hand nestled warmly in his grip. What is she going to say to him when they reach their room? What if he thinks it was a mistake?
She startles next to him when the elevator dings, announcing their arrival at their floor. Red glances down at her once before pulling her from the elevator and leading her down the hall to his door. They had booked adjoining suites for their stay, posing as a married couple, and she wonders now if they will be retiring to their own rooms as they had for the previous two nights.
He scans the keycard and ushers her inside, the door closing behind them with a faint click.
She stops a few steps into the room, her eyes casting about for answers, for reinforcements, for a place to start.
He walks past her, dropping his room key and wallet on the table. He crosses to the walnut sideboard, intending to pour himself a drink; then thinks better of it and turns to face her, hands behind him on the surface, resting his weight with elbows bent, hips leaning back against it for support.
They stare, unmoving, unbreathing, both desperate for a way to begin this conversation. There is doubt here and they can both feel it, uncertainty and apprehension electrifying the air between them.
Trembling, he takes a breath. He hates himself, but he has to do this. His own words repeat themselves back to him in his head, I believe I will always do whatever I think is necessary to keep you safe. This is not safe. This is not protecting her.
He lifts his chin, his jaw working back and forth as he tries to summon the courage to voice the words lacerating his throat, every syllable a shard of glass drawing blood.
His heart breaking with every word, he offers her an out, "It was a mistake."
Don't hate me :) More is coming, I promise.