Oh, the muse was so angsty for this one! "Habits" by Maria Mena; so sad and haunting. This one was a chapter collaboration with the awesome BlackInk07 (TheTwoFlamingos)!
By the time Red picks her up for the meeting with his contact, Lizzie is feeling much more herself. An afternoon working with Ressler in their tiny office, the easy, affable conversation with Aram, Cooper's curt briefing all served to settle her nerves with the sheer normalcy of the day.
But everything changes the moment she opens her door to see him standing there in his black overcoat, matching fedora perched at a rakish angle on his head. The sight of him steals her breath away and she has to remind herself that she is giving up the luxury of seeing him each morning and evening in order to protect her ability to see him at all.
She leans on the doorjamb for support. "Hello, Red," she murmurs softly and a bit sad.
"Good evening, Lizzie," he greets her formally, waiting for her cues. He has spent the afternoon putting his plan into motion. He is anxious to share it with her, but he hides it, knowing now is not the time. It can wait; after tonight, they will have all the time in the world.
His hand reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She cannot help herself; she turns her cheek into his hand, allowing her lips to graze his palm. The electricity is back between them, as before. He steps closer, leaning his face close to hers. He stops, his lips hovering just above hers, breathing her in. She shivers under his gaze, the touch of him so very close. He waits for her. She lifts her chin, almost imperceptibly, and his lips are on hers.
The moment they connect, it is no longer a casual brush of lips; they are overcome by the nearness of each other. He groans into her mouth as she opens for him, his hips automatically driving into her against the frame of the door.
He slants his mouth across hers, angling for more of her; a deeper sweep of her tongue against his tangling his fingers in her silken strands as he buries his hands in her auburn tresses, her hips responding to his thrusts, begging for more contact.
He reaches out for her, pulling her against him. They tumble inside the room, and she vaguely hears him kick the door shut behind them. They fall to the bed together, a mingle of limbs and breaths and his grunt of pain. She wraps her arms around him, clinging to him with her mouth and hands, beyond caring if she hurts him.
The sharp, blistering pain arcing through his chest abruptly wrenches him back to reality. He pulls back from her, breaking their contact. She looks askance at him, panting. He takes a deep, steadying breath.
"Lizzie," he heaves, resting his forehead against hers. "I'm afraid we have to go." He presses a kiss to her lips. "Later, I promise."
She groans her frustration, but helps him off the bed, straightening her clothes before they depart for his car in the parking lot.
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They are only marginally late for the meeting with Red's contact. Red explains away their tardiness with one of his far-fetched tales and everyone is suitably mollified.
About thirty minutes into dinner, one of their contact's men approaches the table and whispers into his boss's ear. The dark look that comes over his contact's face has Lizzie shooting a nervous glance in Red's direction.
"Reddington, it seems our meeting must come to a premature conclusion."
"Boris, what's the problem?" Lizzie can tell by the tone in his voice that Red is less than impressed.
Boris stands up, dropping his napkin on the table. "It seems that my attention is needed elsewhere. But please, finish your meal, on me."
Without waiting for a response, Boris motions to his men and quickly exits the restaurant.
Lizzie looks at Red. "What the hell was that about?"
Red, for his part, is casually looking around the restaurant. "Something doesn't feel right. Come on, let's get out of here. We'll brief with Captain America, then go home."
Despite the tension of the situation, Lizzie can't help the thrill of excitement at the way he says home.
As Red stands, a piercing scream disturbs the quiet intimacy of the restaurant. Instantly, Red is on alert, head swiveling rapidly, searching for the threat, but it's Lizzie who spots the gun. And it's pointed directly at Red.
Before she can react, the gunman fires and she is powerless to do anything watch as the bullet pierces Red's upper body.
Everything is moving in slow motion; Red's body jerks backwards, crashing down hard on the table. The sound of the wooden table breaking under his weight is drowned out by the screams of the patrons as they scatter.
Lizzie is frozen solid, even as the gunman walks towards them, parting the panicked crowd like Moses at the Red Sea.
Another shot explodes, wizzing just past Lizzie's head, snapping her out of her paralyzed state; her FBI training kicks in and she quickly draws her own weapon, squeezing off two shots. One goes wide, but the other finds it's target: the center mass of the gunman.
"Ressler!" Lizzie yells into her earpiece, gun still trained on the fallen assailant.
As soon as the signature red hair of her partner appears in the doorway of the restaurant, Lizzie lowers her weapon.
Red!
She spins around and hurries over to his prone body, rolling him onto his back. Tears sting her eyes as she spies the blood pooling around him.
"Red!" She drops to her knees beside him, jamming her index and middle fingers into his neck, searching for a pulse.
She lets out a breath as his carotid artery pulses gently against her fingers.
"Ressler, Reddington's down. We need medics now!" Her voice is frantic, but she is desperately fighting to keep her expression from betraying her true feelings; she can't afford to let her partner know that their relationship has developed far beyond that of a handler and her asset.
Looking down at Red's ashen face, she quickly takes inventory of his injuries. Thankfully, only one bullet hole desecrates his immaculate suit jacket. She is horrified to see that the bullet appears to have found its way into the right side of his chest, high up, nearly his shoulder. The tears she has held at bay now break free and stream down her face.
"What are his injuries?" Ressler's voice is calling her from across the room, phone held to his ear. "Keen!"
She cries out, breaking from her stunned silence. "One chest entry!" She pulls at his shoulders, rolling his body towards her to check for exit wounds. "Through-and-through!" she shouts to her partner.
She lays him back on the floor and cups both sides of his face in her hands as she leans over him, her tears falling on him. His eyes are open now, glazed with pain, but he is still conscious. She sobs, lowering her face close to his, telling him softly, "Red, it's going to be ok; you're going to be alright."
"Liz-zie," he croaks out.
"Shhhhh, it's ok….don't try to talk." She shifts closer, lifting his head off the floor and resting it in her lap. "It's alright, Red," she tells him desperately, trying to convince them both, "You were shot, but the ambulance is on it's way and you're going to be fine."
His eyes are closing against the pain.
"No! Red, look at me! Please, look at me…." she shakes his head gently. "Raymond, please, stay with me," she pleads, oblivious to the fact that Ressler has made his way to them and is standing over her shoulder in time to hear her use Red's given name.
Red opens his eyes at the sound of his name on her lips, a smile ghosting across his slack mouth.
"Lizzie….." he begins, "You never call me….Raymond."
"I know, babe, I know," she sniffles through her smile and swipes furiously at her eyes.
"Keen, the ambulance is here," Ressler informs her in a clipped voice, unsure of what he is witnessing.
Lizzie's head snaps up to meet his eyes, but he is already turning away from her.
She turns back to Red, "You're going to be ok now, love. You're going to be alright," she says quietly, as much to comfort herself as him.