Many thanks to my collaboration partner for this chapter, BlackInk07 (TheTwoFlamingos) and to my muse- Ron Pope's "A Drop In the Ocean"- couldn't have done this without either one of you!
When the ambulance arrives at the hospital bearing an unconscious Red and a frazzled Lizzie, she is voracious in her pursuit of his treatment, insisting that he be seen immediately by a surgeon, even after the emergency room personnel assure her that his injuries are non-life-threatening; the bullet has seemly missed all vital organs.
She calls Dembe after they take him into surgery to repair the damage caused by the bullet in his pectoral muscle He races to the hospital to sit with her in the waiting room, his calm and steady presence beside her a comfort to her restless mind.
Her thoughts race the entire time they wait. What if he is more seriously injured than they thought? What if someone else is coming after him? How did their target know that they were onto him? Eventually, Dembe puts an arm around her shoulders, drawing her into him, pillowing her head on his chest where she can sob out her worry, sheltered from prying eyes.
Her relief is palpable when the surgeon informs them that the bullet wound is minor compared to what it could have been. They have bound his chest and repaired the damaged muscles high on his chest where the bullet tore through skin and tendons, nicking bone and straining ligaments. Red has re-broken several of his ribs and he will need to wear a sling for several weeks to keep the strain off his shoulder.
She sags against Dembe, a sob tearing from her throat. She is grateful and afraid. Liz wants only to hold him, to feel the rapid beat of his heart against her cheek, reading the signs of life in his body. She wants the reassurance of his touch, to know that she can keep him safe. But he is in recovery, they tell her. It will be awhile before she can see him. And she is left with the dull solace of Dembe's arms, to content herself with the touch of another, a substitute for the embrace she truly craves.
When she finally does see him in Recovery, he is ashen, his face colorless and blank. Dembe has to support her with a hand under her elbow to keep her from falling as her legs give way and she struggles to reach Red's bedside. He is still asleep; they have warned her that he will be unconscious from the sedation for awhile. His body needs time to heal the shock of his wounds, the anesthesia, the additional trauma the surgery has placed on him. As much as she wants to shake him awake, she forces her patience instead and cries her hot tears onto his pillow, pressing her lips to his cheek, her head as close as she can get to him from her chair.
Within a few short hours, they have him settled into a private hospital suite. It has a large picture window taking up most of one wall with view of the little garden courtyard outside and he will have sunlight in the is a large bathroom with an actual tub for when he is feeling more ambulatory. The bed linens are just a touch nicer than the scratchy, starched sheets in the regular rooms and Liz has made sure that Red has plenty of blankets; despite all the chaos in her heart, she remembers this and it seems important to her, that he be comfortable, that he feel safe.
Dembe patrols the hall outside Red's door while Liz sleeps in the chair next to his bed, her head resting on her arms, one hand gripping his fingers tightly.
When Red finally wakes, his groan of pain rouses Lizzie from her restless slumber. Instantly, she is awake, calling for Dembe and ringing for the nurse.
"Red?" Her eyes search his face worriedly. "Hey, how do you feel?"
He scrunches his face up in pain. "Like someone shot me." His wry answer brings a smile of relief to her lips.
All at once, her face collapses and tears are spilling down her cheeks. Weakly, he reaches a hand out to her face and she leans into him.
"Shhhh…." he murmurs.
"Oh, Red!" she sobs. "I thought…..when you went down, I thought that-"
He cuts her off, pressing his thumb against her lips, his fingers stroking her cheek. "Come here," he whispers.
She climbs into his bed, careful of his arm and his bandaged chest, uncaring of who might see them. Red nods to Dembe, standing in the doorway, and he silently closes the door, standing guard protectively outside.
They say nothing else. He just holds her with his good arm and she cuddles into him, pressing her face into the hollow of his neck, her scalding tears tracing paths down his skin. And that is how they stay, quietly embracing, together in their shared fear and relief, Lizzie's quiet weeping the only sound to accompany the faint beeping of Red's heart monitor.
They wake some time later, to Dembe standing over them, quiet concern etched on his strong face.
"The nurse needs to check your dressing," he explains to Red. He looks pointedly at Liz; he is giving them the opportunity to compose themselves before the hospital staff is made aware of their relationship.
Lizzie rises from the bed somberly, seating herself once more in the chair at his bedside. She pays careful attention to the nurse's instructions as she removes Red's bandage and checks over the wound. Lizzie gasps at the raw incision in his chest, tears stinging her eyes again. Red lays his hand over hers on the bed, soothing her with his touch.
The nurse leaves the room and Ressler takes her place, breezing through the door. He gives them a shielded look when he sees their hands together on the stark white sheet.
"Donald," Red calls out, more cheerfully than he feels. "Do you have information for me?"
Ressler drags his eyes away from their hands, unsure again of what he is seeing. He wants to believe that this is just normal fear for a co-worker's safety, but it feels like more. Then again, Red and Keen's relationship is not exactly normal.
"Yeah, your contact, the guy from the restaurant? We traced the last call made to his cell phone to the head of security for your Blacklister. We ran it back and Aram was able to get a hit on a location. When we got there, your contact was dead. We think they wanted to get him alone to find out what he told you. That's why they called him away from your meeting at the restaurant; they wanted to take you out and find out from him if you had enough information to move forward with your plan against them." Ressler finishes his debrief and steps back, everything in his posture conveying his discomfort at being in this room.
Red's face is blank, he is thinking ahead, already mapping out his revenge for this betrayal. His own injury was of little consequence, but this man had sent an assassin with a drawn weapon into a crowded restaurant and put his Lizzie's life in danger. That was unacceptable. That offense would have to be avenged.
He pushes his murderous thoughts away and focuses on what Ressler is telling him.
"...deploy a team to track them." Ressler finishes, his eyes straying again to their joined hands on the bed, as if they are a magnet he is drawn to, his brain trying to puzzle the situation out.
A plan is already forming in Red's mind, but it is not one he would willingly share with the FBI's foremost Boy Scout. "That's excellent, Donald, do keep us informed." It is just short of a dismissal and Ressler feels the subtle suggestion.
"Um, yeah...ok, well, are you coming back in, Keen?" Ressler gives her his attention, conscious of her silence throughout his briefing.
"I'm going to stay here tonight; keep an eye on Reddington in case they send another hit man," she covers with a plausible excuse. "I'll be there in the morning."
Ressler pauses a moment before leaving the room; clearly he wants to say more.
"Uh, can I talk to you in the hallway for a minute, Keen? Something Cooper mentioned...for your eyes only," he mutters uncomfortably.
Liz furrows her brow, surprised. "Sure," she responds hesitantly. Glancing at Red she asks, "You'll be ok for a few minutes?"
"I'm not going anywhere," he quips back, gesturing at the monitors and sling.
"Ok," she murmurs. It is difficult for her to leave him without a kiss or a touch, even for a few moments, after having spent endless hours under no one's supervision, free to love him as openly as she chose.
She makes her way to the door, trading places with Dembe. Ressler rounds on her when they are alone in the hallway.
"What gives, Keen?" he asks abruptly, his pent-up questions spilling forth.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she stalls.
"I call bullshit on that! Something is up with you and Reddington." He is very close to her, self-control chafing as he tries to keep his voice down. "Did something happen between you two last week while you were off work?"
"Ressler, come on!" Liz exclaims incredulously. "This is Reddington we're talking about here. The man drives me insane!"
Don looks at her carefully and she steels herself not to squirm under his pointed gaze.
"What's with all the hand-holding?"
"He's my partner! He was just shot! You don't think the guy deserves a little comfort?" she channels her fear of discovery into irritability aimed directly at him.
"I'm your partner," Ressler points out emphatically, "He's your asset."
Liz gives him a long look. "I spend as much time with him as I do with you," she reminds him carefully, "Sometimes more. We've been going undercover together a lot lately."
"Be careful there, Keen. Don't develop feelings for him," Ressler warns.
"Thanks, Ress, but the day I start taking advice on my love life from you will probably also be the day I eat my badge," Liz laughs, turning to go back into Red's hospital room.
His voice and a hand on her shoulder stop her. She turns her head to look at him, eyebrows raised.
"He's a criminal; don't forget that." Ressler's voice is solemn, low.
Liz's eyes slide down to his hand on her shoulder, and then very slowly, deliberately, back up to his face. She silently holds his gaze until he becomes uncomfortable under her scrutiny, lifts his hand, and backs away.
She watches him go until he rounds the corner and then she lets out the breath she had been holding. She enters the room, nodding at Dembe who resumes his guard in the hall. As soon as he is clear of the door, she closes it and slumps back against it, letting her head fall back against the metal with a dull thud.
"Ressler knows."