Author's Note: This one pairs beautifully with Duran Duran's "Come Undone".
The Sun seemed to have abandoned all its duties and was recklessly casting its entire light inside his apartment. The apartment where whimsy resided; it had found its forever home on the bookshelves, overflowing with splendid literature and inside every rare vinyl record he'd played for her before and after sex. Whimsy, in its clever nature, had formed an alliance with the secrets inside that same apartment and together, they reeled her in every time.
There, she'd discovered a Narnia of her own where every door or cabinet gifted her with a peak inside mysterious realms, too wondrous for words.
He'd been away sourcing information on the case they were working on. Her inquisitiveness, as well his cat needed daily nourishment, hence her regular visits to the apartment of secrets. She was never in a hurry to leave. She'd read his books and listen to his music. His cat, she was convinced, already loved her more than he did his master. She was in the apartment of secrets and love.
Elizabeth found the photograph on a Thursday. Two sleeps prior to Reddington's return. He'd shown her old pictures of himself before, offering the stories that went with them. But this one caused for her breathing to stop cooperating with her will.
She'd been rummaging through his nightstand in desperate need of a bandaid. Even after her bloody finger had been dealt with, she continued her quest to discovering something, anything. It was a shameful pursuit. One that ended in a triumph. Curiosity had won. Guilt would have to wait.
She had been holding the old picture for several long minutes, careful not to touch the actual image. It was as if her fingerprints would taint the precious find with markings of the unsightly present. It was as if the person in that stunning photograph was someone else entirely.
He couldn't have been a day older than twenty-five in that one, she determined. He was laying on a hammock with his arms loose and carefree on top of his chest. His eyes were smiling along with his entire face. And that head of his, with hair so angelic, innocent and blonde. His younger self had no under-eye bags to testify for sleepless nights; the contours of his face were sharper, challenging. She almost wished she knew him then; when his carefree body didn't have the weight of the entire world on its relaxed shoulders.
Then, along came the similarities. To this day, his eyes were full of passion, always eager and curious, ready to revel in every form of beauty there was. Searching. His chin had that sharpness to it still, so very particular. Yes, she would have had him then. But she had his 55-year-old self now and any form of trading was unthinkable.
Trouble was, the wheels had started turning the moment she laid eyes on that exquisite find. And she wanted to know everything about it and about the person who took it. The one who made him smile like that.
She'd ask him.
Two more sleeps.
TBC
