As irrational as his anger was, he allowed himself to be engulfed by it; just for a short while. She was lying to him. The little girl that had him in love like a fool, dared hide something from him. His patience was playing tricks on him, just like she was. But Reddington had loved her for too long now and she simply refused to see. He was trying to be trust-worthy, to be reliable, to replace the need for any other male figure in her life. His love was enough, he was sure of it. She refused to see.
She wouldn't catch up with him.
But she has the right to a life, untouched by him. Who could blame her for wanting to have a little something of her own; a lover, a child, or at the very least, a secret? Rationality was returning to his wounded mind, persistent and with the truth in tow.
He decided to fight them both.
II.
"Can you talk?" It was a question asked tentatively, he recognized, not a trace of her usual impatience. She'd rung him and he had picked up because he had to. Berlin had kidnapped his wife. He'd sent him one of her teeth. Work was work. In the meantime, Elizabeth could hold onto her secret until she choked on it. His sometimes violent instinct to protect her tolerated no such thoughts. It wouldn't do, this rage he'd been nourishing for the past few days. There was nothing to feed it with – nothing could justify his desire to devour her, to own her. He was going to have to respect her boundaries. He was going to continue being lovesick and desperate.
Until she caught up with him.
"How can I help you, Lizzy?"
She told him about the substance they'd found on the passenger seat of the van. It smelled of roses, she'd said. It was flammable, she'd said. Then, he told her to wait, giving her no time for further questions.
III.
She was diligent, like the little mouse she was, about reminding herself that she owed Reddington nothing. Not a damn truth, she'd soothe herself. Her secret could remain hers and that was not unfair. Certainly not to him, in spite of her irrational urge to finally tell him she'd stooped so low as to have her husband locked in a disgusting cell inside a filthy ship. She wanted this burden off her chest as if all moral filth would disappear along with her admission. He was not happy with her, she could tell. But before she could start to dwell on his disappointment, she reminded herself, once more, that she owed him nothing. Not a damn truth.
IV.
And yet, he provided her and Ressler with the exit they needed. "You can trust me," he'd told her. And yes, whenever her life was on the line, she knew she could always trust him. He was somehow possessed by the need to protect her. Strange man.
The little mouse was stubborn.
Still, not a damn truth.
V.
She had decided not to interfere with his plan to risk his life in exchange for his wife's. Were they even divorced? Oh, but she failed. She was almost ready to plead.
The little mouse had started to shake.
"You can't hold up your end. He'll kill you." She was ready to help, to find an alternative. He was not interested.
"Wish me luck." He never gave her the chance to.
VI.
And an alternative she found. The money had been transferred and his life was saved. His and that of his wife. After all, he mattered for more reasons than she cared to count, did he not? He mattered to the FBI. Her entire job revolved around him and his goddamn riddles. However much information he was willing to give her, she devoured. He mattered because the Universe was sometimes unfair, she admitted. And all of her other secrets, the ones she wasn't aware of, were his. All he'd ever offer were half-truths. Not a damn truth.
VII.
He had his back to her when she got to his sanctuary for the night. He was taking in the view before him and she was quick to put an end to that.
"Thank you." He was serious, not a single attempt at humor. It didn't matter. She was perpetually frustrated with him, always settling for less than what she wanted, her knowledge forever depending on his willingness to let her in. She couldn't catch up.
So, she diligently reminded him their dynamic had not changed, not a single bit. "You're an asset." "I was doing my job." Much like him, she had become rather good at supplying half-truths.
VIII.
He made his way toward her and took no time before he struck her with his earlier epiphany. She had another informant. For her safety and because he was so damn angry, jealous and desperate, he wasn't going to allow for her secret to remain hers. He wanted to snatch it away from her and somehow punish her.
"How did you know that Berlin had his money in that bank?"
The little mouse was trapped.
It couldn't make a single sound.
Not even a half-truth.
"... And then I realized, "No. Somebody has a secret Santa. A source." Little did he know she had more than a source. She had an estranged, chained husband whom she had deprived of all comforts. She had guilt enough to swallow her whole. She was full to the brim, just like he was. Only, he was not the one caught in a lie this time. Regardless, she refused to show remorse in front of him; his relaxed form and elegantly crossed legs didn't deserve it.
Like the little, scared mouse she was, Liz' mind ran to the sanctuary that was their work relationship. And she kept probing and pushing. About Kaja, about the accounts. Anything that would conceal her shame for a little while longer.
"A sizeable contribution to her pension. In exchange for protecting you and your friends." She ventured scraping to accuse of something, anything. Any dishonesty would do. Anything that will grant her the pathetic victory of having the last word.
"Don't be absurd, Lizzy. I don't have any friends."
The victory was his.
VIV.
It was when she finally broke down and gave up on her secret that she felt lighter, even though she shouldn't have. Her life was the most disgusting of messes but his scent seemed to have cleared her mind. It had erased her distaste for her deeds. Her tears were wetting his neck and the pristine collar of his shirt.
"There's nothing wrong with you."
She'll catch up, he thought.
