A/N: Unbeta'd, disclaimed, and bonus points if you can tell me where the title for this chapter comes from. ;-) Thanks for reading!
She Went to Paris
The light in Paris really was pink. Lizzie rose from slumber with the sun after sleeping off the jetlag that had pursued her since she and Red had made their escape. She knew it would be a long time, if ever, before they could stop looking over their shoulders as they worked to clear her name from the most wanted list. Red had decided on Paris as a stopping point. She recalled him saying something about having an apartment in the city but she hadn't really registered his words. She was still deep in shock when they boarded his jet; the world below them had seemed almost crystalline in her eyes. Everything she was, everything she had known was dust now. She didn't even know how to properly mourn the death of all her dreams; they didn't even seem like hers anymore. They belonged to someone who didn't exist anymore, if indeed, she ever had.
Red had hung a flannel bathrobe on the back of her door at some point. Lizzie's memory of everything after the long flight was dim and surreal. The climb up four flights of stairs had seemed an eternity, even with Red carrying her bag, guiding her with a hand under her elbow. Now, she shrugged on the robe, grateful for its cozy warmth, and crept out of the bedroom like a thief.
The hallway was short and opened into a beautiful living room, high ceilings adorned with crown moldings, tall windows shrouded in gray silk curtains. The walls themselves were pale blue, making the somewhat small room appear much bigger. She tugged open one of the curtains and found glass doors that opened on to a tiny balcony, and smiled at the amazing view of the city at sunrise. He was right; Lizzie decided ruefully, Paris is always a good idea.
A coffee maker sat on the postage stamp size counter in the tiny kitchen. She hunted through the cabinets until she found the coffee and filters. It took a few tries with the filters and grounds and by the time she was done she missed her Keurig at home. While it brewed, Lizzie prowled through the cabinets and refrigerator; someone had stocked them. Who did Red call for this sort of thing if he didn't have Dembe with him? She thought about some cereal, as she poured her cup of coffee, but decided to wait for Red to wake up. They could decide on breakfast then.
It was cool outside, and the tile of the balcony was rough under her bare feet. She sat carefully, trying not to spill her coffee. As she sipped, she tried to let her brain relax. What was behind her was gone; she wasn't going to be able to get it back. Whether or not her name was ever cleared, she'd never go back to the FBI. No law enforcement agency would have her at any price. She would have to find some other work. Maybe she could look at this as a chance to reboot her life. After all she had been through, she was aware that some inherent part of her was different. It would make sense to change paths. She sipped her coffee, and let her mind rest for now.
He found Lizzie in a chair on the balcony. The morning light, filtered through the pink and grey clouds, gave her pale face some color again. She'd looked drawn and haggard for weeks as she attempted to survive the final detonations that had imploded her life like an old Vegas casino. Red approached her quietly, his own cup of coffee in hand, and tried not to think of how much he had wanted to see her here in this place. Lizzie spoke without turning; her voice was quiet but even.
"You said that one day I would look back and wonder; how did I become this thing? You were right. I'm wondering now, Red. I held a man captive on a derelict boat for months. What have I become? What have you turned me into?"
"A survivor. So, how about breakfast?" Lizzie turned to him and found him smiling at her and the warmth of it thawed some part of her soul. She would find her way, and he would help. He would be there for her.
"You owe me a croissant, Red. "