CHAPTER TWO
When Nick's Pizza appeared on the caller ID, Elizabeth Keen's answering the call would have been a foregone conclusion. It was the safe choice, but the concept was foreign to her now, the anticipation of acquiring answers long replaced.
The universe was conspiring against her, she maintained. Sequences of events were deliberately manipulated in the hopes of satisfying one agenda: to tear her down. If that was the endgame, the puppet master - whoever that may be - had cause to celebrate. As the sky darkened and rain fell, she readily embraced the cold that followed.
She preferred that to the confusion, the fear, that threatened to engulf her.
If only I could escape for awhile.
Thomas Vincent Keen.
Jacob Phelps.
She didn't have a clear read on her faux former husband. Affording him the benefit of the doubt was wrong even to the untrained eye, and yet it wasn't until she fell into his embrace and he wrapped his arms around her that she found the space she needed to breathe - to think.
When did she become this person?
How did she find herself trapped in some twisted triangle, one that she had a hand in crafting?
Why was her life now an ever-expanding calamity?
Lizzie allowed herself to laugh, reflecting on psychoanalysis, how it operates and with respect to her and Red's relationship accomplishes the opposite from it was designed for. Once, she would have dismissed the idea of having anything in common with Raymond Reddington. He was the living embodiment of a force of nature, and she was the polar opposite - or so she believed.
It turns out that they represent two sides of the same coin which made acknowledging her station in life that much harder.
She didn't want to be afraid of Red.
She shouldn't be afraid of him, but she was. She was scared of her feelings for him, the consequences should she bring herself to actualize them, and above all the disappointment that his latest revelation was almost certain to evoke.
He was her anchor, her solid ground, and she didn't want to lose that.
She couldn't.
She doubted she would survive going through that again.
Is that why you can't be vulnerable for a second?
I wanted to be within reach, to have influence.
A part of her couldn't digest the knowledge that Red was responsible for bringing Tom into her life. She trusted his explanation as to why, but still...they were so different.
Lies scarcely mixed with an element of truth were the bricks and mortar of what she shared with Tom. Red, on the other hand, placed a premium on loyalty. He was a good man; though she was only afforded glimpses, that goodness was there. There was a morality to his name that Tom would never have, regardless of how determined he was to remake himself in her eyes.
Some qualities are inherent. You either have them, or you don't.
Tom's feather light kiss into her hair interrupted her reverie.
I turned myself in to the FBI to point you toward a truth that inevitably you would have to discover for yourself.
So, what was Elizabeth Keen's truth?
The more she ruminated on the subject, the clearer it became that there was no rewriting the past. What's done is done. Sure, her life would be different had Red never entered it, but the thing about facades is that over time they crumble and lose their power over you. She and Tom would find themselves in the exact position they were in now. As for having children of her own, that would take on an even greater symbolism.
The act would honor Sam's memory, the life he gave her and its many gifts, an upbringing that wouldn't have been possible if not for Red.
As for her present, that she could control.
Lizzie lifted her head from Tom's chest, peering into his eyes.
In them, she saw hope. She hated having to be the one to take that away, but they'd lied to one another enough times already. There was no rationale to increasing the tally or adding to the hurt. A do-over only existed in fairy tales. She couldn't move forward until she let go.
"Liz?"
There was equal hesitation and expectation in his voice.
He knew.
Balancing her weight on the balls of her feet, she extricated herself from his grasp, clinging only to his forearms as the space between them grew.
"Reddington. It's him, isn't it?"
An accusation in question form.
Typical.
"My relationship with Red isn't up for discussion with you or anyone else. I've made that clear, and this isn't about him, not entirely."
She didn't owe Tom an explanation on any subject; that she was here at all was generous and a monumental lapse in judgment on her part. Given all she endured, one would argue that she was allowed to make this kind of mistake - except that didn't apply here.
If anyone deserved an explanation, it was Red.
How could she face him?
Knowing where she was now would hurt him. However, if there was some consolation to enjoy, it was the certainty that Red's moral code didn't encompass the "eye for an eye" approach. He wasn't retaliatory. Instead, his actions were conditioned on what the chain of events called for.
Demanding answers while being disingenuous was unfair.
Ultimately, it boiled down to each participating party deserving better. It was painful to liken herself to Tom in this fashion, but the world had been unkind to him as well. She deserved better. Red deserved better not only from the world, but also from her.
"This...us...Is this what you want?" Lizzie took a breath, steeling herself. "Do you even know what you want? Because I do."
"What do you want?" He asked, interest piqued.
All I saw before me was possibility.
"I want more, and I don't mean correlations or facts. I want a life, one that doesn't involve my constantly looking backwards. I want a future. I want possibility."
"I can give you that, if you'd give me a chance to -"
She shook her head.
"No, Tom. Jacob. Take a look at what we're doing now. Really, look at it. We're pretending the past never happened. Together, that's all we'll ever do. Absolution - that's what you're after. But it's not something that can be given. It has to be earned, and I won't be your way of achieving that - I can't be. You can try and convince yourself otherwise, but the truth is that you can't give me what I want no more than I can help you."
"But he can?"
The tension in the atmosphere was palpable. Quickly, she pulled away from him, wrapping her arms around her torso as the rain continued to fall - the storm showing no signs of tapering.
"You cannot go to Reddington. He's -"
"Bad for me? If he is, then what does that make you?"
"Fair enough. But Liz, you have to trust me. He's manipulating you. That's what he does. He manipulates, he pulls strings, and the moment he gets what he wants he cuts you loose. I know what I'm talking about. Reddington doesn't care about you. He doesn't care about anyone. He doesn't know how to or what it means to feel."
She wasn't the least bit convinced. Instead, she was buoyed, more determined. "Those months that I held you captive on the boat, all those times I asked what you knew about Red, you offered nothing. Now, you're just a bundle of knowledge. All you can do is talk."
"Liz, I -"
"No, let me finish. You said that I have to trust you, your accounts on Reddington, but you're wrong. I admit that I don't trust myself with you, and that's entirely my fault, but that doesn't translate into my trusting you. I don't trust you. I may not know every facet of Red's agenda - what his plans are and how I factor into them - but he isn't manipulating me. I've seen with my own eyes how much he cares about the people around him. He tries to hide it, but I see it. Distancing himself from others is his defensive mechanism. That's why only a select few are close to him, really close."
Lizzie paused, the gravity of her own words sinking in. It felt easier somehow to admit what she and Red were to each other. After another calming breath, she spoke again.
"Red trusts me although I've done nothing to earn or deserve that. He's a part of my life, a part of me, and I trust him. Not you. That's what I know."
Tom chewed his lip, deliberating. "You feel for him."
"Not that it's any of your business, but I do."
"That's a mistake."
"Is it? Last time I checked, he hasn't lied to me or physically struck me."
She challenged him, wanting to push the envelope.
It was a dangerous move, she realized, but Tom said nothing. Instead, he worked his jaw, imitating one of Red's mannerisms and poorly. She smiled, relishing the thrill that comes with accomplishment. This chapter of her life was given a proper close, and now she had the chance to start a new one.
Fortune favors the brave.
Keeping her eyes on Tom, she backed away, turning her back to him only when she reached the driver's side door. Once inside, Lizzie turned the key in the ignition and drove off, leaving Tom standing in the rain.
Thirty minutes later, she turned onto Wisconsin Avenue and parked in front of the complex that she vacated hours ago. Reaching for her wallet, she unveiled the silver key from the rear pocket and clenched her right hand into a fist - the cool item pressed firmly against her palm.
That Red didn't ask her to relinquish her copy was a bit of a surprise; then again, between the two of them, Dembe was more likely to make that request.
If ever there was a man of the fewest words possible, it was him. His frustration, however, that was hard to miss. Dembe and Red were so similar. She's still in the dark about how they came to be in each other's lives. From their interactions and synchronicity, she gauged that they'd been together from almost the beginning of Red's quest.
They were more than partners, colleagues.
Theirs was deeper than any relationship she had either experienced or witnessed.
An olive branch was extended to her in the form of trust, and she violated that through her actions a week ago and those from earlier today. Trust wasn't the easiest thing to recover, even more so after a second breach, but she refused to acquiesce. She would do whatever was necessary to repair it.
She wondered if Red would allow that.
He hadn't denied her anything thus far, but everyone has a breaking point - including him. But she was going to try because her relationship with Red, however complicated and cloaked in mystery, was worth fighting for.
He was worth fighting for.