CHAPTER FOUR

He was in his own bed. That much he knew, but everything else was a blur. Hands prodded at him. Voices, one male and one female, spoke over him. Red tried to concentrate, but that required too much energy. It hurt to blink. Best to stay still, try not to move much.

He had no sense of how much time elapsed.

The pull of both the medication and his body's fundamental need was not only too powerful to fight against, but also more inviting. He surrendered to the dark. Sadly, he didn't enjoy that bliss for as long as he preferred.

It was a shame that advances in technology didn't extend to medicine, he thought. Red wanted to tell whoever was shaking his shoulder to leave him alone, but that changed when the voice became increasingly insistent, clear.

Not just any voice, but her voice.

As difficult as it was to focus, there was no mistaking the owner.

Lizzie.

What was she doing here?

Following the sound of her voice, Red turned his head and blinked his eyes, desperate to open them and eventually succeeding. If not for the warmth of one of her hands on his chest, the other now on his face, he would have sworn he was losing all grasp on illusion versus truth.

The attention and concern on her face surprised him.

What changed?

As he recalled, she was disappointed in him, distancing herself from him and walking away as she so often does with only one point of deviation. In closing the door to him, she re-opened it and allowed Tom to walk through instead.

Her presence now at his side only meant one thing.

"Lizzie. Are you - "

Call it instinct or adrenaline. Red sat up quickly, scanning the young woman for injuries, and was reminded of his own. He grimaced in pain and squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm fine, Red. I'm okay." She assured him, reaching behind to fluff his pillow and supporting him as he leaned back onto the mattress. He was grateful to be in a more upright position. The initial question still lingered, but he was relieved to know she wasn't harmed.

Deep breaths.

Inhale. Then, exhale.

He repeated that several times, hoping to stem both his heartbeat and the latest round of tremors. Taking full inventory, his joints weren't nearly as sore or as heavy, but he wasn't comfortable either. On top of that, he was cold. Through heavy-lidded eyes, he marveled at Lizzie who took the ends of each blanket in her hands and pulled them upward.

Intuition and experience informed him that this wasn't a moment to prolong, but rather one to savor and cling to for as long as possible, and Red was determined to do just that. He allowed his eyes to drift closed, opening them when her hand returned to his face.

He leaned further into her touch.

When someone does something nice, you're supposed to say 'thank you'.

"Better?"

"Hmm..." He nodded, holding her gaze. "You shouldn't be here."

"So I've been told. I wanted to be here, Red."

What was he supposed to say to that, apart from the obvious? Fortunately, Lizzie took the decision out of his hands by retrieving a thermometer from his nightstand and holding the item before him. He knew the drill, but she elaborated anyway.

"Dembe has monitored your temperature throughout the night, writing it down. And we need to take another reading."

We?

Using the plurality drew attention to her tell.

Applying the device under his tongue, their eyes locked as they stared at each other, dancing their traditional number, feeling each other out as they waited. When it beeped, she took the object from his mouth and busied herself with the display.

"100.7." She offered with a smile, jotting the figure down before returning the notepad, pen, and thermometer to its earlier position.

She was being evasive.

He could feel it.

Whereas his manifestation was physical, external, Lizzie tended to talk around the matter she was afraid to give voice to. What could she have been so anxious about? He was tired and more alert simultaneously. Covering her right hand as it found its way back to his chest with his left, he traced the back with his thumb, not wanting to disturb the quiet but knowing that he had to.

"Sweetheart. Why are you here? That's not to say that I'm sorry you are, but I just...I'd like to know why. I need to know."

She looked at him, exasperated. "I already told you, Red. I'm here because I want to be."

She's in this right now because of you.

"And that's all? You're not here because of Tom?"

What he thought was irritation flashed on her features. Dembe must have asked the same question.

"Tom may have said something, but that's not why..." Lizzie paused, chewing her lip, and resumed. "We can talk more about this later, Red. You need to rest."

"Not as much as I need you."

It was now or never as far as reaching the point of total truth. Though he believed that actions carried more weight than words, if she needed to hear him say aloud how he important she was to him and that there was nothing he wouldn't do for her, he would.

Her wish was his command.

Surprise followed by acceptance.

Perhaps, he hadn't given her powers of anticipation as much credit as they deserved. In more than one fashion, Lizzie was holding back.

Red sat silent, following her eyes which rested on their hands. He laced his fingers through hers, reminiscent of the afternoon they spent in the park more than a year ago, and encouraged her to speak again only when she was ready to.

"Tom said that you were a bad man, that you weren't good for me."

"He's right."

Lizzie looked at him then. "You don't get to make all of the decisions, Red. That's not how a relationship works."

A relationship?

"That story you told me, the one about the fish in Mexico, you spoke of a ray of light. I'm your ray of light. You were talking about me, weren't you?" Despite the structure, her tone suggested that she was saying it aloud more so for herself rather than expecting him to either confirm or deny it.

"As much as my going to Tom must have hurt you, I won't apologize for that because something good came from it. He reminded me of what you are to me, what you represent and bring to my life."

"Destruction. Pain." Red interjected, wincing with every syllable. "It's been suggested that I hurt you the most."

Again, a look of surprise which softened into one of understanding. "Tom's been talking a lot recently. He was wrong to say that to you, to speak for me. Hear enough lies and after awhile you start to believe them, and you shouldn't. They're wrong. I was wrong."

"But I have hurt you."

"Yes, but it's a different kind of pain. It's not physical. It's born from skepticism. You know so much about me, about my life, and yet despite all the time I've spent with you I know next to nothing about you. Not Red, but just you. I understand you, but...Raymond Reddington, you are a mystery to me, and that's frustrating."

He blinked, memorizing the sound of his full name coming from her lips, and squeezed her hand, looking at her in awe.

"You challenge me, and I need that."

It was fascinating to watch the gears of her mind work.

"I was wrong to try and compartmentalize my feelings for you, to think that it would make interacting with you and being around you easier. Fighting complicates everything, and the same goes for hiding. I'm not so naive that I don't suspect you know what I'm about to say already. You're more than an asset or an assignment. You're my partner, during and away from work, which makes talking even more important."

"Certain things are painful to discuss. Remembering is hard enough without..." He paused, taking a breath, waiting for the sudden throb in his chest to abate. "I'm not the same person, the same man, I was then. Parts of him are here, depending on who you ask."

"Dembe knows you best, and I'm sure he would disagree with you."

"We both have people in our circles who divulge too much." It was nice to hear her laugh. If not for his discomfort, he would've joined her. "He's a good man. I barely remember what it's like, to be that kind of person. This life, the life I lead, it's not for everyone. Often, I wonder how different his - or yours - would be if I hadn't - "

She interrupted him. "Don't. You have regrets, things you wish you could take back, but people are grateful to you - including me. Even with everything that's happened, I'm not sorry that you're in my life. Neither is Dembe. He would do anything for you just as you would do for him and have done for me. If anyone should be sorry, it's me."

Nonsense.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

He noticed her attention shift to his neck. Her eyes were tracing the scar she had given him.

"I hurt you too. I haven't been the greatest listener, but I want to be a better one for you. For us. That's what I told Tom tonight. I want to work at this, what we have." She gestured between them. "First, you have to promise me."

He was intrigued. "Promise what?"

Her gaze alternated between his face, his chest, and their still clasped hands. "Don't let this happen again."

"I'll try my best, sweetheart." He joked lightly.

"No, Red. Promise me." She demanded. Once again, she brought her free hand to his face, stroking his brow. "You have me, and I have you. We have each other. That's my definition of a relationship. Promise me that you won't forget that."

"Never."

Red turned further into her touch, his eyes increasingly heavy. He was exhausted again and knew she was aware of that as she soothed him, coaxing him to stop struggling and rest. There was one thing he didn't want to leave unspoken.

"I didn't love your mother, Lizzie. I barely knew her. Reading a person's file doesn't always count as discovering the truth."

She nodded, agreeing with him.

"She and I worked on opposing sides, but ultimately our agendas were the same - to protect that which we held dear. The night of the fire, we both failed. I..." He shuddered at the collection of memories that appeared. "I failed my wife and my daughter. I lost them because of a single decision, a promise."

"A promise? You promised my mother something?"

"Not exactly. She...The decision wasn't hers to make." He could tell that Lizzie was confused and to be frank as unsure as he was. This was new ground, requiring a degree of caution, but the inability to change course came with making a decision and standing by it.

"To take care of a little girl, to spare her from paying the ultimate price for her parents' crimes, that was the promise I made." She opened her mouth as if to speak and then closed it. "Reaching through the flames, saving you, was the last thing that the 'Raymond Reddington' you're searching for ever did."

You saved me?

He imagined she was filling in the details of her fractured memory, looking away as she did so, and debated what he would find in her gaze when their eyes met again.

She's volatile, unpredictable. Soft. Then, hard. Then, soft again.

Would she look at him with revulsion?

Detachment?

Pity?

Red winced when she leaned inward, fearing the worst, and was surprised when Lizzie rested her forehead against his. He closed his eyes, breathing her in.

"It wasn't my father. It was you. You're the man I remember pulling me from the closet. You're the same man laying on the floor, unconscious, burning." The tears streaming down her face broke his heart. "My mother...she left me. We were left behind to die."

"Yes." He answered, framing her face in his hands, brushing away her tears only to end up shedding a few of his own.

"I...I ran over to you. I touched you." She looked at him then, and his breath hitched. "That's how I got the scar on my palm. The fire, the flames, they touched both of us."

Lizzie soon worked her free hand under the sleeve of his t-shirt, her fingertips finding the marred skin beginning just above his elbow. In her eyes, he saw pride and another emotion he couldn't assign a label to as it was the very one he had long ago opted to close himself off from.

His capacity for love was his greatest strength and weakness.

As long as he didn't actualize his emotions, he would be fine, but seeing Lizzie now he doubted not only his own resolve but hers also.

"Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

For a moment, he deliberated and then offered. "Abandonment shouldn't be the last memory any child has of his or her parent."

"No, it shouldn't."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

"No, it's...good. It's fine." Lizzie slid her hand from his elbow, planting it on the edge of the mattress. Her right palm remained open, resting over his heart. Her eyes were red but oddly bright. She chewed her lip before speaking again.

"Thank you."

Red remained silent, instead searching her expression for any sign that she was covering and finding none. Running his thumbs along each side of her face, he kissed her forehead, humbled. It was much more than he deserved. He was damaged, perhaps not beyond repair as he once proclaimed but affected nonetheless.

He sank back into the cushions and looked at her through heavy-lidded eyes, opting to focus on the immediate, the present.

The simple pleasure of her company.

Lizzie pulled back slightly, still in his grasp and peering into him. She scoffed. "Look at us. You're supposed to be resting, and instead you're taking care of me. And we're crying about the past. I should be the one taking care of you."

He shook his head. "We have each other. That's our deal, isn't it? And you are. You're being here, it helps. It helps more than you know."

The statements elicited the desired effect.

"I should let you get your rest now." She said, her hand lingering on his chest for a few more seconds before standing.

Red sighed, feeling the loss of her touch immediately. Lizzie reached behind him to adjust his pillows, then supported his shoulders as he lay flat on the mattress. He arched his eyebrows when she resettled in the chair at his bedside.

"You don't have to do that."

"Do what?"

"Sit there all night."

"Well, I'm not leaving you alone, Red. I'm staying."

"No, my Lizzie. You misunderstand." He shifted a bit, wincing. "The bed's big enough for two. Come on. Lay down with me. I assure you, I won't try anything."

Now, it was her turn to be apprehensive. Her expression, her worried brow in combination with her chewing her bottom lip again, was adorable actually.

"Are you sure? I mean...Is it okay?"

"It's fine. Believe me, sweetheart. I understand your hesitation. I'm...just as nervous as you are."

She chuckled again. "I doubt that."

"There's a comfort in having someone laying next to you, and I just..." He trailed off, gathering his words. "It's been a long time since I've slept, really just slept, with someone, and I would feel better - safer - if you were next to me. We both would."

Again, she smiled at him, agreeing. "You're right. I would like that."

Red followed Lizzie's every move. She removed her jacket, folded it neatly, and then placed it in the chair seat before rounding the bed, approaching from his left. Her blue blouse clung to her frame, and gauging by her posture she was still feeling the effects of the chilly, stormy evening.

Their eyes locked, and in them was the same question - the incredulity - echoing in his mind.

Is this happening?

Sharing both her anxiety and anticipation, he opened the blankets, extending his left arm away from his body and wrapping it around her shoulders as she laid down next to him. She readjusted the blankets so they were both covered and easily curled into him.

Lizzie rested her head on his shoulder, draping her left arm across his waist.

He closed his eyes, relishing her warmth and on the verge of sleep again. These factors along with the rain hitting the windows with greater intensity made the conditions all the more conducive to a sound rest. As a boy, he loved the cadence.

"Is this okay?"

"Hmmm...perfect."

Last to register as he drifted off was her whispering: 'My Raymond'.

THE END