A/N Red and Liz deal with the aftermath of their encounter in their own way, but what little peace they find is soon shattered. Let the angst fest ensue. As ever, I own nada! Enjoy and please do review!

Days had passed since their encounter, and neither of them had said a word about it. It troubled him greatly that she hadn't acknowledged in any way that it had happened, but then, perhaps out of respect for her, perhaps out of guilt, neither had he. He was also troubled by the frequency with which he recalled the velvet feel of her mouth under his thumb, his surprise and delight at finding her so aroused, and the heart-breaking openness of her face as he had brought her to orgasm. Heart-breaking in particular, because it was in such marked contrast to the closed, distant girl with whom he shared the days there. She'd barely met his eye over the last few days, although whether that was as a result of her feelings regarding that night, or whether it was a continuation of her general depressed affect of the last couple of weeks he couldn't tell.

Further, although he and Mr Kaplan had arranged that she would only reach him on the satellite phone when there was significant news to share, he was growing increasingly restless at the lack of contact. It was now several weeks since he had enlisted the world's most tenacious investigative journalists; he should definitely have heard something of the cabal's response. It was not a concern he was willing to share with Liz at this point, even had she asked for news, which, notably, she hadn't. When there was something concrete to tell her, he would. When he tried to think of her and the future he might be able to carve out for her his thoughts were often drowned by a singular, wretched desire that she would come to him again at night. It was a thought he did his utmost to quash.

After several days during which they had barely spent an hour in each other's company, she joined him in the kitchen as he was preparing dinner. As he reached for a jar in the cupboard a sharp ache shot through the right side of his chest and she heard him hiss a little in pain. She watched him continue preparing the meal and after a moment she spoke. "How's your chest?"

He looked over his shoulder at her with a small smile. When he didn't speak she rolled her eyes at him.

"You know… the gunshot wound to your chest?"

"It's healed nicely thank you. Just the occasional twinge." He chuckled as he scooped up diced tomatoes and threw them in the pan. "Frankly, it's remarkably less painful now Dembe isn't presiding over my therapy like a nanny goat."

She looked at him seriously. "Are you still doing therapy? I mean…you're doing whatever you need to do?"

He tutted in annoyance at the question. But then, he thought, perhaps it was better for both of them that she see him as an invalid. He lifted the wooden spoon in his hand to taste the sauce. "Delicious though I say so myself. Taste?" He pointed the spoon in her direction.

She shrugged. "I'm sure it's fine. Red… the therapy? You're doing it?"

He gave an exaggerated sigh. "More or less. Less of the aimless walking Dembe so delighted in imposing on me." This was shaping up to be the longest conversation he'd had with her in a while. He wished the subject matter were different.

"You should keep it up."

He laughed then and turned to face her. She sat casually at the table with one foot resting on another chair, eyeing him solemnly. "Well aren't you as bad as he is."

She shrugged again. "Dembe isn't here, so… I guess it's up to me. You should go for walks." She turned her face away from his gaze for a moment. "I could come with you if you want."

"You want to walk me like that dog of yours Lizzie?"

She frowned, but when she looked up she saw the humor in his eyes.

"Hudson would be far less trouble than you."

"I've no doubt." He paused for a moment. "A walk in the morning it is then."

She nodded wordlessly and turned back to look out of the window.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

After that, to their pattern of near silent existence they added a walk in the mornings. After the first day he hadn't expected her to continue, but on the following days he found her waiting for him in the kitchen each morning, and each morning they would set out in what he hoped was at least a companionable silence. Spring was blossoming around the lake, and now and again they would see a blue jay, or a patch of wild flowers that he hoped charmed her as much as they did him.

One morning they saw a streak of black and white in the undergrowth, which he told her amusedly was probably a skunk. Before he could launch into one of his animated tales she surprised him with one of her own, a childhood story about one of Sam's attempts to take her camping in which he'd struggled to put up the tent and spent most of the time fretting that she would encounter a bear, only to find that she'd befriended a skunk. Although the story was short and her delivery a little stiff, Red had to look away to hide the prick of tears in his eyes as he listened to her talk about Sam and her childhood.

That afternoon, she entered the living room and saw him sitting at the table by the window with a chess board laid out in front of him, shirt sleeves rolled up under his vest and his fingers steepled against his chin. She approached him hesitantly. "What are you doing?"

"Ah, you've caught me playing with myself" he said suggestively. If she picked up on the double entendre she didn't acknowledge it and he instantly regretted being flirtatious. Her silence on the subject of their encounter had more than confirmed to him that he needed to dial it back. He half expected her to leave the room, but instead her shadow fell over the board.

"Can I play?"

He looked up at her. "Do you know how?"

"I know the basics. Maybe you could teach me."

He motioned for her to sit, and reset the board. "Let's play and see how it goes. I'll go easy on you for now – we'll save the grand master secrets for later."

"I wouldn't expect anything else from you."

He raised his eyebrows as he looked at her but her eyes were fixed on the board. "Indeed." he responded at last. "Your move."

He observed her intently as they played, but she seemed determined not to meet his eye, concentrating instead on the wooden, slightly shabby and well used pieces as they moved around the board. He was still engrossed in deciphering her closed affect when he heard her say "checkmate!" in a sudden, animated squeal.

"So it is! And you used a Sicilian defense – I thought you said you didn't know much about chess." He smiled at her quizzically.

"I don't. I mean, I didn't know that's what it's called. But it turns out chess isn't that much different from profiling."

His smile broadened. "Really! How so? How would you profile our game, Lizzie?"

She took a breath and looked at him from across the table. "I figured you wouldn't sacrifice your queen." She saw his eye twitch almost imperceptibly. "You can be ruthless. You're willing to take enormous risks, but you have limits. You're a gentleman. You live by a code, however twisted it might seem to others. You value loyalty above all else. It's your greatest strength… and it also makes you vulnerable. I targeted your queen because I knew you'd defend her, and that would distract you."

She thought she saw his smile begin to fade, but a second later he laughed and congratulated her on a good game. He stood and extended his hand. They shook, but when he released his grip she didn't let go of his hand, turning her face up towards him instead. He paused, then freed his hand and placed it on her shoulder for a moment before leaving her alone at the table.

She didn't see him again for hours, and she wondered if he had been avoiding her after their game. That evening he stepped in from the deck with the satellite phone in his hand, looking pensive. She looked up from her seat on the couch and placed her book down beside her. He leaned against the doorframe, tapping the phone against his thigh for a moment before speaking. His tone, whilst gentle, filled her with a sense of foreboding. "Lizzie, there's been a development. Will you join me outside for a moment?"

She nodded silently and rose to follow him outside. The last of the day's light was settling on the horizon and dusk was fast closing in around them. They sat side by side on the large, creaky swing seat that hung on the deck in amongst overgrown flower pots, Red's hands clasped together, whilst Liz's made apprehensive fists. When he began, she felt as though she was trying to hear him from very far away. She was so unused to candor from him, and so turned in on herself that for a moment she found it difficult to connect with the content of the mellow tones which now emanated from him.

"Lizzie, as you know, several weeks ago I met with a select group of investigative journalists from around the world, the idea being to enlist their help in exposing the cabal. Their response has been as I'd hoped – many of them have pursued stories across the globe, published what they can, where they can… Because of their bravery the cabal is on the back foot. Fire-fighting. I imagine that's why, so far, there haven't been substantive attempts made on their part to recover us." He paused, staring out into the growing gloom.

"That's good, isn't it?" Liz said quietly.

He bit the inside of his cheek, as if deliberating whether to continue. After a moment he took her hand. "It is what I had hoped for, yes. But things will change now. I heard from Mr Kaplan today that the cabal has begun to mobilize its response. A reporter who has done much of the work in exposing the cabal on the US front has been killed. It's a significant loss – not only had she run several major stories already, she was also garnering the support of other journalists and a number of public figures."

As he spoke he felt her stiffen next to him, and squeezed her hand. When he spoke again his voice had lowered, his tone softer, kinder. "I don't tell you this to frighten you, but to prepare you. We have a fight on our hands Lizzie. But I will do everything – everything – in my power to protect you."

Liz felt her chest tightening, as though the weight of everything that had happened was settling on her heart, stopping her breathing. "What about the journalist?" she whispered. "No-one protected her." He didn't respond, and she couldn't make out his expression in the shadows. "Who was she? Did she have a family?" Silence. Liz raised her voice. "Do you even know?!"

"I know Lizzie." His voice was strained. "Her name was Janet Ellison, a freelance journalist mostly for the Washington Post. She had a husband and a young son….they will be taken care of."

Liz scoffed at that and withdrew her hand from his. "How did she die?"

"Lizzie" his tone warning, imploring.

"Tell me!"

"It was made to look like a mugging gone wrong" he said bleakly. "She…her throat was cut."

As he uttered those last words, sobs Liz didn't know she had been repressing rose to the surface in great shuddering gulps. Reality had found its way into her cocoon and it was far, far too bitter – she felt the overwhelming bite of fear and guilt consume her. As she began to cry she felt strong arms wrap around her from behind. She tried to pull away from him but he didn't let her, instead holding her firmly and reassuringly until she stopped fighting and went limp, exhausted with sobbing, allowing him to pull her onto his lap and hold her close as she cried herself out.

As he held her he kissed her hair again and again and then, instinctively, the soft skin of her neck as her head fell to the side against his chest. She turned inwards towards him, burying her face in his shoulder, her arms coming around him, her hands finding their way under his vest and clutching at his shirt as the pain she felt poured forth in wracking sobs. He felt her hands kneading him and her breasts crushed against his chest as she clung to him, and then, if he wasn't mistaken, the ghost of a kiss on his neck.

For a moment he was overwhelmed by the absurd lack of clarity as to what their relationship was, and appalled at his own inability to control it. Rationally he knew that eventually his failure to do so would only add to her hurt and confusion but right now…right now it didn't seem to matter. In that moment they were no more or less than two souls drawing bitter comfort from one another as the darkness fell.

TBC