A/N Red and Liz seem to find some equilibrium, but unspoken feelings bubble under the surface, leading to a devastating explosion. A.N.G.S.T. Warning, includes a sexual assault scene. Utterly disclaimed. Please review, your comments mean the world to me!
Despite their difficult reunion, they managed to fall into a routine which, while stilted and awkward at first, seemed to hold. He assured her that the writer's house was a secure base for him to remain at least for now, and so she began to settle in, appreciating the house's comforting, lived-in antique feel and the way the twisty trees cloaked the garden like a miniature enchanted forest. She began each morning by making them breakfast, and after remaining taciturn for three days or so he began to rise earlier, meeting her in the kitchen and venturing gentle suggestions as to how the eggs could be improved or to reminisce about the Austrian bakeries he had visited. In exchange she told him select pieces of information about her life, focusing mostly on her teaching, her favorite students and famous criminal profiles with which Red was often already familiar – "Lizzie, the man killed over thirty people and I swear come hell or high water he still took his elderly mother out for Sunday lunch every week!"
Mostly, they talked about his work. She had loved the sparkle that came to his eyes on her first day there when she had asked about Sierra Leone and she indulged herself by asking more questions, hoping to see that gleam in his eye again. He began to tell her about the illegal ivory trade and the flesh peddlers (as he called them), and seemed to enjoy sharing stories of how he had thwarted them with his own particular brand of subterfuge.
In that respect, he hadn't changed at all and it gladdened her heart to hear him revel in his schemes. She noted, with a wry smile, that his was a Robin Hood style of justice that was strangely apt for a man who, underneath his intimidating exterior, cared deeply about social justice. His enthusiasm was infectious; she laughed when he told her of intricate plans come to fruition and felt joy at his evident delight at tales of the children they had rescued. When he told her of the stories without happy endings, the times they had been too late, she cried, both for those who had been lost and for him, the man she loved and his punishing quest for forgiveness.
Although his depressed affect seemed to have eased to some extent, he remained extremely prickly when it came to matters of his health. She encouraged him to walk with her in the twisted wilderness that had been Frederick Hempstead's garden as they discussed his operations in Africa and all over the world, but she soon discovered that he became breathless and irritable in a relatively short space of time. The worst part of this was not being able to touch him; although their conversation flowed easily enough, he was no more prepared to allow her to initiate physical contact than he had been on that terrible evening she arrived.
When they strolled together she walked as close to him as she dared, desperate just to feel his warmth, or catch his unique smell that made her insides quiver without fail. Far from deterring her, his poorly condition only made her care for him more. She wanted to hold him as he had held her, to make him strong, to reach a point where they could care for one another equally. It occurred to her then that despite their apparent ease in one another's company, they had spoken very little of personal matters, and nothing at all of what they used to be to each other.
Sometimes in the evenings she would catch him looking at her, his eyes dark and full of regret. It was those times that she missed his touch the most, but without fail he would excuse himself, bidding her a polite goodnight before leaving her alone and ashamed of her feelings for him. The more he withheld any sign of physical affection, the more her desire for him consumed her, filling her with a desperate need to unlock those feelings in him and tear through the barriers he had put up.
Several weeks after her arrival, as the leaves on Frederick's knotted trees began to fall, she reached a decision. She slipped away to her room and called the college to request a leave of absence, which she was granted.
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The next day they took one of their walks in the extensive grounds of the house, engrossed in the challenge presented by a new child trafficking ring based in northern Nigeria. This wasn't like the others, Red had explained – they were prolific, yet none of the children had turned up in brothels or factories in the city, and shoddy paperwork and corruption in transport offices made them impossible to track.
Liz paused as they reached the row of crooked apple trees that lined the end of the walkway. "You've been doing this for two years and you're used to seeing the same things every time – child prostitution, slave labor… maybe it's time you looked for zebras."
Slightly flushed with exertion, Red removed his hat and dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief. "Ok Lizzie, I'll bite. Zebras?"
"Nine times out of ten these kids will turn up in the usual places, but not this time. Who else is interested in kids apart from the usual sickos? What are the ages and genders of the missing kids?"
She watched Red's face as he studied her guardedly for a moment. Up until this point she had mostly listened, but this felt more like their old dynamic and she liked it.
"Boys. A little older than I'd expect but nothing out of the norm" he said hesitantly.
She nodded. "So let's assume that's a pattern – who is only interested in older boys, and lots of them?"
Red closed his eyes for a moment. "Child soldiers" he said quietly. "Children are easier to train. The market's ripe for it in that part of the world." He shook his head and then smiled at her, his head cocked to the side.
"Lizzie, you're sharp as ever. This may prove to be extremely helpful."
Emboldened by the affection and admiration she saw in his gaze she smiled back and stepped towards him, reaching out to touch his arm.
His smile vanished. "Lizzie-" it was unmistakably a warning tone but he didn't get to finish because at that moment his breath caught in his throat. He stepped backwards and put his palm against a tree trunk for support, breathing heavily. Instinctively she reached out for him again and he shook her off instantly as though her touch had burned him.
"I just need a minute" he said gruffly.
Liz felt desperation building inside. She'd been here weeks and had received very little sign of affection from him, absorbing the pain of rejection every time she tried to touch him or ask a personal question.
"You can't keep doing this" she said flatly.
He looked up at her, his jaw tight. "Doing what?"
"Pushing me away. God! You still can't accept help, can you? Not even after everything we've been through. Not even now you're-"
"Sick? Weak?" he spat. "Is that what you were going to say?"
She frowned and shook her head nervously. "Not exactly."
Having previously stepped away from her, he now pushed off from the tree and walked purposefully towards her, his gaze hard and almost predatory. When he reached her he placed his hands firmly on her shoulders, the heat of his palms searing her skin through her thin sweater.
"You know, that trick of yours is rather unbecoming. I'd appreciate it if you'd stick to profiling the traffickers, there's a good girl." He moved one hand from her shoulder and tucked a stray wisp of her hair behind her ear.
She felt equal parts shame and outrage; she'd craved his touch for weeks and it was almost like he knew it, as though he had purposefully chosen the moment his gesture was most likely to hurt her rather than bring her comfort. She bit her lip to stay the tears pooling in her eyes and, seemingly satisfied, he turned and stalked back to the house.
She didn't see him again until evening. Apparently unaffected by their earlier exchange, he had prepared a simple but delicious dinner of braised beef ravioli complete with a bottle of Chateau Margaux he assured her was from his own collection rather than Frederick Hempstead's dubious stocks. She couldn't bring herself to eat more than a few mouthfuls, but was grateful for the warmth of the wine and the courage it gave her to face the conversation she needed to have with him. Unfortunately, after clearing the plates from the expansive farmhouse-style table, he beat her to it.
"Lizzie, much as I have enjoyed your company these past weeks it occurs to me that your college semester begins next week and the time has come for you to depart. I wouldn't want you to jeopardise your career on my account." His tone was bright but distant. Her stomach churned, the few small bites of ravioli knocking against her insides. She looked up at him from the table, her thumb absently rubbing her scar.
"I already called them. I told them I need some time off."
She watched the subtle changes in Red's expression - interest perhaps, and apprehension.
"And the college - they accepted that? What reason did you give?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "It doesn't matter. I told them what I needed to in order to get time off."
His eyes narrowed. "What did you tell them, Lizzie?"
She sighed. "I told them I needed to look after a sick relative, but it was just what I needed to say…"
His face hardened. "I see. Well you can call them back and tell them that your services are not required by your infirm relative." His voice dripped with bitterness.
"Red, it's not like that – I just needed to get time off. I want to stay with you" she faltered. "For as long as you'll have me."
He stared at her, his eyes wide and dark - almost frightened – and shook his head slowly. "Letting you go was perhaps the most painful thing I have ever had to do. I certainly didn't do it only to see you throw your life away as a nursemaid for a weak, sick old man" he sneered. "I won't allow it."
It was like a punch in the gut. She'd come as close as she could to telling him how she felt about him. She'd asked him if she could stay with him indefinitely and his response was crushing.
"Even if it's my fault?" She whispered.
He frowned, not understanding. She took a deep breath, her eyes glassy. "It's my fault you're sick. Mr Kaplan told me about the lake. Your chest. You saved me and it did this to you."
She watched as cold comprehension dawned in his eyes, his lip curling in distaste. "So that's it." he said in a low voice. "I wondered why you were so intent on staying here…Guilt is the harshest taskmaster of them all. Well I can assure you that you are in no way to blame. You are absolved Lizzie" he said bitterly. "And now you can go."
"That's not what I want" she whispered.
His eyes darkened further and she could feel his anger building. It had, she suspected then, been building for weeks, simmering beneath the surface, concealed under his protective layers of stories and joviality. How could she not have seen it? The way he looked at her sometimes it was almost like he hated her.
"The moment I walked into the FBI and demanded to speak only with Elizabeth Keen I knew that I would risk my life for you…that I would die for you. That was always part of the deal. Understanding the magnitude of that, perhaps you could take one moment to consider how difficult it is for me to have you here."
She watched as he reached for a bottle on the side and poured himself a glass of scotch, which he downed in one.
"You don't think that I want you too?" She said desperately. "The night I came here – that guy hit me and Dembe came and I realized how much I needed you. Then I came here and found out you were sick-"
He cut her off ruthlessly "Oh yes, I imagine that was very disappointing for you. The doe-eyed, innocent little college teacher had an itch she couldn't scratch, so she came to the hideous, violent criminal for her fix only to find him like this. Well I can assure you I'm still quite capable of satisfying you" he said nastily. "What will you do after I've made you come, Lizzie?" he hissed. "After I've made you scream? Carry on with your life until the next time some city boy raises a fist to you and it makes you miss me?"
Liz's mouth hung open in shock and tears pricked her eyes. She'd never heard him speak that way, to her or anyone.
"Red, no-"
But he had already stormed out of the room, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. She sat there numb for a second before she felt her legs move under her and followed him upstairs. She pushed open his bedroom door and he spun round with a face like thunder, his cheeks and neck reddened by alcohol while a vein throbbed angrily on his temple.
"Get out" he growled.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm not going till you listen to me."
He was staring at her now with an ominous mixture of emotion churning in his gaze; anger still, but underscored with pain, disgust and, unmistakably, desire.
"Lizzie, I'm warning you. You need to leave. Leave now before I give you exactly what you came here for."
She shook her head in confusion. "I don't understand. Please Red, I-"
"God help me I'll make you understand!" Her eyes widened in alarm as he stepped quickly towards her, his leaner figure giving his movements an almost feline quality. He gripped the back of her neck and twisted her round, pinning her against the wall with her cheek pressed firmly against the decorative plaster. Her limbs went numb with shock as she felt his body behind her, crushing her against the wall, his erection pressed threateningly against her ass. Her mind was swirling; she'd wanted him to touch her for so long, but not like this. He didn't need another reason to hate himself.
She froze as he ground himself against her jeans, his hand sweeping her hair to one side and exposing her neck. She felt his breath rasping on her ear and then heard him inhale deeply – he was smelling her. When he spoke he sounded hoarse and desperate, his lips brushing against her ear and his words punctuated by sharp thrusts of his hips.
"Despite what you may think, I'm still a man Lizzie…I have limits…"
She tensed as she felt his knee come between her legs, spreading them against the wall, and then his hand sliding roughly up the inside of her thigh.
"You've been here for weeks…" he panted. "Is this what you've been waiting for?"
She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep, calming breath. "I am so sorry Red. Please believe I didn't come here to hurt you. I don't think you want to hurt me, either" she said carefully, trying to keep her voice steady.
He paused for a moment and then stepped back, allowing her space to turn and face him. When she did she found that he no longer looked angry, but desolate, his arms hanging dejectedly at his sides.
"I know you don't want to hurt me" he sighed. "It's worse than that. You want to punish yourself. You want to lower yourself to let the monster touch you and assuage some of your guilt. Let me tell you something Elizabeth…I'm not just a worthless criminal for you to treat as you please. I may be broken but I can still feel pain and I will not be used, even by you. I am not empty and corrupt any more than you are naive and innocent."
As he spoke she began to smile, even as tears slipped down her cheeks. He frowned at her, appalled. "What about this desolate exchange could you possibly find amusing Lizzie? Or do you want to add to the injury by laughing at me?"
She shook her head and gasped through her tears. "I'm not laughing Red, I'm happy."
He looked at her dumbfounded.
"I'm happy because I think you can finally understand. That you're not a monster. You deserve help, and kindness. I'm not a naive girl who has to be protected from everything. I have demons too, and I also need forgiveness." She paused to take a breath, shaking her head. "I'm not here because I want to use you, Red. I'm here because I love you. I love you with everything I am and I can't bear to not be with you."
He continued to stare at her for a moment before stepping backwards and sitting down heavily on the bed, putting his head in his hands. He suddenly seemed to have shrunk, as though the dissipation of his anger had taken inches off him. When he finally looked up at her it seemed as though he was looking at her from very far away.
"Darling girl. I'm so sorry. Please understand - my current condition only highlights how selfish it was of me to ever pursue a relationship with you."
Liz felt an angry lump rise in her throat. "You know what's selfish, Red? You, now. You don't need to be this sick. The people who love you are worried about you – Dembe, Mr Kaplan. Me. Mr Kaplan told me you refuse to seek treatment. That you could get better. You're doing so much good - all the people you help – and yet you continue to punish yourself. You think you deserve to suffer, but you don't. You could die if you carry on like this."
He shook his head, sighing. "People like me don't get happy endings. I never expected to survive this long - if I can do some good before I go, so be-it."
She was momentarily shocked into silence by the starkness of this statement, but then her hands balled into fists at her sides.
"No. You don't get to cop out like this. What was it you said to me once? I'm not going to beg for the privilege of helping you? Well I'm not. Tell me to go, Red. But don't do it for me, because I will spend the rest of my life loving you whether I get to spend it with you or not. Think about that."
Her heart pounding in her chest she turned on her heel and left the room. He stared after her, a lone tear making its way down the rough skin of his cheek.
TBC