A/N After having watched her from a distance for years, Reddington has trouble adjusting to having Liz so close. Disclaimed. Please do review, you'll make me so happy :-)
When she woke, she was lying on a bed in a large room with old, beautiful furniture and high ceilings. Every joint in her body ached, but she was wrapped in blankets and warm – so warm – for the first time in days. There were people all around her, and snippets of conversation flying over her head.
"We'll need to burn these clothes…"
"She's awake…"
She looked round and found the room full of people wearing an eclectic selection of medical uniforms; paramedics, nurses, doctors – even someone in surgical scrubs – and all of them seemed to be from different hospitals. She was approached by a young female nurse who smiled at her nervously.
"Hi there. You're ok sweetie, just cuts and bruises – we're going to get you cleaned up and hydrated. You'll be back on your feet in no time."
Liz swallowed thickly and looked around the grand room. "Where am I?"
The nurse's eyes darted uncertainly to her colleagues who looked equally nervous, and then back to her. "Somewhere safe – that's what matters."
Liz frowned. "You work for Reddington? What's your name?"
The nurse smiled again, a little too broadly. "Mr Reddington is anxious you get better soon, so let's focus on that, ok? Now, this might be difficult for you, but I just need to ask – do you need emergency contraception?"
Liz's cheek's flamed with embarrassment, not least because of the copious medical staff – male and female – who just seemed to be hovering in the corner looking at her.
"I don't need it thanks" she said awkwardly.
The nurse gave her a pained smile. "Ok, I'll be back to check on you later – the team here are going to get you cleaned up."
With that she exited the room, leaving Liz with a motley group of nervous professionals who couldn't seem to meet her eye as they washed her and treated her injuries.
After he'd handed the girl over to the medical team, Reddington washed and changed before retiring to the sitting room with a large scotch. It was a strange feeling, having her in his arms again. She had been just four years old the last time, with those same frightened blue eyes staring up at him as he carried her from danger. He had no feeling left in his back – full thickness burns had destroyed the nerves long ago - but in that moment at the warehouse he could have sworn he felt the prickle of flames again. A memory, embodied impossibly in flesh.
He'd felt something else, too; a glimmer of the tenderness he'd felt cradling that tiny child all those years ago. It had been a very long time since he'd experienced an emotion such as that and he disliked the feeling intensely. He had grown cold and hard over the years. He knew it – he even savored it. Anything else was painful. Anything else was a vulnerability.
He removed a cigar from a silver case and half-turned as the door opened and a young nurse entered, clutching her hands nervously in front of her.
"Well?"
"You asked me to let you know when she was awake, Mr Reddington."
"And how is the patient?" he asked, lighting the cigar as he spoke.
"A bit disoriented but her injuries are relatively minor. She'll be fine."
He nodded expressionlessly and took a drag of the cigar. "Was she raped?"
The nurse's eyes widened at this directness, the casual tone with which he asked. "I…don't think I should discuss…" she faltered.
He cut her off swiftly, turning to face her fully.
"As I recall you are being paid a rather large sum to do two things: treat the girl, and report to me. You are not currently performing either of those tasks" he said in a hard tone.
The nurse visibly trembled, and he placed the cigar in a heavy marble ashtray before taking a step towards her. "Now let's try this again" he said with an unpleasant smile "and this time you'll be ever-so helpful, and answer my question fully. What is her current condition, physically and psychologically? Try to find some more inventive adjectives than 'fine' this time."
The nurse looked at the floor, unable to meet his eye as she responded. "I asked her if she needed emergency contraception and she said no. But I believe she was badly mistreated – beaten and humiliated. She's bruised all over and was severely dehydrated. Physically she should recover fairly quickly. Psychologically speaking… it's hard to say how this ordeal is affecting her."
Reddington's eyes narrowed as he listened. It wasn't lost on him that the nurse had used the present tense in a way that suggested the girl's ordeal was still continuing. As though he were holding her captive as the Lorcas had done. He found the notion deeply offensive.
"You can go" he said crisply.
The nurse looked up. "I'd like to stay with her-"
"That won't be necessary. Inform the team that that can leave when they're done. I can take it from there."
The nurse nodded silently and left the room. Reddington walked back to the table and knocked back his scotch before opening a draw and removing a cell phone. It was time to make a call.
"Sam – It's Raymond. I've found something you've lost…Yes, she's ok, she's with me. It appears that profiling job of hers is more dangerous than you imagined – apparently she got on the wrong side of some the FBI's prime customers…She's obviously been missing for days Sam, why didn't you call me?...Yes, well I think it's time to accept that you can't protect her alone anymore. You're an excellent father - I'm not questioning that - but things are becoming complicated. She could fall into the hands of some very bad people. And I should know! She fell into my hands, and I'm a very bad person…I'm sorry Sam, I can't let her go just yet…..Now now, there's nothing to worry about. I won't tell her anything. She needs time to recover and it'll give me a chance to get to know the girl, not to mention time to arrange a professional security detail to protect her…No, I had something else in mind. There's a man I know, the Major…"
They spoke for some time, and Reddington was relieved when the call finally finished. At one time Sam had been a very dear friend, but that changed the night he had come to her with the girl. He couldn't afford friends after that. He'd made Sam a father that night and he couldn't jeopardize him or the girl by maintaining an association. He hadn't spoken to him in years.
There was a mail box Sam used to keep him in touch with developments in her life – school, college and then the FBI. To begin with he had paid for her keep and education, and later on it had pleased him to smooth the way for her in her various endeavors, pulling strings behind the scenes. He liked to hear about her hopes, dreams and desires. To pretend he knew her. In his mind she was still the precocious child that Sam had described in his letters, and he wasn't a criminal – he was her savior. Her invisible benefactor.
He poured another glass of scotch and unlocked a large wooden keepsake box on the desk, removing a photograph. There she was, smiling up at him with an awkward teenage grin, graduating high school. He ran his thumb over her image. It was his prop, used to fantasize about forgiveness, about redemption, on the days when his soul felt truly dark. Surely no other man alive used the image of a teen girl in an effort to cleanse his soul, he thought wryly.
He heard the sounds of the medical team making their exit and replaced the photograph in the box with a sigh. It was time to meet her properly. He made his way up the winding stairs and entered her room quietly, half expecting her to be asleep. Instead, he found her standing at the window in a white tank top and navy jersey pajamas, fiddling with the latch. He cleared his throat and she spun round to face him.
"The windows are locked, and you are on the third floor" he said dryly. "Still, it's good to see you're feeling better. You gave me quite a scare."
"You don't seem like the kind of person who scares easily" she rejoined instantly.
To her surprise he laughed, almost affectionately. "No, I suppose I'm not."
Her cheeks flushed and he was momentarily caught off-guard – now that she was clean he could see that she was disarmingly pretty, despite the cuts and bruises. In addition to those striking blue eyes, she had porcelain skin and full, pink lips. Her hair curled attractively around her shoulders, even if she had fashionable highlights that weren't exactly to his taste.
To his dismay, he found he couldn't help but assess her body as she stood before him in the lounge wear his staff had selected; she had full, round breasts that filled out the tank top nicely, a slim waist and graceful, curvaceous hips. A woman's body. It was disconcerting to say the least. His eye twitched fractionally as he caught sight of a large, purple bruise at her hip just visible under her top. She pulled the bottom of her tank down self-consciously to cover the exposed skin.
"Mr Reddington – I'm very grateful for the help you've given me" she said stiffly," but I'm feeling much better and I think I'd like to go now."
He smiled humorlessly and titled his head to the side. "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear earlier. The events at the warehouse today were part of a broader operation of mine and unfortunately I cannot allow you to jeopardize that by informing your colleagues at the FBI. Until my business is concluded, you'll be staying here. As my guest" he finished grandly, smiling and gesturing with a flourish at the room.
"You mean as your prisoner" she countered.
His smile vanished and his lip curled in distaste. "I prefer not to think of it that way."
"And I prefer to call things as I see them." She fixed him with an icy, accusatory stare that flooded him with guilt.
He continued in a light tone that masked the rising panic he was beginning to feel. "There are clothes for you in the draws and toiletries the bathroom. If there's anything you need that hasn't been catered for, just let me know. While you're here you should treat the house as your own. It's a rather ostentatious old place, I know – it belongs to an associate of mine."
"Where is he?"
Reddington smiled mischievously. "Taking a ten year vacation at Riker's Island."
She rolled her eyes. "Right. Another criminal."
He could feel his blood pressure begin to rise. Over the years he had insulated himself from the judgements of others; however corrupt he had become, he had adapted – even thrived – in the criminal underworld he inhabited. What was known only to him was that he had survived by preserving a tiny corner of his soul which still clung to the idea that he might be redeemed by the good he had done. By her. He had saved her life again today – but despite that, the girl who stood here in scathing judgement was worlds away from the sweet, forgiving angel of his fantasies.
"You must be hungry – you'll join me for dinner" he commanded frostily as he turned towards the door.
"I don't think so."
He felt anger begin to rise in his chest, fueled by the bitter disappointment creeping over him. His jaw clenched and his muscles tightened, wound like a snake ready to spring. His eyes glittered as he turned back to face her. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said I'll pass."
His face darkened. "Tell me, were you this belligerent growing up?" he said, his tone dangerously low.
"No – I only get like this when I'm kidnapped by traitors and murderers" she shot back.
Her words cut him to the quick. To see his own monstrous image reflected in her beautiful eyes was unbearable, and a flash of anger sparked across his face. As he began to respond he crossed the room towards her, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her shrink away from him against the wall, her eyes suddenly filled with fear. Poor girl he thought bleakly. Underneath that bravado she was petrified, as well she might be after the hell she'd been through. His anger dissipated quickly, replaced by utter shame at having frightened her, and the miserable realization that to her, he was nothing but a killer.
He stepped back and ran a hand down his face in an effort to collect himself. "I'll have your dinner sent up" he said quietly. "You should get some rest." Chastened, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.
When he returned to the sitting room his chest was tight, panic clawing at the edges of his mind. This was not how he imagined their meeting. Not in his fantasies – not even in his worst nightmares – had she ever looked at him quite like that. He flung the top off the scotch decanter, sending it clattering over the table as he poured himself a generous glass.
With the sting of whisky on his tongue he grabbed the photograph of her from the box again, holding it tightly between his shaking fingers. Clutching it miserably, he tried to conjure the feelings of solace her image engendered, but there was nothing. The illusion was gone. Today she had seen his true face; she had seen the bodies and been terrified of him. Try as he might, as he stared at the picture he couldn't escape the truth that the owner of that angelic face was currently his prisoner – and she was far less forgiving than her photograph.
TBC