Raymond: Without You
It feels, at first, like the most horrific déjà vu.
The gurney, sterile and cold; her still, lonely body and slack, pale face. The way the blood seethes in his head, drowning out the world.
He can't quite bring himself to touch her, to even approach her fragile form, terrified that all he would feel would be her absence, still, and he would lose the last thread of sanity left to him.
I'm reaching out
To touch your voice
But baby
I'm clutching at straws
Barely aware of Kate's worried eyes fixed on him, her nervous words tumbling around him, he makes himself move, at last. He moves, halting and unsure, to stand beside her, over her, staring blindly.
He forces the tremor from his hand as he reaches out to touch her face.
And everything in him breathes deep when warmth meets his fingertips.
He drops, suddenly, heavily, to the chair beside her bed, the relief overwhelming, suffocating. His palm flattens against her cheek, reassuring himself, seeking the spark of connection, seeking life.
The silence seems too much to bear, her vivacity gone, every piece of her so still, so still. He wishes for the woman he knows — even the tight tones of anger and blame that have become normal between them.
Alive, Elizabeth might be; present, she is not.
Even though
Your words hurt the most
I still want to hear them
Every day
"She won't wake up."
The frustration of the man calling himself Tom intrudes on his blurry thoughts, and he glances up to meet the defiant, angry gaze.
"So, you gambled and you lost," he says flatly in return. "But the stakes here were Elizabeth's life." Rage surges through him then, threatens to overtake him for a hazy moment. His fingers curl into her skin. "How could you be so reckless?"
"Us?" Tom splutters defensively. "You drove us to this extreme. You turned her life inside out, made her miserable, put her in danger again and again. You took everything—"
"Enough," he interjects, sharp enough to be final, laden with a disbelieving weariness. "Get out. Don't argue, just…go. Go and be with your daughter, and stay away from me."
Tom moves forward, anger boiling, but halts abruptly when he sees the look on Reddington's face. The look of a man with nothing left to hang on to; with nothing left to lose. He turns and leaves without another word, Kate trailing unhappily after him.
Left alone, Red droops a little, warring emotions tugging at him, deconstructing him, piece by piece.
He takes her hand, relieved all over again to feel the steady pulse of life within, and presses it gently to his own cheek.
"Elizabeth," he says softly. "Where are you?"
For I'm so scared of losing you
And I don't know
What I can do
About it
Being invisible — spirit, ghost, ephemeral — is one thing. Looking down at her own still and silent body is another. The strangeness of it nags at her, pervades her being unpleasantly, unknown fingers sneaking down her spine.
She shifts her gaze, to distract herself, to try and understand. The curve of his back as he curls over her empty form beckons; it begs for a touch, for comfort, even as his hand clutches hers.
Closer to him, his warmth is enticing, his familiar face so drawn and tired; his very being pulling at her, as it always did, but fiercer than ever, stronger than anything else in her world. Her physical self joins its call to his — but his is stronger, always, as inevitable as the tide.
And yet, the last weeks of fear and dread and hopelessness linger inside her like a bad taste. If only she could trust in the nameless things, could know that safety lay here, at last.
She quivers between, torn, confused, reaching.
You say let it go
But I can't let it go
I wanna believe every word
That you say
Awareness of her penetrated his fugue in a whisper, a tingle at the back of the neck.
She heard his aching plea, he knows it — she is here, somewhere. He can feel her, now that he reaches for her. The sweetness that is her nature; the hesitancy born of deep-rooted fear.
He can feel her, her soft breath on his neck, stroke of a gentle hand down his spine, comforting through this shared sorrow.
Suddenly, desperate not to lose her again, to make this tenuous feel of her into reality, words come tumbling, pouring out of him.
Words he hardly ever dared to think, let alone speak, words of regret and need and love.
Ragged with days of suffering, his voice coils and twists around her, pulling harder than ever.
"Elizabeth." Broken and lost, bereft. "Please. We need you back. I…Agnes needs you, needs her mother. I…We've all fallen apart, without you, all of us. It's all just pieces, without you. Everything is dark, without you. Lizzie, sweetheart, come back, come back to us, to me. I can't…" He heaves a shuddering sigh that sounds as if it may break him.
So tell me how long, love, before you go
And leave me here
On my own
I know it
"Please," he says again, hoping, hoping that the tears he thinks he can see on her face are real.
Trembling, he brings the hand he holds to his lips and kisses her with a fervent tenderness.
"I just…I love you so, Elizabeth. Come back to me…"
I don't wanna know who I am without you
A/N: lyrics from Agape by Bear's Den