Wind whips across the pier tossing dark hair into her eyes. The night was young and the evening old. A few scattered stars winked in the pink sky. This was early on in their relationship. Before the trust began to set in. Before the anger and bitterness swallowed her whole.
"Few things are as dangerous as unadulterated intimacy." He said.
She squinted at him from across the space that separated them. He reclined on his bench, legs crossed, neat hat tilted at an angle just so on his lap. She could never be sure what he was thinking. Or, if he was being serious.
"That dangerous, huh?"
"Positively precarious." He did that little lip-smack thing she'd grown so accustomed to.
"I'll be careful then."
He caught the mock disinterest in her tone and smiled, warmth sparking in his grey eyes. "Thata girl."
His fingers squeezed her hand firmly where it rested against the bench.
.
It was later when she dared to ask him, "Red, how can you warn me against being intimate when all you do is sleep with anything that has legs?" Her tone was sarcastic.
"Ah ah ah." He clucked, "I don't discriminate. I once knew a marvelous dancer who could do the most amusing things with her feet. She was born with legs but met a truly unfortunate motorcycle accident just on the cusp of her acting career—" He was preparing for a long anecdote.
"Red…" She warned.
He chuckled, correctly translating her tone.
"But that is besides the point Lizzie. Intimacy isn't just physical, it has far too much to do with trust." Where he might tease and cajole, his usually blasé demeanor was missing. He fixed her with a meaningful stare.
She squirmed under his intense scrutiny.
Much later when the last piece of her world had faded to black, she found him just where she knew he would be.
The hatred was buried deep inside of her chest and the fear had all but consumed her. Tom was a liar: worse, he was exactly who Reddington had said he was.
The thing she had most dreaded, when Red waltzed into her life and tore it to pieces like tissue paper, was true. The happiness she'd found with Tom was nothing. All her contentment and peace had crumbled away to reveal a snake lying in wait to strike.
It was dark out. She stood on the rotten wood doorstep of his most recent hiding place. A cool wind whipped the hair from her forehead.
As his front door slid open, her words fell from quivering lips. "You were right." And all her unspoken words wavered on the tip of her tongue. You've been right this whole time. About Tom.
His voice was painfully soft. "Come in."
He didn't wait for an explanation but gestured for her to enter. Liz followed silently. Her feet carried her to where they had begun to carry her more and more often: to Red's side.
His hand at the small of her back led them into the dark depths of his lair.
As she sat by his side with tears dripping down her chin, she was painfully aware of a choice. He offered the embrace up to her and she knew there would be a price. She leaned into his arms. She accepted his stroking fingers and the comforting press of his body beside her.
He whispered soft assurances into her hair as she mourned the last three years of perfection.
.
Liz sits on the couch in her destroyed living room. Glass covers the kitchen floor. Pictures hang out of frames. Chunks of the kitchen table litter the carpet.
Emptiness lies deep in her chest. Hollow. That's what she's left with. The rage and fear will return, of this she is certain, but right now there is nothing but ache. All consuming, weary, bone-crushing ache.
Her teeth hurt and her ribs hurt and her head is throbbing.
Red walks through her front door like he belongs. He enters the living room decked out in his full suit, fedora in hand. This costume might as well be a suit of armor. He has come prepared for the worst. He surveys the destruction of her life with calculating eyes.
Grief so overpowering sears through her.
He has done this even if only by proxy.
Tom is his fault. Her scars are his fault—the new ones that adorn her body from the last several months of physical trauma. The hatred that simmers just under her skin is his fault.
And here he stands in the center of her broken life with indifferent eyes. He studies the mess Tom has left with a clinical objectivity. When he is bored of observation, he sits down across from her. He rests his arms languidly at his sides and crosses his legs to create a perfect picture of comfort. There is no remorse with Raymond Reddington.
It is only his eyes that give him away.
His voice is a low growl, covering whatever true emotion he feels. "You deserve the best in life Lizzie. I know that sounds odd coming from the man who has brought you some of the worst. But, it's the reason Tom had to work so hard to be that for you. To be kind…" His eyes glitter with moisture. "To be thoughtful. To make you laugh. To make you love him. Because you deserve that."
They both sit in the silent wake of his words.
Tears blur her vision. Her throat burns with the sobs that won't come. Ever since Raymond waltzed into her life she has cried so so much. She's sick of crying.
He nods, staring past her into memories only he can see. "And it will come."
Reddington clears his throat with finality before he begins to rise from his seat. He tips his hat and starts his retreat back into the hallway. "I look forward to seeing you in the morning."
"Wait! Red!" She's on her feet and in front of him before he has time to turn his back on her.
He pauses and quirks an inquisitive eyebrow. It's obvious he's not used to people interrupting his grand speeches but Liz doesn't care. She's too full of empty to care about anything.
She steps forward into his personal space. Her hands push past the heavy wool of his coat to rest gently on his waist. The smooth silk of his vest slips against her fingers. Liz is breathing heavily. She looks up into his eyes and meets the icy blaze there.
Her lips hover a hairsbreadth from his. She leans further forward, tilting her head back just so. Their lips brush, her smooth mouth against his rough one. She presses her mouth to his in so slight a pressure. Feather-light contact.
His arms are stiff at his sides, fists clenched tightly.
Red's mouth buzzes with the suppressed energy of his desire. Heat radiates from him in dizzying waves that rock the still air of the room. She leans fully into his chest, her lips pressed against his, her fingers fluttering at his hips.
"Lizzie." His mutter is a gravelly growl rumbling in the back of his throat, vibrating against their brushing mouths.
"What?" It's all she can do to get the sound out, her voice barely a whisper.
"Be careful. Think this through very carefully."
"I don't need to."
He growls deeper. The vibration against her lips is like a humming engine, a purring automobile rumbling to life. His mouth presses back against hers and the shock of his touch has the same soothing burn of spearmint. It stings her lips, numbing them.
This fills her with dread just as it sets her heart racing.
"Lizzie." And no voice will ever purr her name like his.
"You're all I have left."
"That is not the right reason."
So she drops her hands. She takes a step back. It feels like losing. Like losing herself and everything that she wants.
But what does she want? Why now and why him and why doesn't this feel wrong?
"Red, you've torn my whole life apart! Don't push me away! You did this to me. Even after all I've done to keep my life normal and to push you out of it. You've forced me to admit that this is what I need. You are all I have left." Her voice breaks. It's too much and too true. She feels vulnerable; exposed before him. "So don't push me away!"
Shame washes her face in warmth and she hangs her head.
She can't count on both hands the number of men he's murdered in cold blood before her eyes. Many men, and a few women. He's ruthless and he can be violent. He cares only about himself.
If he still has a heart, it's black and broken and stained just as his hands are stained.
And she realizes that he was wrong all those months ago. It isn't intimacy that is the most dangerous, it isn't honesty or even trust. Surrender is the deadliest action. Bared in front of him in all the humiliating truth of her feelings, she can do nothing but look up at him in defeat.
He chews at his lips.
His expression retreats into a darkness that sends a shiver down her spine. He takes her face in gentle, worn hands and strokes her cheek. "Oh, Lizzie."
She clings to his hands, leaning in, and closing her eyes.
"Every painful thing I've brought you pales in comparison to the danger I've kept you from." His whisper washes across her jaw. "I will never allow a hair on your head to come to harm. Not even Job in all of his misery will compare to the man who would dare hurt you."
He is intoxicating.
Liz swallows against the intensity of his words. Her skin is alight where it touches his. Nothing compares to the attention of Raymond Reddington. In his universe, she spins in the center.
Their lips brush and then she's kissing him.
He kisses her back.
Soft mouth on one creased with age. His breath tastes of wine. It's deep with velvet fruits and is almost sweet on her tongue. She doesn't know enough about wine to pick out flavors. All she can tell is that he's been drinking. It adds to her sense of intoxication despite the fact they are both sober.
And then she doesn't think anymore.
Her mind blanks out.
Sensation takes over.
Sliding, pressing lips on hers. Tilting her backward, his hands smooth down along her throat to cup the back of her head. His fingers stroke along the nape of her neck sending a shiver down her spine. He draws away to pepper her cheeks with kisses. His tongue draws blazing shapes along her jaw. Nipping bites. His lips find hers again as his wide chest presses into her. His arms encircle her body.
A salty tear slips between their fervent mouths and it belongs to Reddington.
Panting with the passion and desire swirling in her belly, she grips his coat and pulls him closer. The wool crumples in shaking fists. She needs him. To feel his body on hers. To be complete and whole.
His mouth urges her on.
Nothing in the world can quench this dizzying thirst to be known, but him.
He breaks away, his mouth dragging along hers as he detangles himself.
There isn't enough air.
He strokes his thumbs along her jawline, drinking in the flush of her face. He gazes into her eyes with an expression of total devotion. "My Lizzie."
His breath ghosts across her lips and she shivers with the raw desire burning in her chest.
"Please Red." She shakes against him, dizzy with desire and her lack of air. "Please tell me everything will be okay."
"You're safe with me." He pulls her fully against him and cradles her head to his shoulder.
Liz rests against him.
He's warm and sturdy. His wool coat smells of sandalwood and chamomile. She clings to him, breathing in his scent and fisting deep creases into the expensive fabric of his coat.
Red begins to stroke her hair with the wide pads of his fingertips. He sweeps little circles and then wide arcs along her scalp. She leans into his touch.
Red tilts her jaw in his rough hands, lavishing kisses on her flaming skin.
The world dissolves at her fingertips as she is lost in his touch and taste. Liz totally surrenders herself to his hands. Surrender feels in this moment, strangely like freedom.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Hours—days—weeks later, both unannounced and uninvited, she storms into his hotel suite. The walls are beige, the furniture is dark wood, and the crown molding is painted gold. Heavy velvet lines the sofa and hangs in the windows. The room is opulent but Red is just at home here as he was in her destroyed living room.
He waves Dembe away with a polite hand. "Give us a moment." His voice is soft as he speaks to her; his demeanor is calm. As if reciting poetry, his mouth caresses every syllable. "I have an update on the movements of your husband."
There is special camaraderie in the tilt of his smile. The softness with which he addresses her now is new. Ever since that night, his affection for her has been more pronounced. Much freer than it ever was before she offered him her kisses and confessed all that she feels.
The affection in his gaze is heavy. "Apparently, Tom has—"
She cuts him off before he can get another poisonous word out. "Were you in the hospital room when he died?"
He isn't expecting this. Sullen lines carve into his face. All the warmth drains away from him. His lips twitch with displeasure.
Her gaze lingers on them, the memory of kissing him is too fresh in her mind. She tries to blink away the traitorous image. Remembering the sensation of his mouth caressing her own will get her nowhere.
She steps towards him. "Did you kill my father?" The accusation slices through her tongue.
He doesn't answer her.
His silence is deafening. The dullness in his eyes is louder. He doesn't shy away but sits before her waiting for the first blow.
Liz kneels before him, searching his face for any shred of truth. As much as she longs to hold his hands gently in her own, her voice is rigid. This is an interrogation. "Did you kill him?"
Her throat aches. She can't swallow.
"Yes."
She yells.
She rages.
Because she cares.
And isn't that the worst part of all of this?
"I don't expect you to understand."
"Understand? How could I possibly understand when you take someone I love away from me and then try to justify it?" She's shouting.
Tears glitter wet and unshed in Red's eyes. "Listen to me." Any gentleness is gone.
Lizzie's tears drip down her face, hot and salty as they pool in her mouth. She waits with bated breath for any words that might free her from this hell. Anything he might say to redeem himself. They sit in the silence, both waiting for something.
Very carefully, he begins. "I've been friends with Sam for all of yours and most of my life. He was dying. Every part of his body was failing. He was impatient for it to end."
There it is.
The grief he refuses to show. It hovers in the set of his clenched jaw as he holds back actual emotion. Whatever Red says to justify himself, it will never be enough and even he knows that, somewhere deep down.
"He'd asked to be disconnected from all the machines. He was in pain and suffering. We said goodbye… and I put him out of his misery." He swallows thickly, all the while holding her stare. He won't look away. His jaw is set in hard lines and the weight of his choices will not be the force that moves him.
Liz feels acute betrayal from a man who has only ever taken what he wants. Even when his motives are cloaked in kindness, there is a hidden blade just out of sight waiting to carve her away to nothing.
With each little piece of herself she's surrendered, he has gladly accepted. Shred by shred. Sliver by sliver. Each shard he has collected into a locket and pieced together her heart. She has offered it up to him with free will.
It's too late to get it back.
"We're done."
That same darkness rises in his eyes. Just as Liz feels bereft and adrift in the roiling turmoil of her emotions, he has already begun to put up his walls. She's spiraling into an oblivion that no one can save her from because the only people she loves are gone.
Sam is dead and Tom is a lie. She has nowhere to turn. The man she thought would put her together again has taken everything away. He is the cause and origin of all her sorrows.
"I'm done. This ends right now." Her final parting words are these, "You're a monster." And then she flees.
And when she runs from the room with the confession of her father's murder still ringing in her ears, she finally understands the price. She has nothing but Red left. It doesn't matter that he's a monster in a man's form. No matter where she goes or what he does, she will always return to Reddington.
That is the cost of his intimacy and she has paid it in full.
She has nowhere left to turn. It's too late for retreat.
A/N:
let it be said that I do not have as nihilistic a view of Reddington or they're relationship as Liz does. this is entirely from her perspective. unreliable narrator and all that.
this fic has been in the works for a couple years but the final direction and heart took much inspiration from illuminatedcities' and i'm thrown in the gunfire of empty bullets and sparklyslug's Camel's Nose on AO3