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meetmeatthecoda · 6 years

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Surprise!

@scifi-gk, I’m your Secret Santa! :D I know you’ve been going through some tough times recently but I hope you can still have a wonderful holiday and maybe this present will help with that a little! :) Much love to you and yours! <3

Just a quick word (lol as if) about your fic before I post it below: I took your prompt to heart, specifically the bit about the “shift that needs to take place within their dynamic”, and things got a little out of hand... I ended up writing just over 10k 0.0 To make that shift happen, I ended up writing a lot of mythology which is something super new to me but I know you have an affinity for! That being said, I did absolutely zero research and just kind of drew my own conclusions for shit so if I made any blatant canonical errors, I’m very sorry, just consider it an AU :’D So yeah, in addition to the mythology, there’s just a metric shit-ton of angst and drama and feelings which I felt were pretty necessary to get that shift down and then the last segment was the hardest part but also the scene I had specifically in mind when you said you wanted a believable first kiss ;) So yes, if you can wade through all the freaking drama, there is kissing at the end! :D Anyway, this fic was something new for me and I’m pretty unsure about it but, regardless of my feelings, I REALLY REALLY hope you like it and it’s an enjoyable present for you! :D Happy Holidays, my friend! :) Much, much love! <3

Everything has gone to hell.

It started with a phone call from Jennifer and her hushed words over the bad connection, “It’s time, Liz,” sending shivers down Liz’s spine. But she set a meeting with Red at his safehouse before she really knew what she was doing and texted Jennifer the address, sending the message with something like dread reverberating within her. She drove through the cold winter air, running a red light or two in her frazzled state, watching a few small snowflakes fall halfheartedly, melting as soon as they touched the pavement.

Not sticking.

And now, they’re here, waiting for Jennifer to arrive, and Liz’s gun is pointed at Red and he’s on his knees in front of her.

And the worst part is that it’s not the first time.

He’s looked very calm since she burst into the room with her gun drawn, maybe a little surprised and definitely curious, but calm. She tries to access that too-familiar well of anger she has stored up for him, that well that should be overflowing at the sight of his nonchalance, but it keeps eluding her. All she really feels is cold.

Numb.

When he saw her gun drawn, his eyes tightened a little, but he nodded solemnly and set down the book he was reading before she burst in, rising from his armchair.

“What have you found out, Lizzie?” he asked calmly, a mere query, as if he were asking her about the weather.

Liz didn’t bother questioning his assumption. He was right, of course. Why would she be on the rampage with a firearm if she hadn’t discovered something incriminating?

“You’re an imposter,” she blurts now, letting go of the ugly truth she’s been holding like a dark secret inside her for weeks, no pomp and circumstance, just lets it out. “You’re not the real Raymond Reddington. You’re not my father, or Jennifer’s. You’re a…pretender,” she hisses the last word, finally finding a little anger and betrayal from somewhere to throw at him.

(He’s hurt her so badly. It’s like Tom all over again.)

“Yes,” he says simply, as if he’s not rocking her entire world by admitting it. She had accepted it as the truth from the minute she looked at the DNA results, but she can feel now that there was a little nugget of desperation inside her that hoped he would deny it and explain everything.

(That would be a first.)

“Would you be amenable to hearing me out? I can explain things to you, once and for all, since you’ve discovered it on your own. And perhaps you could lower your gun?”

She blinks, taken aback by his reasonable suggestions, and she finds herself wanting to comply, wanting to trust, as she’s done many times before. Her gun wavers and lowers an inch or two.

Trust…

(The memory of Tom punching her in the face flashes before her eyes.)

Liz jerks her gun back up, trying to ignore the trembling in her hands. “No,” she spits. “No, I can’t do that.”

“All right,” Red says easily. And Liz watches as he slowly and carefully lowers himself to the floor, bending his knees until they touch the wood, holding Liz’s gaze the entire time.

Something aches inside her.

She should love this. She should revel in the victory of having the imposter prone before her. She should feel joy.

(But she really just hates this.)

“Are you sure you won’t listen? Just five minutes, Lizzie, that’s all it will take,” he tells her quietly.

That’s it, she wonders, that’s all it will take to explain her whole existence? Is she really that trivial?

(Yes.)

“No,” she repeats forcefully, telling herself as much as she’s telling him. “We have to wait for Jennifer to get here.”

“Jennifer?” his voice is sharp now, a cold tone of surprise, and she sees the skin below his eye twitch before he smothers it.

Ah.

Liz knows that he’s worried now, wary. He doesn’t know Jennifer, not like he knows Liz, he can’t predict what she’ll do, doesn’t know how to sway her.

Liz feels a frisson of fear go through her at the realization. Jennifer is angry. Jennifer is vengeful. Jennifer is unpredictable.

Oh.

But Liz doesn’t have time to ponder the implications of this before the door is bursting open once again and she whirls around to see her half-sister, eyes wild, holding a gun of her own, now trained on Red.

Oh.

(What has she done?)

“Jenn—” Liz starts to speak but Jennifer takes no notice, her eyes glinting with a dirty kind of pleasure at seeing Red there on the floor.

“On his knees already. Well done, Liz,” she smirks, a nasty thing that contorts her pretty face, darkens her eyes.

(Liz is reminded forcefully of Tom, no familiar glasses, all unobstructed cold eyes.)

“I –” Liz starts again but she doesn’t make any more progress.

“Well,” demands Jennifer loudly, speaking to Reddington now. “Liz and I have discovered you. And we want to know the truth, all of it. And then we’re gonna kill you,” she spits the last part and the vulgar words having Liz choking, afraid.

They never talked about this part. Sure, it was implied – mostly by Jennifer – that harm would come to Reddington once they gathered as much evidence as they could and confronted him. But Liz hadn’t thought about it. Perhaps she hadn’t allowed herself. Her primal need for the truth had driven her to this point but it prevented her from looking beyond.

Does she really want to kill Red?

She breaks her frozen gaze from Jennifer and turns back to him, now looking much tenser, his face and eyes tight, gaze cold, and back rigid.

(He looks scared.)

No. No, she doesn’t.

“Talk!”

Jennifer barks it, loud and unexpected, scaring them all. Liz jumps, her hands shaking around her gun, and she sees Red’s hand instinctively twitch towards the small of his back, reaching for the holster Liz knows usually rests there, the one she now sees on the table across the room.

He is unarmed.

And of course he is, he was expecting her after all, Lizzie, not an ambush from both of his angry pseudo daughters.

(No. No, no, no.)

Liz remembers that he made no such defensive move when she burst into the room, angry and scared. He didn’t try to defend himself. He saw no need because he trusts her. Seeing him glaring at Jennifer now, the difference is stark. He feels no affection for her, this girl, this comparative child. Liz feels her heart pound.

(Red trusts her, loves her. The look in his eyes is proof enough. And she’s betrayed him. Again.)

She has to do something.

Liz tries to think, desperately trying to come up with a way to distract Jennifer, just long enough to talk some sense into her, maybe she can –

“Fine.”

Red’s voice immediately distracts her. He’s going to talk. Explain. Tell them everything.

Finally.

And without further ado, he begins.

“Your father, Raymond Reddington, was involved in covert ops for the United States government. He had a wife, Carla, and a daughter, you, Jennifer, before he was asked to go undercover to Russia to gather intel from a double-crossing Russian agent, his CI. Your mother, Lizzie, Katarina.”

Liz feels a shock, warm and sudden, as Red meets her eyes.

“Little did he know,” Red continues, “she was already entangled with the Cabal. But as Raymond Reddington became more involved with the situation in Russia, things became more dangerous for his family in the U.S. and Carla entered the witness protection program with you, Jennifer. As things progressed, R—”

“Wait,” interrupts Jennifer. “Did mom talk with you, I mean, the real Reddington, my dad, before she went into witness protection? I was so young, I don’t…” she trails off, her brow furrowed.

“No,” answers Red calmly. “Carla suspected an affair between Reddington and someone he was working with in Russia and was resentful of all the pain he had put their family through, as well as leaving her alone to care for you, as young as you were at the time. Carla up and left and, as far as Reddington was concerned, you two had all but disappeared.”

“That’s why you didn’t know where they were,” whispers Liz, the pieces fitting together slowly. “Reddington didn’t know, so you didn’t know.”

Red nods once.

“But why did you want to find them if they weren’t your actual –”

“I was curious,” states Red dispassionately. Liz can feel Jennifer stiffen beside her. “And the real Raymond Reddington would have stopped at nothing to find them both. I had to stay in character.”

“But,” splutters Jennifer, and Liz glances over to see tears are leaking from her eyes. “I – So – Dad didn’t abandon us? Mom always made him out to be the bad guy!”

Red looks at her evenly. “That depends on what you consider abandonment. Carla certainly felt abandoned. Reddington dedicated more time to his mission than his family. Not to mention he had an affair with Katarina, hence Elizabeth.” Liz watches Jennifer’s lip tremble as she listens. “But who’s to say that he didn’t come to his senses when they disappeared. He may have regretted his thoughtlessness. I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” shouts Jennifer suddenly, tears falling outright now. Liz feels a surge of adrenaline as Jennifer whips an arm back to wipe carelessly at her eyes, barely missing the trigger of her gun. Too close. “I have to know – how did – didn’t he care?”

She’s shouting now, furious and frustrated, and Liz feels a pang of sympathy. Jennifer has had much longer to stew in the mysteries of her past than Liz has. And, as Liz knows from experience, the not knowing is the worst part. Now she has the opportunity, Liz doesn’t blame Jennifer for pushing to know more.

(They must get their tenaciousness from their father.)

“Jennifer,” Liz says softly, trying to placate, but Jennifer jumps anyway, whirling towards her, gun and all, and Liz sees Red lurch forward on his knees, the first time he’s moved since Jennifer entered the room, with his hand outstretched as if to stop her. The unexpected motion has Jennifer turning back to train her gun on Red, conflicted and scared, and now it’s Liz’s turn to panic.

“Jennifer,” she says sharply. “You know that’s all he can tell you. You have to let it go now.”

“What,” she spits. “Are you on his side now?”

Liz’s heart stumbles.

“No,” she says, her voice trembling, the untruth burning her face. “But you’ve heard what you wanted to hear and I’m still waiting. You said we’d do this together. It’s my turn now.”

She sees Jennifer grit her teeth, annoyed but hearing the truth in her words.

“Fine.”

Liz wastes no time, turning back to Red immediately and finding him already staring at her with a curious expression. “Keep going,” she says urgently, desperately, and he nods after a brief moment.

“With Carla and Jennifer effectively removed from the situation, Reddington threw himself into his mission with Katarina and, as I said, things developed between them. They began an affair and she became pregnant with you, Lizzie. However, her husband, Constantin, was a loyal Russian agent, a dangerous one, and was unaware that Katarina was seeking asylum in the United States. Her desire to immigrate became even more urgent when you were born, Lizzie, and Katarina had to pretend you were Constantin’s daughter.”

“That’s why he came looking for me as a genetic match, he thought I was his,” Liz inserts the information she already had into the intricate tale Red is weaving, her eyes drifting as her mind moves a mile a minute. “But you persuaded him that I wasn’t…” Then she gasps, and her eyes fly back to Red. “You told him the truth, didn’t you? That I am Raymond Reddington’s daughter as he once suspected but his revenge was lost on you, since you aren’t…” she trails off, still having trouble disassociating Raymond Reddington from…well, Raymond Reddington.

“Yes,” Red affirms. “And I made sure he was eliminated afterwards. No one that I don’t implicitly trust can be told the truth and survive. It’s necessary to maintain the illusion.”

“What else?” Liz breathes, drunk on all the knowledge he’s giving her, more than he ever has before, afraid that he’ll stop and close off, return to the unreadable enigma he’s always been.

“The Cabal would only grant Katarina asylum if she brought them compromising information on Russia, which she finally managed to do when you were about four, Lizzie. She obtained the Fulcrum and fled Russia with you in one night, leaving Constantin, who had since begun to suspect Katarina and become dangerous to you both. Raymond Reddington escorted her to the house where everything changed…for all of us.”

“The house that caught fire,” Liz whispers, fully ensconced in his story, her story.

Their story.

“Wait,” Jennifer interrupts again, and Liz can tell she’s still interested, despite herself. “You keep saying ‘Raymond Reddington’ as if he’s another person and that’s because you’re referring to our actual father. But you haven’t mentioned yourself yet, so where do you come in? And how do you know all these things if you weren’t there yourself?”

“I was briefed on all of these events after the fact by reliable sources, after I assumed Raymond Reddington’s identity.”

Liz feels another shock go through her. This is the first time he’s said it outright like that. Blatant. Honest.

“You can trust my telling, it’s all true. And, to answer your other question, I’m about to enter the story. I was an up and coming naval intelligence officer while Raymond Reddington was in Russia. I was a hard worker and loved my job and, as a result, I rose to the top of my branch fairly quickly. Because of this, I was approached by the Cabal, masquerading at the time as a special branch of the military that needed my services. I considered it an honor to be asked to serve. I thought I was doing something worthy to serve my country. Little did I know the rampant politics and collusion that I was walking headfirst into.”

Liz can hear the bitterness in his tone, the regret and anger at the government he was once loyal to. She can easily imagine a younger Red – except he wasn’t Red then, no, he was someone else entirely, and god, her head hurts – as intelligent and driven as he is now, just more starry-eyed and hopeful, eager to please, only to have his whole life turned upside down by an evil organization intent only on serving their own interests. Liz absurdly feels her throat tighten at the thought.

“I was recruited and thrown into the situation in which Reddington and Katarina now found themselves. The Cabal –”

“Wait,” this time it’s Liz that is interrupting him, her tone slightly guilty but desperate. “Didn’t you have your own family? In your file, it says you abandoned your wife and daughter on Christmas Eve but…” Liz trails off, confused, and watches his eyes darken and pain take over his countenance. She suddenly regrets asking.

“Yes, I did,” he murmurs. “The Christmas Eve story in Reddington’s file is true. That was what happened to my own family, my wife and daughter, when I discovered what the Cabal truly was and attempted to reveal them. I disregarded their threats and…they killed my family. After I assumed Raymond’s Reddington’s identity, I changed the identities of my deceased wife and daughter to those of Carla and Jennifer to help protect them. That’s how I met Mr. Kaplan, actually.”

“Why?” demands Jennifer, chiming in now as the story returns to her personal history.

Red turns to look at her. “Witness protection is not infallible, Jennifer. Reddington had, and as a result I have, very powerful enemies. If they all believed you’d been killed, that was another layer of protection for you.”

“But why?” Liz asks in a much different tone, her eyes feeling wet. “Why would you make it look like your family never existed? Didn’t you –”

“They were both very loving and generous people, Lizzie,” he interrupts quietly, his eyes looking suspiciously wet now too. “I think they would both be happy to know that their deaths weren’t completely pointless. That they helped someone else somehow.”

A single tear escapes his long eyelashes and falls to the floor.

(And Liz feels the insane urge to lay down and cry at his feet, this man who sacrificed everything he held dear for people he didn’t even know.)

Red clears his throat roughly. “But by the time Katarina and Reddington made it safely to the United States, the Cabal assumed Reddington was more loyal to her and her daughter than the Cabal and sent me in to kill them both and obtain the fulcrum. I far as I was concerned, my family was gone, and I had nothing left to live for. I was weak and followed their orders blindly. However, the Cabal was wary of any changing loyalties and sent a team with me. When we arrived, I ordered them to hold position outside while I snuck in the house undetected, hoping to catch Reddington and Katarina unawares. I arrived just in time to hear them fighting over what to do about the Fulcrum.”

Red looks directly at her now, intensely. “They were very much in love, Lizzie, from what I understand. They were just having a disagreement over how best to handle the situation and, ultimately, protect you. You were there though and only about four years old and you didn’t know Reddington was your father. You only knew Constantin at the Summer Palace, that’s why you had such strong memories of the place. You didn’t know Reddington was your father, Lizzie, and he was fighting with your mother. You just wanted to help.”

His expression is earnest now and she can tell how much he doesn’t want to hurt her by telling her the truth. She feels tears rolling down her cheeks now as she nods at him. “How did it happen?”

Red swallows, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing in a hushed tone. “There was a gun, I’m not sure whose it was, probably Reddington’s, one he had carelessly abandoned. You had lived among spies and traitors long enough in your short life to know what a gun did. I watched from the shadows as you took the gun and pointed it, too quickly for me to stop you, there wasn’t any time, I couldn’t get to you in time –”

He seems desperate for her to understand this, and she can see the guilt weighing on him, her Atlas, trying to hold up the world for her, because he feels he owes her for what happened.

(She’s seeing him more clearly than ever.)

“It’s okay,” she’s whispering, shaking her head. “Keeping going, it’s okay.” And she can feel Jennifer looking at her oddly, but she ignores her because their story isn’t over.

It’s just beginning.

“You shot him,” Red gasps, a little exhale that has her hurting inside, even though she already knew what happened that night. She’s feels like she’s reliving it with him. “He died instantly, you must have hit a vital organ, and Katarina screamed. The gunshot tipped off the team waiting outside and they…they set fire to the house. They must have had other orders from the Cabal. Thinking their job done, they left. You ran off, frightened, and hid somewhere. I went outside and tried to put the fire out from there, but it caught too quickly. Knowing you and your mother were still inside, I went back in. Even though it was my directive to kill her, I couldn’t leave her to burn. Somehow that was…worse. I could hear her still there crying over your father’s body, but by the time I had returned, the flames had blocked off the room and I couldn’t get to her. I made the choice to leave her and search for you. I assumed she died in the fire until I later found out she survived the fire and, thinking you dead, walked into the ocean at Cape May. I don’t think she ever knew you survived. I tried to save her Lizzie, but I couldn’t find a way to get to her. She couldn’t hear me over the flames.”

A curious look glazes over Red’s eyes. “Fire is as loud as it is hot. I had no idea…I didn’t think that it…” he trails off, lost somewhere in the past until Jennifer shifts impatiently on her feet and he seems to snap out of it.

“The fire was bad by this point, everywhere, bringing the house down in places,” he continues haltingly, and Liz can tell immediately that he’s editing something out. Her throat is too clogged with tears to stop him. “I couldn’t save Katarina, but I knew you were still somewhere in the house and…I couldn’t leave you. You were just a child. I searched and yelled for you and soon I heard you screaming from inside a closet. Miraculously, the fire hadn’t reached you yet, but we didn’t have much time. I pulled you from the closet, you and your stuffed bunny, and we…escaped.”

So, he saved her. Liz must have always known on some level because she feels no true surprise at the revelation, just a calm acceptance. Some unidentifiable feeling is trying to push through the tears clogging her up, but she shoves it back, unable to handle anything else right now.

“I took you to Sam,” he says on an exhale, and Liz can tell the worst of it has passed. “He was my good friend from our military days and I didn’t know what else to do with a child. The Cabal was after me at this point for directly disobeying orders and I couldn’t take you with me, it was too dangerous. Besides, Sam always wanted a daughter.” He looks up to give her a watery smile and she lets out a small huff through her tears.

“I know,” she murmurs. Sam had often told her as much.

(God, she misses her dad.)

“I hid out for a few days,” Red’s saying now. “And thought everything through. I felt responsible about what happened to you and your parents. I soon decided that, with no family of my own left, the only thing I could do was try to fight the Cabal to create a safe future for you, in case they ever figured out who you were. My only goal was that yours was the last family the Cabal destroyed.” A dark fire enters Red’s eyes at his last words and Liz knows that this desire still burns within him.

(That’s the Red she knows, a dark harbinger of vengeful justice.)

“But I had nothing and no one to help me and it didn’t take me long to realize that Raymond Reddington many more contacts and resources than I did. So,” – the nonchalant shrug he gives here is almost hilarious – “I became him. We already had the same basic facial structure, body type, hair color – all things I considered signs that I was doing the right thing, though obviously they were just coincidences – and I had a few changes made to become a passable likeness. I didn’t have to do much, considering Reddington had been a top-secret agent, uncover mostly, and no one truly knew what he looked like. He was a ghost, a shadow, a rumor. So, I learned as much as I could about him and adopted some mannerisms but, mostly, I remade him. Created a new Reddington and built a criminal empire, making connections and calling in favors, running from the Cabal and trying to dismantle it from a distance.”

Red looks up at this, gazing somewhere over Liz’s shoulder in slight wonder. “The strangest part is, no one questioned it. It’s amazing what people will accept if you believe it yourself. Besides, I’d always been a good actor.” He meets Liz’s eyes then, curiously tentative and unsure. Afraid.

It hits her then how much he has just revealed, everything he has told them, things he has only trusted with a select few, and she wonders if she knows who he is anymore. She enormity of it all makes her head spin and she just blinks back at him, unfocused.

“Is that all?” asks Jennifer abruptly.

Red turns to her, his gaze hardening. “Yes.”

Jennifer glares at him long enough that Liz wonders what she’s thinking.

(What will she do?)

“You had no right!” she explodes suddenly, her eyes wild again in an instant and Liz feels cold dread settle in the pit of her stomach. “You sullied our father’s name, changed who he was, made a criminal out of him! You as good as killed him!”

The gun in her hands is shaking now and Liz is afraid. She understands though. Jennifer’s had comparatively little to do with this whole mess but everything she has learned tonight is shocking. Her father, whom at one point she thought was still alive and standing in front of her, betrayed her mother, may or may not have regretted it, had a child with another woman, and died an accidental death at the hands of her bastard half-sister, entangled in the politics of his job and the complications he created. Before now, maybe Jennifer had been holding onto the insane hope that her father was still alive somewhere. And even if not, Liz is sure she was holding onto some vain hope that he had good reasons for doing what he did to his family.

(Jennifer wants so desperately to forgive him.)

But, finding him irredeemable and nothing but more anger in the truth she’s wanted for years, she’s near homicidal. The only one here to blame is Red. And she’s got a gun.

“Jennifer –” starts Liz for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, but Jennifer is shaking with rage.

“No!” she yells, glaring at Red. “It’s all his fault! If he hadn’t – he shouldn’t of – he can’t –” But she’s too upset to form words, baseless accusations, desperate blame-placing, and the only thing she can do is cock the hammer of her gun with a damning click that sounds like a bomb to Liz’s ears, and point it at Red.

Red.

“NO!” the yell is ripped from her before she even knows what she’s doing, and she’s moved to stand in front of Red, who’s still defenseless on his knees, and suddenly she’s staring down the barrel of Jennifer’s gun.

(How, oh how, did she get here?)

Liz meets Jennifer’s eyes over the gun, which has lowered slightly in surprise, and watches as confusion colors her face, some of the anger seeping out.

“What are you doing, Liz? Get out of the way!” she yells. “This is what we’ve been waiting for!”

“No, Jennifer,” Liz says firmly. “This is what you’ve been waiting for! I never agreed to this!”

“What are you talking about?” she demands, incredulous. “He’s the reason our father’s dead!”

“No, he’s not!” Liz says, her voice rising. “He’s not and you would understand that if you calmed down enough to think!”

Jennifer grits her teeth and scowls at her. “Well, he as good as killed him! And it doesn’t even matter, he deserves to die after everything he’s done!”

“You’re not the one that gets to decide that, Jennifer!” yells Liz. “And he’s saved my life too many times for me to just let you kill him like this!”

“What do you like him now?” sneers Jennifer. “Has he become the daddy you always wanted?”

Liz feels anger spark hot embers inside her and she glares at Jennifer.

(She feels Red shift slightly behind her at Jennifer’s words.)

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jennifer,” she says lowly, seething. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“Oh, you’re gonna hurt me, Liz? Your own sister?” she taunts, heedless of her warnings.

“Half-sister,” Liz corrects nastily. “And I will if I have to. You need to walk away.”

“Why the hell would I walk away?” screams Jennifer, truly losing it now. “I’ve been waiting for years to get my revenge and I’m not gonna let you stand in my way! What incentive do I have to leave right now? And even if I did, I’d just find another way to get to him!”

“No, you won’t,” snaps Liz, an idea occurring to her that gives her hope. “Do you have any idea how many people you’ve killed, both indirectly and by your own hand, in pursuit of evidence against him?” she jerks her head backwards towards Red.

Jennifer blinks. “So?” she demands.

“I work for the FBI, dumb-ass!” snaps Liz. “I can implicate you in so many murders that they’ll put you away for life. Is that what you want?”

Jennifer’s guns wavers. Liz has her.

“I’ll make you a deal. As long as you stay far away from Red and I, just walk away and leave us, you’ll stay in the free and clear. But only as long as you do that. If you come near us again, if you ever try to hurt him, I will personally pick out your prison cell. Understand?”

Jennifer grinds her teeth, furious, looking for a way out and, not finding any, puts her gun down with a frustrated scream.

“Fine, Liz, stay with the imposter, the traitor, if that’s what you want, I don’t care! Just know that you’re no sister of mine! And you –” she leans around Liz to point fiercely at Red, making Liz lift her gun warningly “– know that I will never forgive you.”

They stare each other down for a long, tense moment before Jennifer whips around and storms out of the room, gone.

There is a long moment of nothing while Liz stares after her, feeling empty, numb, until she hears Red stir behind her, standing slowly.

He waits a moment while Liz reels inside before he speaks.

“Lizzie?”

She can’t say anything.

“Lizzie, I –”

And she feels his warm hand tentatively touch her cold one from behind, startling her to her core and she whips around, feeling her breathing start to speed up, her eyes wide. Red remains frozen, watching her warily with concern, and she just stares blankly at him for a moment.

There’s only one thought echoing over and over in her over-saturated brain as she looks at him.

“I don’t know who you are anymore.”

It’s a whisper, broken and tearful. Scared.

Red looks at her sadly.

“Yes, you do.”

He matches her, tone for tone, and it’s too much, something breaks inside and she’s spinning for the door, with a wordless groan.

“No, I have to leave –”

“Lizzie –”

“Leave me alone!”

She slams the door behind her, running from him, terrified and alone.

And she doesn’t know if she’ll ever stop.

Liz doesn’t remember getting back to her house – she suspects more traffic violations were involved, dark roads and loud car horns in the swirling snow – but when she becomes aware again, she’s sitting on her bathroom floor with her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking.

Everything she knew, everything she learned, everything that’s real to her now is crashing over her in waves, trying to sink her, and she’s just barely treading water, kicking her feet wildly, trying to keep her chin above the water line of everything that is too much.

Her father and her family and her history and her past and –

She’s pulling at her clothes now, yanking her shirt over her head and kicking out of her jeans, desperate to be free of the restraints, and stumbling towards the shower. Yes, a shower will help, hot water fixes everything doesn’t it?

(But she already feels like she’s drowning, so why is she heading into deeper water?)

Liz sets the water to the hottest it will go and turns her face up, her eyes closed and her thoughts racing.

She was the product of an affair, as she suspected, and supposedly there was love between her parents but who really knows? She’ll never be able to ask them because she killed her father and her mother – well, Liz is responsible for her death as well, isn’t she? Oh god, she killed both her parents –

And Red.

Red.

He saved her from the fire. He saved her life because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and his family –

It’s getting harder to breathe now, standing in the shower thinking about all this, and some voice in the back of her brain is telling her she’s quickly entering the throes of a panic attack, but she can’t stop it. She only manages to shut the water off and stumble out of the shower, tears starting to mix with the water dripping from her hair as she yanks a towel off the rack to wrap around herself as she sinks to the floor, gasping for air amid her sobs.

Red, the one she swore to destroy, the one she thought destroyed her life, is a victim of destruction himself. He did the best he could with the awful circumstances he was thrown into and he didn’t mean to, Red didn’t –

But he’s not Red. She shudders from the cold settling into her wet skin and she feels so violated. He’s a strange man she doesn’t actually know, and he pretended to be someone else to get close to her –

Wait. No. No, that was Tom. Tom did that. Red? Red cares about her. That much couldn’t have been a ruse, not with the way he looked at her tonight. The only person Red has been pretending to be is Raymond Reddington. Her father. But he’s still Red to her and Red loves her. But –

Liz can’t take it anymore, she’s gasping and crying, and she can’t calm down and the only thing she can think to do is reach for her discarded pants and pull out her phone, hitting number seven on her speed dial with a shaking finger.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Lizzie?”

“Red – please – h-help me –”

“I’ll be right there.”

And he is, like he always is, throwing open the door an unknown amount of time later to find her still sitting there crying, still huddled in her towel, still needing him.

“Lizzie –” he gasps and he's down on the floor within seconds, tearing his coat off and wrapping it around her, quickly followed by his arms.

And she's desperate for the warmth and comfort he has always provided her and she's turning her face into his chest, wetting it with her tears, mumbling indistinct phrases and words while he rubs her back and tries to calm her.

“I killed them both – how can I – oh god – and you – you saved me – you –”

“Lizzie, it's okay, sweetheart, you just need to breathe and get warm, it's okay, I've got you –”

She manages to get her breathing under control and stifle the tears long enough to look up at him, his hand pausing in its ceaseless stroking of her hair, and he looks down at her, concern and anguish plain on his face.

He cares.

Doesn’t he?

“Red?” she whispers, sniffling pathetically.

“Yes, Lizzie?” he asks desperately, worried.

“Do you care about me? Even though you’re not my father? Cause if you don’t, I don’t have anyone left, anyone at all, that cares – so please tell me you still – if you don’t – I can’t –”

“Oh, Lizzie,” he murmurs, rocking her gently. “Of course, I do, don’t be ridiculous –”

“But,” she hiccups, plowing forward, working herself up again. “We’re not related, I’m just some kid you saved from a fire. My parents are the reason your family died, if I was never born, you’d still have your wife and your daughter –”

And she’s starting to spiral again, the enormity of it hitting her all over again, just too much to comprehend, and Red knows it and he’s trying to help her, speaking quickly now.

“Lizzie, Lizzie, you can’t do that, don’t think that way, Lizzie, it won’t help anything –”

“How can you stand me?” she’s sobbing uncontrollably now. “I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you –”

And suddenly hands are gripping her face and he’s turning her around to face him, looking her so fiercely in the eye that she finally stops speaking.

“Lizzie, listen to me. None of what happened to me is your fault. If anything, you helped me stay alive for the past thirty years. You’re the only thing that’s kept me going through this never-ending battle. You have no idea how you’ve saved me, the things you’ve made me feel again, Lizzie, please – don’t doubt for a second – you must believe me – Lizzie, I adore you –”

He breaks off, biting the side of his mouth to stop himself, but his eyes are still speaking, burning at her in a way she’s seen a few times, but it’s never glared at her like this before.

(It’s near blinding but she can’t stop looking because it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.)

And she’s been hanging on his every word, here on the bathroom floor, aching to believe him, needing something real to hold onto as badly as she needs air, and the words he’s forced into her ears have her gripping him back, watching his lips as he bites them, fighting at the strength of his emotion and some insane, uncontrollable urge has her surging forward, almost climbing up his prone body on the floor, completely heedless of her towel and his jacket, her hands going to his shoulders to steady herself as she moves to kiss him and it will be perfect, everything she needs right now, everything will fall into place, and –

But no, his hands are suddenly strong on her shoulders, pushing her away, not pulling her closer, and the thought has tears welling in her eyes yet again, because he doesn’t want her after all –

But he’s speaking again, just as urgently as before. “Lizzie, no, sweetheart, you’re not thinking clearly, we can’t do this, you’ll regret this later, Lizzie, please, don’t cry –”

And she’s sobbing again, her heart breaking in so many pieces she can’t even count and she’s choking out words. “You – don’t – want – me –”

But he’s holding her firm again and speaking in that same way, undeniable. “Lizzie, this has nothing to do with what I want, you have no idea, if only you knew how much I want you – but Lizzie, you just need to calm down first, that’s all –”

And she’s throwing her arms back around his neck in relief and he’s holding her but what’s that she feels, right under the edge of his dress shirt? She slides a shaking hand down a little further, any sense of discretion lost long ago when this suffocating waterfall crashed down on top of her, and she feels a curiously familiar texture the further down she goes and he’s tensing beneath her and oh no –

“Lizzie –”

It’s all very clear suddenly. This is the only thing he edited out tonight, that one small nugget of information he visibly held back, the thing that changes it all, because these are scars he suffered for her on that night –

(He gave her everything.)

And very abruptly it’s all too much. Lizzie feels herself starting to pass out with something like relief, her brain just shutting down, falling into blackness, and she’s so grateful that she can finally escape it all. The last thing she hears is Red calling her name and the last thing she feels is the odd sensation of being lifted when the rest of her is sinking downwards and she knows he’s taking her somewhere and she truly doesn’t care where.

(He can do what he likes with her.)

Liz wakes late the next morning, her eyes gritty and her sinuses congested, and for one moment she is blissfully unaware of everything that happened the night before. It takes a full minute for it all to come flooding back, hitting her with a physical force that makes her let out a lungful of air, and she turns her head into her pillow, trying to sink back into the darkness.

(She knows she can’t hide forever but can’t stop herself from trying.)

When that doesn’t work, she slowly pushes herself up into a sitting position, finding herself still wrapped in her now-dry towel and Red’s coat as well as tangled in her sheets. She kicks it all off and stands naked in her bedroom, about to head for the bathroom, figuring she should finish the shower that she never really started last night, when she hears a noise downstairs. There’s someone else in her house and she has no doubt that it’s Red.

(She’s not sure what it means that she knew the second she woke up that he was near.)

Not particularly bothered by the fact that he never left last night, Liz proceeds with her shower, taking the opportunity to think as she couldn’t last night, with a slightly more clear and objective head and some sleep.

She feels a bit more human by the time she’s scrubbed her face clean and washed her hair and when she gets out of the shower to dry off, she stops to examine her face in the mirror.

She looks awful.

Liz’s face is very pale and drawn, with dark circles under eyes despite the fact that she slept the whole night and most of the morning undisturbed. Her eyelids are heavy and swollen there’s very little life in her face.

(She supposes that’s what receiving life altering information does.)

Feeling no motivation to make her presentable, Liz simply draws her half-dry hair up into a messy bun and finds some clean, warm sweatpants and a hoodie, feeling slightly more protected this way.

(Protected from what, she doesn’t exactly know.)

Without further ado, she picks up Red’s coat and leaves her room, heading downstairs. She’s heard no more movement from Red, but she gravitates towards the living room, walking quietly in her bare feet and peeking around the corner to see him there.

He’s asleep, which surprises her, though she supposes it shouldn’t. He went through just as much trauma and emotional pain as she did last night, not to mention everything he had to deal with coming from her. He’s curled up on her couch, still completely dressed, including his shoes, looking small and cold. He has no pillow or blanket and she immediately feels ashamed.

(She couldn’t even manage to provide a blanket for the man who saved her life. She’s awful.)

Liz hurries over and gently drapes his coat over him. He doesn’t stir, and she takes the rare opportunity to kneel on the floor in front of him and stare at his face.

He looks younger when he’s asleep, his tan face relaxed and his jaw slack. Liz misses the expressive depth of his eyes, but she examines his eyelashes instead. How did she never notice how long and blonde they are? He’s a beautiful man.

And she immediately shoves that inappropriate thought out of her head. She can’t think that way, not about Red.

(As much as she may want to.)

She’s loathe to wake him but she knows they have to talk. And as painful as the subject matter is, she has a feeling she won’t truly feel better until they discuss things. So, Liz reaches out and very gently rests a hand on his cheek.

His eyes flutter open immediately, with no utterance from either of them, and she can tell that he’s instantly alert, looking directly into her eyes and nowhere else. There is silence between them for a long moment before he breaks it with her name.

(What else?)

“Lizzie.”

His voice is husky as well as deep in the morning and she shivers pleasantly at the sound of it before she manages to suppress it. She must stop that.

“How are you this morning?”

After everything that happened last night, and his first thought is still of her.

(Oh, Red.)

“A little better, thank you,” she murmurs. “I…I am so sorry about last night, Red.”

He frowns and is taking her hand from his face before she can move, turning it to cradle in both of his as he sits upright, his coat slumping off him onto the couch.

“Lizzie, you have nothing to apologize for,” he says, quiet but intense. “Yesterday was…too much. I would have been surprised if you weren’t overwhelmed. My only concern is that you’re doing better now.”

Liz’s eyes fill with tears at his kindness. No. No more tears. Enough of those were shed last night. “I am. Sleep and a shower does wonders for a person,” she manages a thin smile that he instantly returns. “Come on, I could use some coffee.”

She gently removes her hand from his and stands, heading for the kitchen. She hears him rise and stretch, following her a moment later and perching at the bar while she starts up the coffee maker and puts out mugs mechanically. Neither of them speaks while the coffee maker spurts and brews, some unspoken agreement keeping them silent while they wait for the coffee to brew, putting off the broaching of any sensitive topics.

Once the coffee is poured and their hands are wrapped around their warm mugs, Liz speaks.

(She might as well dive right back into the bottomless ocean Red dragged her out of last night. At least, he’s here as her lifeguard this time.)

“I…I don’t really know where to begin,” she mumbles. “But I guess the two most important things for me to say to you right now are ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘thank you’.”

She looks up tentatively from her mug to see Red frowning in disagreement and opening his mouth to speak. She waves to cut him off.

“Don’t. Just…let me talk, please. There’s some things I need to…say out loud.”

He purses his lips but nods, gesturing for her to continue.

“I’m sorry that I went behind your back, again, and conspired with Jennifer to hurt you. I was just…so angry at the things I found out and I couldn’t fathom just asking you about them. I should really know better by now.” She gives a little sad smile and shakes her head lightly. “I’m sorry for putting you in danger last night. I didn’t think far ahead enough to predict what Jennifer would do in that situation and…it was too close. We’re just lucky she left, and no one got hurt.”

Liz chances a look up at Red again and he’s just staring at her, with a solemn expression on his face and kind eyes.

(She almost can’t take it.)

“And as far as ‘thank you’ goes…,” Liz trails off and shrugs helplessly at him. “I mean, there’s literally nothing that’s happened in my life that I shouldn’t be thanking you for. I’m alive because of you. I had Sam because of you. And…I survived last night because of you.”

He has tears in his eyes now and honestly, so does she, but she refuses to let them fall. She has to be strong now.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough,” she whispers ardently, looking him in the eyes as she speaks, and he shakes his head vigorously, finally breaking his promise to let her talk uninterrupted.

“Lizzie,” he breathes. “You have nothing to thank me for. If I had simply held true to my beliefs and stood up to the Cabal, your parents would still be alive. It’s my fault they’re dead, Lizzie, you should be furious –”

“Furious?” blurts Lizzie with a watery and slightly hysterical laugh. “Red, I’m the one that pulled that trigger. You can’t –”

“You were just a child, Lizzie!” He abandons his coffee mug to grab her hands and pull her close. “In no universe can you be blamed for what happened that night. I was the only other adult there, I was the one that should have stopped it all. I could have.” He lowers his eyes and his voice drops to a whisper. “Lizzie, you have no idea how many nights I’ve laid awake wishing I could change what happened. And I’ve been trying to make it up to you ever since.”

Liz’s throat tightens. “I know. And you have made it up to me. Hundreds of times over. Red, I don’t blame you for that night. Please believe that,” she grips his hands. “It was a horrible tragedy. And it could have been worse. I could have died. If you hadn’t been there, I would have. And that’s what I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to repay.”

To her surprise, Red smiles and lets out a wry chuckle, and the words he says next are ones that she’ll never forget.

“Don’t you see, Lizzie? Saving you was the only good thing I did that night. If you hadn’t survived, I would have had nothing to live for. Saving you was my salvation. And, while I’ll never be able to repay that debt, I will never stop trying.”

Liz can do nothing now but throw her arms around his neck, completely in awe. Red wraps his arms around her waist in return, pressing his face into her shoulder and inhaling. The warm feeling that goes through her feels so good it must be wrong, and she pulls back to look him in the eye.

“Looks like we’re never going to see eye to eye on this, are we?” she asks unsteadily, and he stares at her with a tender gaze, shaking his head slowly. Liz sighs in defeat.

And then Red surprises her by suddenly bringing a hand up to her cheek, much like what she did to wake him. The look in his eyes intensifies and becomes so captivating that she can’t possibly look away, his eyes burning through her helplessly.

(She’s afraid.)

Liz somehow manages to rip herself away from his gaze and his grip, moving away and returning to the safety of her coffee mug at the counter, feeling light-headed and uncomfortable.

“Well, what do we do now?” she asks breathlessly, not turning around.

It’s a tense moment before he replies. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” she thinks for a moment. “Do we continue with the blacklist? We haven’t dismantled the Cabal yet and, now that I know your true motivation behind the mission, I want to help you.”

“Lizzie,” Red starts and she feels brave enough now to turn and look at him. “I don’t want you to help me because you feel obligated to. I need you to want it too. That’s the only way this can continue.”

“I do want to,” she assures him, and she can feel that inside. There’s a small flame that was ignited last night, somewhere underneath everything else that demanded her attention, a fire that burns to avenge her parent’s deaths. “Even though I was the one to pull the trigger that night, the circumstances around my parent’s deaths were out of my control. It all stems from the Cabal. And they have to pay.”

She can feel the fierce look on her face and he’s smiling at her proudly, a look that inspires her next words. “And, as I think we’ve proven time and time again…we make a great team.” She gives him a crooked smile that he can’t help but return, beaming at her and she feels warm again.

“All right, then,” Red says happily. “The blacklist will continue.”

Liz smiles triumphantly at him.

(She has an odd feeling that her parents would be proud of her.)

Liz turns back to her coffee mug, feeling tired all over again but still strangely energized.

And then Red surprises her by speaking again.

“I think there’s still one other thing we have to discuss, Lizzie.”

Liz freezes with her hands around her mug. She thought remembered something else happening last night, something she did that was potentially mortifying, but she’s been ignoring it until now, hoping it wouldn’t matter in the face of all their other issues.

(Silly her. It’s easily the most important thing. It always has been.)

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Do you remember trying to kiss me last night?”

God, he just gets right to it, doesn’t he? What is she supposed to say to that?

“Vaguely,” she mutters, feeling herself redden. “I’m sorry about that, Red. I wasn’t in my right mind. I know it wasn’t appropriate and I understand why you pushed me away.”

There is a beat of silence where she holds her breath.

“You don’t remember what I told you, do you?”

Liz looks up at that, surprised. “No. Things are a little…muddled.”

He nods understandingly. “Lizzie, I didn’t push you away because I thought it was inappropriate. I pushed you away because you were in no state to go there and, frankly, neither was I.”

Liz stares at him blankly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I have no objections to pursuing that now,” he finishes plainly, stating his words very clearly, as if it were completely expected.

(She stomps fiercely on the small flutter in her chest.)

Liz’s mind starts to whirl. She abandons her mug on the counter and hurries past him, starting to pace back and forth across her living room.

“Red, what –” she stutters. “What are you – are you crazy?”

(Back.)

He just blinks at her. “I’m sorry?”

Liz looks at him like he has four heads. “We can’t be together, Red!”

(Forth.)

He merely looks confused now. “Why not?”

Liz gapes at him. “You’ve been pretending to be my father for thirty years!”

(Back.)

“No.”

And his tone, suddenly sharper and very direct, all traces of kindness gone, make her turn abruptly to face him, ceasing her pacing.

“I’ve been pretending to be Raymond Reddington for thirty years,” he states, now moving towards her across the room. “There’s not a day in my life that I’ve pretended to be your father, Lizzie.”

(Her heart stumbles in her chest. Is he saying what she thinks he’s saying?)

“But – but –” she stutters, completely taken aback. “Other people – they’ll think –”

“What will they think, Lizzie?” he presses, moving slowly closer to her frozen form. “I’ve gone to great lengths over the past three decades to make sure that no one knows the true identity of your birth father. Any bystander would assume it was Constantin or even Sam. Or perhaps you never actually found out. People will believe what you tell them, trust me.” He chuckles dryly. “The only people on earth that know your father is Raymond Reddington are Jennifer and Dembe. Jennifer has been rather effectively silenced, thanks to you, and I think it’s safe to say that we both trust Dembe with our lives. Anyone who puts the pieces together – which is highly unlikely, if you ask me – could conduct a simple DNA test to find out that we are not related.”

The words are spoken with such emphasis as he advances towards her, passion evident in his eyes, and Liz can do nothing but stare incredulously at him, unconsciously backing up as he moves forward, starting to hear the logic in his words.

(It’s incredibly, beautifully, impossibly, dangerously tempting.)

“There is absolutely no genetic or societal reason why we can’t be together, Lizzie,” he continues fervently. “We know the truth. The only thing standing in our way is…preconceived notions.”

“Preconceived notions…” she breaths.

Her back hits the wall.

“I have feelings for you, Lizzie, and I have for a long time. Do you have feelings for me?”

He stops in front of her now, close to her, and her heart hammers at his proximity. Can it really be that simple? Can she allow herself to want what she’s denied herself for so long on baseless principles?

(Maybe. But she’s afraid.)

“Lizzie…”

He moves closer, placing his hands gently on either side of the wall behind her, not constraining her – he would never do that – but persuading her, gently trying to convince her to give in to what he knows is right. He’s murmuring sweet words to her, things she knows he’s always wanted to say and he’s leaning forward to ghost his nose down her neck and into her hair, smelling her shampoo and sighing happily.

Liz’s head thumps back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut as lazy pleasure unfurl through her body at his ministrations, and she sighs helplessly, whimpering a little when his lips pass over her pulse.

(She wants him. God help her, she wants him.)

“Red…” It’s breathy sigh that she’s been holding in for longer than she knows, and he looks up at her, cupping her cheek gently and gazing into her eyes.

“Why not us, Lizzie? Why not us?”

And in that instant, everything clicks into place. Why not? Why not them? Why deny themselves this connection, this spark they’ve been ignoring for years? They may be unlikely and unusual but that’s what makes them them and they know the truth and the truth is that there is nothing inherently bad about them, nothing that can stop them. They are made for one another and how rare is it to find your perfect match? Because the minute they saved each other from the fire that changed their lives, their fate was as good as sealed. And if there’s one thing that rings true with Liz, it’s that fate can’t be denied.

She loves him.

(And the minute she admits it to herself, she feels more at peace than she has in the last six years.

She’s home.)

And he’s waiting patiently for her to decide and he’s been waiting for much longer than she realizes, and it feels better than anything she’s ever felt to say the word to him.

“Yes.”

The happiness and love in his eyes is everything to her and he wastes no time in pressing forward to touch his lips to her, taking in a breath against her lips as they meet and kiss for the first time, and Liz does the opposite, his perfect match, sighing in relief and wrapping her arms around his shoulders as they melt against each other.

(It feels wonderful to finally stop fighting.)

Red presses closer to her, using the wall to keep them anchored, and Liz leans against him, as she’s always been able to do, cupping her hands around his neck and trembling from want. It’s another long moment of intense feeling and being and living before Red gently pulls away and they stare at one another in shock at what they are together.

Liz can’t help but gaze at him in wonder, marveling at how they got here and how, against all odds, things have worked out for them, and she’s speaking softly before she’s truly digested everything.

(He’s always been the first to hear her thoughts.)

“Life is full of surprises, isn’t it, Red?”

Red lets out a quiet laugh, his warm breath wafting over her face and he just smiles and nods, stroking her hair lovingly.

“It is. I must say, I never expected to fall in love with you…” His thumb passes over her cheek. “But the biggest surprise…is you loving me back.”

Tears fill Liz’s eyes once again and she can do nothing more than kiss him again because why on earth wouldn’t she love this man? This selfless, pure, giving man who has spent the better part of his life rescuing her.

(She only hopes that they can spend the rest of their lives saving each other. Together.)

They continue to kiss, wrapped up in their warmth and newly accepted love, while the snow falls outside her window in the light of the setting sun, peaceful and quiet.

Tonight, it will stick.

#The Blacklist #Lizzington #mine #fanfic #theblacklistsecretsanta #the blacklist secret santa #scifi-gk #this fic was a tough one #had a hard time finishing it #so i'm super nervous and curious as to how it comes across #i really hope you like it scifi-gk!!#:D #happy holidays to you and yours!!#:)#much love!!#<3

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meetmeatthecoda · 6 years

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Fic!!

@scifi-gk Here ya go!! :D The “tonight” I promised turned into “stupidly late bordering on early morning” but my posting usually does that sooo sorry about that :)) But yeah, here’s eight tiny chapters of fic based on this post called “Sweet OTP Things” which was just too damn cute to pass up. I used it especially to practice writing really short things really quickly. Trying to weave a believable situation complete with cute OTP feels in just a couple of lines is hard!! LOL so here’s my practice, basically! :D But I hope it’s still enjoyable! :)) Any feedback is loved and this will be posted on FF.net and AO3 as “Sweet Moments” with a link to the inspiration post! :) Much love y’all! <3

Give me more of Person A nuzzling into Person B’s neck because they’re cold and tired, and Person B m e l t i n g.

The heat’s on, filling the car with warm air swirling around them, slowly thawing their fingers and toes, numb from being out so long in the frigid December air. They’re huddled closer together than they normally would be in the backseat, gravitating toward the closest source of warmth in the dark.

Red sits very still, not wanting to disturb the odd peace and stillness that has settled over them here in the backseat, Dembe driving up front, seemingly immune to the atmosphere behind him. Lizzie is pressed close to his side, shivering slightly, and Red is cold too but he’s more worried about her. They were outside for too long and her coat is far too thin and –

Then he hears her teeth start to chatter and he simply can’t take it anymore. Red shifts to pull his arm out from where it is trapped against hers, his heart fluttering at her quiet noise of protest, and puts his arm around her shoulders instead, fully tucking her into his side.

Lizzie doesn’t question it, only exhaling a small breath in surprise, something Red can feel thanks to how close they are, and then it’s only a moment before she’s moving even closer, throwing her free arm around his waist and turning her head. He wonders for a moment what exactly she’s doing before he feels a cold shock on the warm skin of his neck and he completely melts inside as he realizes it’s her nose, because she’s nuzzling into his neck, her eyes closing with a quiet, contented sigh.

And Red stares wide-eyed into the darkness of the car, completely in shock as the secret love of his life cuddles with him.

Because Red?

Well, he’s warm now.

*7 more of these under the cut!*

Give me more slow dancing with no music, arms wrapped tightly around each other, breaths mingling.

She’s sitting on the couch, tucked into one corner, looking small and sad, her eyes heavy and wet. He feels his heart ache for her, wants to help her, always. And the only thing he can think to do is move forward and offer her his hand.

(It certainly isn’t the first time he’s surrendered to her.)

She looks at him in confusion, her brow furrowing and her chin trembling, looking so lost that he can only do one thing. He simply reaches down and takes her hand, tugging her gently but firmly to stand, pulling her without hesitation into his arms. She goes without resistance, not taking her hand back and unconsciously bringing the other up to rest lightly on his chest. With that, Red starts to move, just swaying slightly from side to side, taking her with him.

“What are we doing?” she asks quietly, a whisper, really, just breathing the question to him.

“We’re dancing, Lizzie,” he answers just as softly, slowly moving his free arm to rest around her waist.

“But there’s no music, Red,” she murmurs, sounding a little amused now and he’s so happy, even if it’s technically at his expense, loving the thought of her fondly shaking her head over his silly antics.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” he whispers, bringing his cheek to rest ever so gently against hers, silken and soft, warm and lovely. Perfect.

Lizzie.

“We’ll make our own.”

Give me more of Person A playing with Person B’s fingers because they’re bored, tracing the skin, examining the scars.

They’re only an hour into their long flight to Paris, nowhere near landing, and Liz is already restless. She’s finished the book she was almost done with when they boarded Red’s private jet and she was stupid enough not to bring a second one so here she is, tired of gazing out the window and too excited to sleep.

Bored.

Red is there next to her, as usual, occupied with a crossword puzzle, happy as can be. Liz would peer over his shoulder and try to help but Red likes to do his puzzles himself.

Stubborn man.

So, Liz can do nothing but stare, watch him frown at the paper, his bottom lip jutting out in the cutest pout, before his eyes light up as he thinks of the answer, hurriedly leaning forward to write it in. Liz feels her lips quirk up in a grin, something completely beyond her control. He’s just too adorable.

Liz’s eyes drift down Red’s arm, bared to her gaze by his rolled-up sleeve, and down to his hand, holding his signature red pen, neatly writing letters in the little boxes. His hands are really something, strong and capable, all long fingers and neat nails, a light dusting of blonde hair, and, when she looks a little closer, a curious collection of marks.

Liz frowns, leaning forward and unceremoniously taking Red’s writing hand in both of her own, running her fingers over the tendons and knuckles, and spying a faint line right above his middle finger. It could be from anything, knowing Red. Knife, sword, scissors. She can never tell with him.

“What’s this from?” she asks without preamble, tracing the long line with her own finger.

“Paper cut,” he answers simply, not questioning her sudden inspection.

Oh.

Liz smiles and hums absently in response, moving to run her thumb over the prominent bone of his wrist instead.

“Lizzie?” Red questions idly.

“Hmm?”

“As much as I’m enjoying this, do you think I’ll be getting my hand back anytime soon?”

Liz smirks to herself. She’s not bored anymore.

“Not until we get to Paris.”

Give me more soft kisses, lips barely touching, just chaste little things that leave both parties irrationally breathless.

It’s almost too much to bear, sitting this close to him, in some sort of tense limbo. They stare each other down, eyes not straying from one another, not challenging or cautious, more tentative and unsure. Their knees press together on the couch where they’re sitting, in the dimly lit living room of his latest safe house, where dusk fell quietly around them and left them suspended in this timid twilight.

Slowly, barely daring to breath, not taking her eyes off him, Liz moves her hand forward to lightly ghost her fingers over the back of his hand, resting on his knee inches away from her. She hears his slight intake of breath, sees his mouth open in surprise, as close as she is, and she revels in it.

It takes him a moment, a scared moment for Liz, waiting anxiously, but it isn’t too long before she feels rather than sees Red’s hand inch forward to brush her knee, and with that light touch, she knows she’s not in this alone.

(She never was.)

And it’s that thought that gives her courage enough to inch her head forward, leaving her hands to rest, their job done, and move her eyes to his lips. He follows suit, advancing at the same rate she is, slowly, achingly slow, as they get closer, until their lips finally brush. It is a soft, dry thing, barely there, and yet it is enough for a first kiss.

They pause, not moving away but not moving any closer as they consider each other in silence. Liz sees a gleam in Red’s eyes, something she can interpret easily and, oddly enough, feel reflected in herself, and it brings a flush to her cheeks. She felt something when their lips touched, something unfamiliar but very welcome, nothing jolting, not a shock or a spark. More like a smolder, warm embers starting to glow somewhere inside her.

Red examines her in turn and soon his eyes stray down to her lips, gazing at them in something akin to longing and it’s enough for Liz. She reaches out and kisses him again, keeping her eyes wide open, too enthralled by his face to stop looking quite yet as they share gentle, sipping kisses, Liz feeling as though he’s stealing her very breath, something she willingly gives to him. She watches his eyes drift shut, an action seemingly beyond his control. And as lips caress hers, so warm and persuading, she can’t help her own eyes starting to slip shut from the sensation, only one thought resounding clearly in her head.

(This is right.)

Give me more humming in the kitchen, making brownies at 3 AM for no reason at all.

He wakes to the smell of chocolate, smiling pleasantly before his eyes have even opened, wondering what Lizzie is making for breakfast, is she –

Wait.

Red is instantly alert and confused as he opens his eyes to see it’s still dark outside. He frowns and glances at the clock on Lizzie’s nightstand.

3:11am

Well. That’s odd.

He is out of bed within a few moments, tugging a white t-shirt on to accompany his striped cotton sleep pants before he pads out to the kitchen, stopping when he hears and sees Lizzie, completely at a loss for words or movement.

Because there she is, dressed in his button-down shirt and nothing else, all bare feet and a messy pony tail, humming softly to herself as she mixes some kind of chocolate batter in a big bowl, smears of it on her face and hands, looking up to smile brightly at him.

At three o’clock in the morning.

She’s going to kill him.

(He loves her so much.)

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” he thinks it’s a fair question, personally, but she doesn’t seem phased, just continues to stir happily.

“Making brownies!” she says, smiling.

Well, that doesn’t help.

“Mhm,” he murmurs patiently, now starting to smile himself, unable to stand in the face of her happiness without absorbing a little for himself. “And why are you making brownies at three in the morning, love?”

It’s Lizzie’s turn to look puzzled, which he finds hilarious, and she just shrugs at him, starting to scoop the batter into a large tin.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she says simply. “Wanna help?”

He blinks at her for a second more, taking in the unusual sight, and then nods. What else can he do? It’s not the most ridiculous thing they’ve ever done. And something about the thought of he and Lizzie puttering around in the kitchen together while the rest of the world is sleeping makes him as warm inside as the preheated oven.

So, he hurries forward to grab a spoon and start scooping, pausing only to playfully lick the smear of batter off her face, making her giggle.

They’ll sleep later.

Give me more holding hands, that simple act nearly overwhelming one or both of them, thumbs stroking over knuckles, fingers interlacing.

It’s all they can do, here in the back of an FBI SUV, in full view of Ressler and Samar in the front, with Ressler’s tactless eyes flicking to the rearview mirror at regular intervals.

It’s been another day, another life-threatening situation, another close call. This time they were both there, Red and Liz, as the team was surrounded, at least twenty guns pointed at them, the foreign hit men gesturing and yelling in a language none of them spoke. It was so scary, all of them fully expecting a gun to go off somewhere, and one of them to be struck by a stray bullet.

Killed by chance. Completely uncontrollable and unpredictable. Terrifying.

But backup arrived right in time and they’re here now, on their way back to the post office to be debriefed, no time to be alone in the near future. But they need something. So, by mutual agreement, their hands snuck forward on the seat until they touched and Red wasted no time in lacing their fingers together, almost too tight. But for Liz, it’s not nearly tight enough, and she’s squeezing right back, occasionally running her thumb over Red’s knuckles in her desperation to touch and be touched.

She can’t seem to regulate her breathing to anything other than short and harsh, knowing Red can hear her. And she can see Red’s other hand in a tight fist on his knee and she knows it would be touching her in a million different places right now if he had the freedom to do so. And Liz thinks that’s fair because if they were alone, she would have swung her leg over his hip and been in his lap long before now.

But, with them clutching at the only part of each other they can safely reach, their hands, here in the car, wishing they could be closer but holding themselves back, with Ressler and Samar talking quietly in the front, this is all they can do.

It will have to be enough. For now.

Give me more of Person A helping Person B with simple tasks, like brushing their hair, or putting on jewelry, where it’s obviously an excuse to be close to each other, but neither are complaining.

“Which do you think?”

Lizzie is standing in front of the mirror in their bedroom, holding up two beautiful necklaces, one with a sapphire stone and one with a pearl, asking him which goes better with her dark blue blouse.

“The sapphire one.”

Lizzie smirks.

“You’re just saying that because you bought it for me.”

“Nonsense,” sniffs Red, although she’s partially right. “It’s not my fault that any shade of blue in the world accents your eyes beautifully. What am I supposed to say?”

She’s too busy laughing to answer him, putting away the pearl necklace with nary a protest. Red sees an opportunity and steps forward quickly.

“Please, allow me,” he murmurs, his voice deep as he presses up behind her, closer than strictly necessary, taking the delicate necklace from her fingers.

He sees her roll her eyes good-naturedly in the mirror, but she watches quietly as he works the tiny clasp with ease, swinging the necklace carefully over her head, and securing it in the back, even gently pulling her long, dark hair out from under the chain.

He looks up then, meeting her eyes in the mirror as she slowly leans her head back to rest against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her waist in answer. She closes her eyes, contentedly resting against him, and they stand there for a few lovely moments before he feels obligated to speak.

“Lizzie, I thought we were going out.”

“Hmm,” Lizzie hums carelessly, not opening her eyes, snuggling back against him as Red presses a kiss to the top of her head. “In a bit.”

Give me more picking out baby names, painting nurseries, and cradling their children.

“Stacey?”

“No. Carl?”

“God, no.”

“Beth?”

“Hmm. Sam?”

“…Yeah, maybe.”

They share a brief smile before turning back to their respective walls. They are in the newly thought of nursery in their home, painting it a cheery yellow while trading baby names back and forth, Red throwing out girl names and Liz brainstorming boy names. It’s mostly for fun, seeing who can come up with the worst ones, but lately they’ve gathered some serious possibilities.

And she has a feeling Sam was just added to the list.

Liz dips her paint roller in the tray of paint and lifts it back up to the wall with a slight groan, her baby bump, now six months big, getting in her way a little.

“Are you sure you should be doing this, Lizzie?”

“Yes, Raymond, I’m fine, thank you,” she smiles at him over her shoulder. She loves him for asking and she knows he’ll only be doing it more in the coming weeks. It’s wonderful. “Hey, where do you think the rocker should go?”

“Hmm,” Red hums, coming over to dip his brush in the paint tray, dropping a kiss on her shoulder as he passes by. “Maybe in the corner next to the window?”

“Yeah,” Liz smiles, thinking about it, imagining Red holding their baby in his arms, rocking them to sleep, tucked in the corner of the room, maybe humming or talking to them, the baby squirming gently in his arms, their big blue eyes staring up at him adoringly. Her heart swells at the image. “Yeah, I like that.”

(It’s perfect.)

“Hey, how about Agnes?”

(Completely perfect.)

“Let’s add it to the list.”

#The Blacklist #Lizzington #mine #fanfic #inspired by a post that's not mine!#linked above #the fic is called #sweet moments #8 short chapters #lemme know what you think if you feel like it!#love y'all!#:D #<3

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