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Raymond Reddington was exhausted.
In the past forty-eight hours, he had been captured and tortured. He had been beaten, interrogated and thrown in a cell. He had wondered if he would ever see Lizzie again.
In the past forty-eight hours, it had been Lizzie that rescued him. He had heard the door of his cell swing open, he had seen her shadow on the wall. He had turned to see her, eyes alight with concern, hair mussed, dark circles under her eyes. He had scolded her, she had rebuked him. In the past forty-eight hours, it had been Lizzie that had lifted him from the ground and led him toward escape.
In the past forty-eight hours, he had watched as a bullet entered Liz’s stomach. He had seen her collapse, seen blood blooming over her navy shirt as she fell to the floor. He had taken care of her attacker and run to her side. In the past forty-eight hours, Raymond Reddington had held Liz as the life bled out of her, unable to do more than whisper her name and press a shaking hand to staunch the flow.
In the past forty-eight hours, Raymond Reddington had stood by as Lizzie had been rescued by her team, loaded into an ambulance and driven to a nearby hospital. He had waited sleeplessly in the waiting room as she underwent surgery. In the past forty-eight hours, Raymond Reddington had been allowed into her hospital room, with the promise that she would awake soon.
Raymond Reddington would have given anything to erase the past forty-eight hours.
Reddington scooted his chair closer to Liz’s bedside, taking care to be as quiet as possible. He settled in, taking in Liz’s appearance. Her coloring was slowly returning, a light pink tingeing her previously ashen cheeks. Her hair remained mussed, and the dark circles beneath her eyes were, if anything, darker than previous to her injury. Red felt a shiver of fear shudder through his frame.
Liz’s injury. How could he have let it happen? Had he not made himself clear, she wasn’t to attempt to rescue him? Had he not taken care to reveal himself to be the monster that he was? Had he not devoted himself to his one redemption: Lizzie’s safety? And yet somewhere along the line, something had gone terribly wrong. She had risked her life for him again, and this time, she had nearly lost it.
Raymond lifted Lizzie’s left hand from its place on the bed, bending over to examine it. The white skin was stretched evenly over it, scratch marks from her rescue attempt clearly visible. Marks that would not have been there if it weren’t for him…
Red’s lip trembled. His gaze moved from Liz’s hand to her face, taking in every detail of it. He recalled sitting on his knees, clutching her to him as she slipped away. He recalled the moments that he thought he might lose her, the terrifying emptiness that filled him at the thought. He remembered calling to her and seeing her fight to stay with him, only to whisper “it’s okay”, before losing consciousness.
He remembered, and he broke.
Tears streamed down his face, slowly at first, and then increasing in rapidity. He planted a shaky kiss on the back of Liz’s hand, and then rested his elbows on the corner of her bed. As he held her hand to his forehead, he wept openly, knowing that there was no one around to see, that his moment of weakness would remain a secret.
Unless…
“Reddington?”
Lizzie’s weak voice shattered his moment of privacy. Reddington’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. He quickly replaced Liz’s hand on the sheets, turning his face away to conceal his tears.
“Lizzie,” he said, as he attempted to discreetly wipe away the evidence, “you’re awake.” He paused, regaining his composure, and then turned to her with his mask in place.
Liz’s eyelids drooped heavily, but her look of concern was unmistakable. Clearly his breakdown had been witnessed. Reddington glanced away, uncomfortable with the penetration of her gaze.
“Hey,” she said softly. Reddington felt her fragile hand on his cheek. He breathed a shaky sigh, turning to meet her gaze again. In her face, Red could see himself through her eyes: a broken, frightened man who loved her with incredible devotion. Her eyebrows knit together, dimpling slightly in her characteristic look of compassion. I almost lost her, he remembered.
Reddington felt the tears coming again, and knew that he would not be able to stop them. They welled up, pouring over his already red-rimmed lower lashes. Unable to meet her gaze any longer, Red dropped his forehead to rest on Liz’s bed. He felt her gentle hand caressing his hair, her soft voice muttering, “it’s okay, it’s okay…”
Reddington wrapped an arm around her legs, clutching her to himself. His shoulders racked as he sobbed, unable to contain himself. He knew that this was a new side of him. Liz had never seen him like this. And yet she did not push him from her, she did not shy away from his pain. At last, Reddington took several deep breaths, regaining some measure of control. Tears continued to track their course down his face, but he was calm.
“I’m sorry Lizzy,” he said, raising his head from her bed. He met her eye with an open gaze.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. Her dry lips moved minimally as she reassured him, “I’m here. I’m alive.”
“I know,” he replied.
Just let me hold you until I believe it.