Work Text:
Every day since the harbormaster had been the same until today.
Before today, Liz had been on fire. The harbormaster’s death had been terrible, but she could distract herself. She could forget. She could ignore the crushing weight of her guilt and throw herself into work. Every night she brought the day’s case home with her and poured over it until she collapsed from exhaustion. The next day always came with a quick breakfast and little time to ruminate. Work, sleep, repeat. Not today.
When Liz had been let off, she expected to feel freed. The tension leading up to the judge’s verdict had been enough to drive a person insane. And yet, when Liz had been pronounced “not guilty” there was no accompanying feeling of joy, no spark of triumph. There was some relief, but more than anything Liz felt regret. Rationally, she knew that Tom had been the one to do the killing, that she had done all she could to try and prevent it. However, she also knew that if she hadn’t kidnapped Tom, if she hadn’t hesitated, the harbormaster might still be alive. And as much as Ressler may try to convince her otherwise, she knew she shared some of the blame.
When Liz arrived at her motel after the trial, her whole body felt heavy. The weight she’d been carrying around on her shoulders had fallen off, only to drag her down with it. She dropped her bag on the floor and took a good look around herself for the first time in weeks.
The motel room was a mess. Housekeeping at the motel was spotty at best, and it showed. Wrappers from takeout, dirty clothes and discarded papers littered every surface. The air had taken on a stale quality, which Liz suspected had something to do with the disarray before her eyes. Ever since the harbormaster, Liz had barely lifted her eyes to her surroundings. She felt a sinking in her heart as she stared at the mess. I should clean it. I’m going to clean it. I need to clean it…
Liz took two steps and collapsed onto the bed. She felt tears pricking the edge of her vision. The realization embarrassed her. It’s just cleaning. It’s nothing to cry about. The thought made her feel even more weak and pathetic. Unable to contain herself any longer, Liz allowed the tears to come. She burst like a dam, enveloped by the desperate shame she had been fighting so hard to ward off for weeks now. Every bitter, guilty, self-loathing thought she had experienced since the harbormaster crashed against her heart, an incoming tide. The pain was matched only by the feeling of release that came with the crying.
Though she hated herself for wishing it, a part of her hoped that someone, anyone would come knocking at her door. She didn’t want to drown alone. Stupid, stupid, she thought. This is your problem. Deal with it. However, no knock sounded, no concerned voice penetrated the door. The only sound echoing around the musty motel room was Liz’s uncontrollable sobbing.
The crying didn’t last for forever. She knew it wouldn’t. When at last she was able to quiet herself, it was late at night. She sat up, her breathing still uneven. She continued to hiccough as she undid her bra, tossing it on the floor with the rest of the mess. She got shakily to her feet, rummaging through her duffle bag for something more comfortable to wear. After changing into her pajamas, Liz used the restroom and returned to her bed. For the first time since the harbormaster’s death, she was able to sleep.
The next day was Saturday. When Liz’s alarm went off, she smacked it unceremoniously and fell back into onto her pillow, slipping quickly and quietly back into much-needed rest. She awoke much later in the day, but remained with her head on her pillow, staring up at the ceiling.
I should get up. I need to eat.
She dismissed the thought. Getting out of bed seemed like a monumental task at that moment. And the next moment, and the next. The longer she lay in bed, the less she wanted to get out of it. As her fast lengthened, her energy depleted, and she was able to fall back to sleep.
Liz woke up again around midnight when her phone buzzed unexpectedly. She lifted it off her nightstand and checked the contact. Nick’s Pizza displayed on the vibrating screen. She ignored it, setting the phone back on her nightstand and stumbling out of bed to use the restroom. She guzzled unceremoniously from the faucet, and then dragged her feet back to bed, stopping only to rummage in her purse for a granola bar, which she wolfed down in three bites. Liz collapsed into a warm cocoon of blankets, closed her eyes once again and was soon overcome by exhaustion.
Liz was once again awoken by the sound of her phone ringing, this time late into Sunday morning. For the second time, it was Reddington calling, and for the second time, Liz ignored it. Throughout the course of Sunday, Reddington attempted to reach her four more times. With each call, Liz willed herself to pick up the phone, but could not bring herself to. She didn’t care to talk, to think, to eat. Liz spent Sunday afternoon staring at the ceiling. In the evening, she roused herself enough to turn on the television and eat some leftover Chinese takeout she’d had sitting in the mini fridge, and she was able to eat until she was full. Calling it a success, she tossed the container toward the trash can, where it bounced off the lip and rolled onto the floor. Unable to summon the energy to remedy the mistake, Liz turned off the television and closed her eyes.
Monday morning, Liz called in sick to work. It was the first time she’d been sick since starting with the taskforce, and Cooper was none too happy.
“You know this taskforce cannot function at full strength without you,” he said sternly, his voice pixilated by the phone. “Are you sure you can’t come in?”
Liz caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was greasy and tangled from days of neglect. Her skin had taken on a sweaty pallor, and she had dark circles under her eyes, which she suspected had something to do with spending too much time asleep. She looked away, ashamed.
“I know, I’m sorry. And no, I really can’t. I’m…in bad shape,” she said, deciding not to elaborate.
Cooper sighed. “Alright. Get better, Keen.”
“Yes, sir.”
Liz hung up. (7) missed calls from Nick’s Pizza, her phone informed her when she glanced at the screen. She set it down on her bedside table and nuzzled back down in her covers. After hours of tossing and turning, she found that sleep would not come. Suddenly unable to stand the noise in her own head, she turned on the television and began channel surfing, ignoring her phone as it buzzed with yet another call from Reddington. She remained thus until lack of food exhausted her, and in the early part of the afternoon, Liz fell asleep again.
Liz was awakened by a sharp rap at the door. She opened her eyes but remained still. There was no way she would answer the door in her current state.
“Lizzie, open the door.” The voice of Raymond Reddington sounded muffled.
Liz remained in bed. She felt a mixture of apathy and embarrassment.
“Lizzie, if you don’t open this door, I’m going to break it down,” Red growled.
Liz rose from her bed quickly, stumbling to the door in a rush. She knew Reddington well enough to know that he would make good on his word.
Liz slid the chain on her door and turned the handle. She opened it just enough the Reddington could see her face. She was hyperaware of her state of disarray. Reddington exhibited none of the same disarray. He was dressed immaculately as always, in a black suit with a matching waistcoat. In his right hand he carried what looked like a paper takeout bag.
Reddington took a long look at her. His brows were knit in concern, his teeth bared slightly. “Let me in, Lizzie,” he said after a long pause.
Liz met his eye. “I called in sick today. I’m not up for a case. I’ll be back at work tomorrow, you can bother me then,” she said, moving to shut the door. Reddington threw out his left hand to stop it without looking away from Liz.
“Lizzie,” he said. His voice was rough and low and quiet. “Please.”
Liz didn’t have the will to fight him. Not when his eyes held that determined look she had come to be wary of. With a shrug, she swung the door open and turned away. She wrapped her arms around herself, fully aware that her tank top and sweat pants had not been changed in three days.
Reddington walked around her to the far end of the motel room where a small, round table was set. He placed the bag on top of it and took a seat in one of the two chairs. He then reached into the bag and pulled out two sandwiches. He placed one across the table from himself and gestured toward it.
“I brought this for you. It’s a caprese grilled cheese sandwich. I get them from this tiny little sandwich cart. I know it looks rather gooey, but I assure you it’s better than any fine dining experience of the same genre, and at a fraction of the price. I, of course, tip the gentleman that runs the place in the hundreds, so that particular benefit is rendered obsolete, but trust me: it’s worth it.”
Liz felt herself suddenly getting woozy and was forced to sit down rather quickly on the bed. Reddington tensed. Liz continued, hoping he would do her the courtesy of acting like he hadn’t noticed.
“I can feed myself, Reddington,” she replied, tipping her head in his direction with her signature cold look.
“Of course you can,” Reddington replied. That concerned expression was back in place on his brow, and Liz felt herself cracking under the weight of his glare. She glanced away. “But the sandwich is bought and I can’t eat two.”
The sandwich smelled absolutely delicious, Liz had to admit to herself. Despite the fact that her pride told her to refuse, Liz gave in, crossed to the table and unwrapped the sandwich. She bit through the crisply grilled crust to the juicy tomato and cheese in the middle, realizing she hadn’t noticed how hungry she was until this moment. Satisfied, Reddington tucked a napkin into his collar before biting into his own sandwich.
Silence stretched between them as they ate. Despite the fact that Reddington hadn’t explained his reason for invading her motel room, Liz was developing a theory.
Reddington finished first. He removed the napkin from his collar, wiped off each finger individually and settled back into his chair, examining Liz’s face openly. Liz bit into the endings of her sandwich and pretended not to notice.
“The harbormaster,” Reddington began.
Liz swallowed. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, firm.
“Lizzie,” Red began, “you must know that what happened with Tom wasn’t your—”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” Liz bit fiercely. Reddington, for once in his life, fell silent. Liz finished off her sandwich in the remaining moments of peace.
Reddington rose from the table and collected Liz’s robe from where it lay slung over her bedpost. He returned to Liz, who rose uncertainly from her place at the table.
“Shower,” he said, pressing the robe to her.
Liz’s eyes welled up with tears. She looked away and nodded, feeling his hand squeeze her arm momentarily. She heard him take a breath to begin speaking, but she shrugged him off before he could begin. Snatching a clean outfit from the duffle bag at the end of her bed, Liz darted to the bathroom, keeping her face averted.
Pull yourself together; Liz chastised herself as she scrubbed soapy water in between her toes. The water temperature was finicky at best, and the iciness cut her shower time relatively short. Nevertheless, upon changing into a fresh pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, Liz couldn’t deny that she felt better than she had in…too long. Her reflection in the mirror looked better than it had all weekend, and Liz had to admit that wearing a bra lifted her self-confidence.
Liz turned the knob and swung the bathroom door open. The sight that met her eyes took her completely aback.
Reddington had clearly been hard at work while Liz showered. The trash had been picked up and stuck in the takeout bag, which now hung on the motel doorknob. Where before there had been dirty clothes and papers littering every surface, there was now a neat pile of each. The bed had been made, the pillows fluffed, and a glass of water had been filled and set on the bedside table. Reddington’s hat and coat sat abandoned on the chair by the front door. Reddington himself could be seen wiping off the table, his shirtsleeves rolled up. Liz tossed her dirty clothes in the pile at the end of her bed, alerting Reddington to her presence.
Liz crossed her arms. “What’s all this?” She asked.
Reddington tossed the rag down on the table and took a step toward Liz.
“You needed help, Lizzie. I knew you weren’t about to ask for it so I took the liberty of supplying it anyway.” He smiled in his self-satisfied way, and Liz felt gratitude stirring in her chest. With that feeling came the danger of tears, and Liz felt she had embarrassed herself enough for the day. Liz crossed to the nightstand to check her phone as a means of distracting herself. She sat down on the edge of her bed only to find that Reddington had plugged her phone in to charge on the nightstand. He really thought of everything. Her back to Reddington, she felt a tear escape her right eye and track a course down her cheek. Her vision blurred as her breathing became more sporadic.
“Lizzie?”
Reddington’s voice came from behind her, across the bed. She turned to him with tear-filled eyes and whispered, “thank you.”
It was then that Liz broke. Tears began flowing thick and fast down her cheeks. Liz doubled over as a sob escaped her. The springs on her bed creaked, and in a moment, Liz felt Reddington’s arms around her. He gathered her to his chest, where she curled gratefully. He stroked her wet hair and whispered, “shh, shh, it’s alright. It’s going to be alright.”
Reddington offered Liz a handkerchief. The two of them curled against the pillows as Liz sobbed, her hair and eyes wetting Reddington’s waistcoat, but he didn’t seem to mind. For the second time in three days, Liz lost herself in a torrent of tears. However, this time felt different. With Reddington present, it felt bearable.
When at last Liz’s sobs subsided, she scrubbed at her face with the handkerchief. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled into Red’s chest. Her voice was scratchy from crying.
“What for?” Reddington asked.
Liz felt a few tears leak from the corners of her eyes. “I…everything. This. For making you deal with me, like this.”
Reddington pulled away from her so that he could look her in the eye. “Lizzie, I chose to be here. Do I look like a person that would waste my own time?”
Liz laughed once in spite of herself.
Reddington pulled her close again, and Liz felt herself beginning to drift off. In her last waking moments, she heard Reddington whisper, “This isn’t your fault. You will make it through.”
And against her better judgment, Liz believed him.