Chapter Text
Red didn't even remember getting from the ambulance to the car. He was cold, his legs felt like concrete blocks. His mind swirled with the onslaught of sirens, and the squeal of tires. A black oily cloud of shock and disbelief clung to him. At some point, he remembered Ressler's FBI windbreaker thrown over his shoulders as he was hurried away. He remembered not wanting to leave her there. The horrible feeling of guilt at the thought of her body being handled by strangers, by people who didn't understand her. They didn't understand her temper, or the fire in her eyes when she was determined, or the steely mask her face turned into when she was about to say something hurtful to distance herself from him. They didn't understand her beauty, her reluctant smile, or the way she would push her hand back through her hair. They would never know the glitter of her blue eyes or the feel of her cheek resting on their shoulder.
He wanted to tell them. He wanted to stay and make sure they didn't disrespect her. He had no reason to believe they would...but it was Lizzy. His Lizzy. She was his world. How was he supposed to handle not being able to hear her voice or see her smile? How was he supposed to handle never being able to laugh at one of her awful jokes again? The world was colder with the absence of her laugh, or her anger. Everything was a little more gray already. The leather seat next to him was offensive because she wasn't seated there, and never would be again.
A few weeks had passed, but he hadn't been counting the days. He couldn't remember the last time he shaved, or the last time he spoke to Dembe. His expensive suit was reduced to a stained mess. He was deep in the recesses of a place he could only describe as a modern speak-easy called The Lucky Cat, located under a tea shop of the same name in Tokyo. The low end denizens of the criminal underworld went there to gamble, deal and use in private. He had been inhabiting the same vinyl covered, sticky booth in the back of the room for what seemed like days. In reality it had been hours. He was too drunk , by far, to be somewhere without protection but no one had bothered him. No one seemed interested in the sad middle aged man killing himself one glass at a time.
He was in the numb place between his ninth and tenth large glass of scotch and dangerously close to black out drunk. His hat was crumpled under his right leg, somewhere along the way his jacket had gone missing. He could feel the bulk of the burner phone in his pocket, but he was pretty sure it was dead. He couldn’t give a damn. He never used the things anyway. Dembe always took the calls. He spared a brief thought for what Dembe and Kate might be going through at that moment. They didn't know where he was or if he was even still alive. He knew he would be going mad with worry if their positions were reversed. He was in that place shamefully drinking to forget her, and in all fairness, he could not do that in the presence of those he loved.
The place was disgusting, and Red felt a pang of guilt at her memory being forgotten in such a place. It wasn’t working anyhow. He could remember everything, as if he had just turned away from her and her image was still burned in his brain. In between the smell of stale sweat and cigarettes, he could swear he smelled a familiar scent. Shampoo maybe. A sweet, herbal smell. Fresh, clean. It occurred to him that it was very out of place here in this basement hell. That's when he heard a laugh that stirred something in his chest. Her laugh but with an ethereal edge to it. He glanced around quickly, but nothing seemed out of place. He had heard it just around the corner...except there was no one around the corner he had any care to see. His mind was playing tricks on him. His grief torturing him. She wasn’t there.
He shook himself and stood, stumbling slightly against the wall as he steadied himself. He felt nauseous and fairly certain the last few drinks hadn't been the best idea. Red reached down and grabbed his crumpled, misshapen fedora, pulling it down onto his head before stumbling toward the restroom. He must have looked a disaster based on the way people stared at him, moving aside to avoid contact. He shoved past a few people, muttering his apologies. That's when he saw her. The familiar tilt of her head, the no nonsense stance. Dressed in a little black dress. Who had convinced her to wear that? He never could, but oh how he had tried.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He moved slowly, in a dream like state, his breath held in his throat. He saw his own hand reach out as if in slow motion. He touched her bare shoulder. Suddenly everything had sped up as the woman spun. Not Lizzy. Didn't look anything like her actually. The woman had dark olive skin, black curled hair. Beautiful for sure, but not the kind of beautiful he had wanted. Wanted and would never see again.
"Yes?" she looked down her nose at him, irritated. She moved back toward the wall a step to break contact with his hand.
"I-I'm sorry...thought you were...", Red didn't even bother to finish the sentence, just chuckled awkwardly and stumbled onward to the bathroom, a tight feeling in his chest, and the sensation of a punch in his gut.
Raymond sat in the back of his Mercedes, staring out the window at a snow covered Washington D.C., the sound of soft jazz quietly playing. It was almost too warm in the back of the car, packed into his wool coat and scarf, but he didn't have the inclination to take his coat off. It had only been a few days since Dembe had found him, sleeping his drunken days away in a disgusting little basement motel room in Kabukicho that he seemed to be sharing with a 75 year old Japanese homeless man. He barely remembered his friend easing him into the waiting vehicle. He had protested. He wanted to die there in the filth. It was what he deserved. He hadn’t been the one to physically stop her heart but he had killed her. Red thought he could protect her. He thought he was doing the right thing, despite the protests from those closest to him. Blinded by his need for her, his love for her.