Chapter Text
There were some moments in life where, more than others, Raymond Reddington really appreciated his ability to move unnoticed throughout the world. How he could manage it, dressed to the nines in a finely striped shirt and an attention grabbing gilded vest would almost have been a mystery; had he not been a criminal mastermind, and also, had he not been wearing a far plainer windbreaker over the top.
As it was, no one in the hospital bothered him, and he passed nurses and receptionists like a shadow; they wouldn’t even remember he’d been there. It was nearing the end of visiting hours, which was perfect, because it meant that Tom had already left. Red had made sure of that, watching from a parked car at the side of the road before even stepping cautious foot in the building.
He found the ward without too much difficulty; Luli had already provided him the number of the room he needed, and rough directions on how to get there. It simply wouldn’t do to ask at a counter. No unnecessary contacts; it was a good rule, kept good people alive.
Agent Keen had been given a private room, thank you very much, federal insurance, which made it far easier for him to visit, slipping soundlessly past the thin door and closing it behind him. There was already a cheap hospital stool pulled up to her bedside- evidently where Tom had perched himself on the hard plastic- but Reddington was a man of standards, so he ignored it and made instead for the plusher armchair on the far side of the bed.
The machines beeped at him quietly as he passed, and he inspected the numbers with an air of knowledge, before finally sitting down and crossing his legs to wait. It wasn’t long before she turned her head against the pillow, twisting in his direction, and opened her dark rimmed eyes.
“Hello Lizzie.”
Elizabeth didn’t answer, turning her head away again to stare up at the white panel ceiling with a huge, empty sigh. The lights were fierce, and their glare caused wrinkles in the dark spaces underneath her eyes as she squinted.
“Tom just left,” she volunteered after a few moments, and Reddington linked his fingers together in his lap, brushing his thumbs together idly.
“I’m sure he was concerned. What did you tell him?”
“The FBI gave me a cover story.”
“Did he buy it?”
After scrutinizing the ceiling for a few more minutes, she dropped her ear to the pillow and stared at him once more. She looked exhausted, her expression lazy and fed-up, and her skin still a little too pale for them to release her. Perhaps on Wednesday, Red guessed; they’d be able to make sure she’d recovered from the blood transfusion and that the stitches below her shoulder were kept clean.
“You didn’t speak to him,” Reddington supplied under her persistent stare, and her gaze dropped to the floor in shame.
“I woke up and he was there. I…” she blinked slowly, the action taking a lot longer than it should have done, “Just-- pretended to still be out. He sat there, and then he left.”
Thumbs pressing against each other, he watched her attention flicker and wane between various elements around the room, anything that meant avoiding his own gaze. Her dry throat worked when she swallowed, and noticing, he picked up a cup of half-melted ice cubes.
“You don’t know if you can trust him,” leaning closer to the bedside, Red scooped for one of the frozen blocks, before passing it out to her, holding it between two fingers in front of her grimacing mouth. She shook her head ever so slightly- but it was in response to his words, not his actions- and carefully took the proffered ice cube, realizing suddenly just how parched she had been.
They sat in silence for a few moments, the sound of her teeth clunking against the ice as she rolled it around her mouth the only noise in the room aside from the quietly constant machines.
“What happened to the Patriot?” Elizabeth asked at last, gaze fixed back on the grid of lights and roofing tiles above her. Reddington leaned back, sinking slightly into the stuffed vinyl of the armchair and linking his fingers again, in front of his chest this time. He fixed his own stare on the small window, as if he could see something more interesting than the closed venetians.
“I told you at the scene; he got away.”
“Did he really?”
“Yes. Do you doubt me?”
“Yes.”
“Hm. Well, it’s the unfortunate truth. I was a bit preoccupied with the guards and maintaining my own skin to stop his escape.”
“What now?”
“Hard to say,” Reddington unfolded his legs, stretched his toes against the polished floor, and then crossed them again in the opposite direction, now facing Elizabeth. “He knew far more than he ought, and had information about our alliance I didn’t suspect. Evidently this information is out there, now, and I’m not sure what that he, or his client, will keep it contained.”
Shaking his head, he cast a slow glance around the room with listless disinterest. Unspoken went the thought that if it became common knowledge that Red was working with the FBI, their task of crossing names off the Blacklist was going to become incomprehensibly more difficult, not to mention dangerous.
“There is also the issue of you,” his stare returned to her- that intense burn that made her head hurt- and so she simply closed her eyes. “I will ensure your security is increased, on my own means; I don’t think Harold would respond well to knowing what transpired in full below the café.”
If she’d been more coherent, she might have felt a flicker of irritation that somehow he knew, like he knew so damn much, that she had not mentioned the Patriot or his anonymous client’s interest in her to her own boss. But she wasn’t, so Elizabeth just sunk her nose against the hospital pillow and exhaled slowly.
“I don’t remember being shot,” it was a mumble into the crisp cotton of the pillow, and truthfully she wouldn’t have been bothered if he missed her admission. But Reddington possessed rather honed listening skills, so he caught it anyway.
“That’s not unusual. You were shot in the back, by accident I wager.” They had specifically said they wanted her alive, after all. “You may have a scar.”
Elizabeth’s eyes fogged over slightly at his words, no doubt imagining the unsightly idea of puckered, rough skin wedged just under her shoulder blade, almost in the shape of a bullet wound. She closed her red rimmed eyes and leaned back; sinking into the pillows and bringing her free hand around to absent mindedly toy with the paper hospital bracelet around her wrist.
Something cool on her forehead dragged her heavy eyelids open again, staring up at Reddington where he stood instead of sat, right next to her now at her bedside. She hadn’t heard him move, and her bloodshot expression must have conveyed her confusion, because he dabbed gently at her forehead with the cloth only briefly before answering it.
“You’re coming and going, Lizzie. You’ve been through a trial, and you’ve no doubt been given a sedative or two. You’ll be very tired for another eighteen to twenty-four hours.” Brushing his fingers against her forehead, he carefully moved her long fringe aside before slowly drawing the damp cotton down her temple. “Exhaustion and medication are nastily proficient partners.”
With a fierce frown, she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head from him, in an effort to get away from his unwarranted and undesirable attentions, but he wouldn’t be shaken. Instead he moved the cloth underneath her raised chin, the cool fabric leaving a fresh chill where it tickled her neck. His cold fingers gripped carefully- but firm- against her jaw on the far side, and he turned her back, ignoring her hiss of distaste, leaning right over her in the bed to see where he dabbed the cloth against her bruised cheek on the other side.
“You bumped your head here when you fell.” As if that gave him permission. But she was too tired to argue, or fight, and perhaps she was drifting in and out of consciousness a little, because the next thing she knew his fingers were smoothing through the now damp strands of her hair, and her traitor mouth had started saying something she hadn’t run past her drowsy brain first.
“I don’t know if he meant it.”
Reddington leaned down as if he was having trouble hearing her, his intense eyes scrutinizing her sleepy face for clues. She kept her eyes shut, because it was easier, and if she didn’t focus on him and who he was, she could almost enjoy the touch of his gentle care.
“Who, Lizzie?”
“Tom.”
Without giving a verbal answer, he brushed his hand gently through her hairline, before smoothing the strands back into their places. She felt his fingers track down from her face across her shoulders- even though he wasn’t touching her she could still feel them just millimeters above her skin- and followed the movement all the way down her bare arm to her own hand. His palm encased hers entirely, and he drew soft circles on the inside of her scarred wrist with the pad of his thumb while he waited for her to continue.
“Visiting. I don’t know if he really meant… He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to talk to me- just sat there.” She would have expected Tom- her Tom- to have been worried, to have reiterated that he loved her, to have spoken to her how she did to him while he was in hospital; to have done more than sit silently at the side of the bed and hold her hand limply. He clearly hadn’t known she wasn’t asleep.
“What are you thinking, Lizzie?”
“I think… maybe… keeping up appearances.”
Beside her in the silence, Red nodded; it would have put an additional strain on their relationship if Tom had not been present when Lizzie had woken up after being shot, and aroused too many questions. Any caring husband would have been there, and he was certainly continuing to keep up that ruse to his best efforts. And she was still desperate to believe it, although the rational profiler in her was clearly starting to step forward and take over.
With a small jerk she startled back into wakefulness, and blinked up at him; it had suddenly gotten very dark, and she realized that the lights had been turned off. She also realized that although she could still feel the remnant of his touch, he was no longer drawing lazy circles in her palm, as both his hands were gently resting on her shoulders.
“You should rest now. You need it. You’re no use to anyone if you’re overtired.” Frowning up at him, she blinked slowly and gritted her teeth. There was no particularly sensible reason to argue, but she still felt uneasy and unsafe. As if he knew what she was thinking, like that stare of his really could see right through her and read her mind, Red added, “I haven’t had a chance to make other arrangements in regards to your security, so I’ll stay here myself tonight.”
Somehow comforted by that, as if the presence of a murderous, criminal mastermind could ever be a relief, Elizabeth nodded. Leaning her cheek unconsciously into the waiting cup of his palm, she drifted off into an uneasy slumber, reliving a nightmare of gunshots and dark fabric and the silence of shock that would have her waking up with a periodic start many nights for weeks to come.