Chapter Text
Liz had never seen that many bicycles. Endless rows of two-wheelers welcomed the visitors of Amsterdam outside Central Station in an enormous variety of colours and states of deterioration: the owners well aware of the fact that only an old bike would still be waiting for them upon return. There were bikes everywhere, parked randomly along the way as Dembe drove them through the narrow streets of Amsterdam: heaped up against bridge railings and lampposts, in front of shops and houses, on the boats in the canals and Liz even spotted one or two in trees - obviously parked there without the owner's permission.
“These days it is illegal to park wherever you want.” Red said. “It’s a new council-rule, one that the cyclists of Amsterdam are collectively ignoring. Challenging authority is the Dutch national sport. Makes me feel right at home.”
He gave Liz a warm smile, hoping to elicit some sort of reaction but she just gazed out the window to watch the boats in the canal. She was not in the mood for talking, especially not about that particular topic. In Raymond Reddington’s world, rules had been thrown overboard and lay buried beneath an impermeable layer of mire and dirt. She was part of the authorities, she was the law, yet as an FBI profiler she had been ordered to fraternize with the enemy, breaking most rules in the book along the way - giving a whole new meaning to the concept of conflicting loyalties.
They drove along the canal to the Keizersgracht where Dembe dropped them off in front of one of the narrow gabled houses in this picturesque, surprisingly bicycle-free street. The massive mahogany entry door had a plain style sign beside it, which informed Liz in elegant letters that they had arrived at the residence of Anton de Wit - photographer. The print on the doormat in the portal read ‘Just make yourself at home ’ in equally elegant style. Reddington picked it up, pulled at the corners and found a key inside the hidden layer of the mat.
“Anton is a very trusting soul." he explained. "He is away for the weekend, shooting pictures of the Rolling Stones in Australia. Did you know they started touring again? Where do they find the energy I wonder?”
He unlocked the door and they stepped in the small hallway where most of the space was occupied by an enormous yucca plant next to a prominent stairway leading up to the next floor. Red relieved Liz of her overnight bag and began to climb the stairs.
“Although we are in the nether lands, Amsterdam is littered with stairs.” he said while she followed him up. “Steep ones too. Remind me to take you to this little bar I found on my last visit. Hardly anyone knows about it. Despite its location in the attic of an old brothel, it’s a very respectable establishment and they serve a wonderful absinthe there. Mind-bending stuff.”
Stairs.
Liz thought of the times she had been sitting next to him on the steps of stairs. The first time, in the park, when the seed of doubt about Tom had firmly been planted in her soul and the last time... that couldn’t have been long ago. What was it - yesterday? She had no concept of time since they sat side by side on the stairs of that empty house, talking about Berlin and Tom. She had shot Tom.
Life after that had gone by like the outtakes of a dreary reality show. She was in a dreamlike state: she ate, slept and travelled in the company of Red and Dembe, without really knowing where they were heading. She’d temporarily lost the will to reflect upon anything that concerned her – confused about her feelings and wondering if she actually had any left. A dull numbness quenched the hurt and the anger that was trapped inside her heart. Going on auto-pilot, she suddenly found herself on a short trip to Holland. She was with Red now, she had chosen to be with him, had chosen to delve into the mystery that was her life.
Allowing him to just walk out on her was not an option; not after what had happened in the park, when he once more gave up everything and surrendered - to her. He went down on his knees for her. The impartial spectator had seen a man adopting a nonthreatening position for the FBI agents to make the arrest, but to Liz the unequivocal truth had unfolded right before her eyes. He not only put his life in her hands: he was submitting to her. It was the most disturbing thing that had ever happened to her. There was absolutely no rational explanation for his actions.
She had no illusions about the choice he’d given her when he offered her a way out. There was nothing left to choose; he knew that all along. Raymond Reddington was manipulative and dangerous but she needed him: she wanted answers and was determined to get them before he chose to cop out or was taken down permanently. She wanted a life and he was the only one who could give her that.
Liz had never stayed the night at one of Raymond’s boltholes before, but she didn’t feel the urge to make small talk after the long trip. There had been very little talk on the plane. It was clear to Red that her decision to return to him was a precarious one and Liz figured that he didn’t want to push his luck. Very wise. There was too much troubled water under the bridge, too much pain and violence - too many secrets between them. He’d told her time and again that he would never lie to her, but that did not mean that he eagerly provided her with all the pieces of the puzzle about her past. She would have to bide her time and be satisfied with evasive answers, half-truths and the occasional blunt change of subject, but no lies - that was something at least.
“I will ask Dembe to do some shopping.” Red said when he showed her to her room. “Any requests?"
“A little peace and quiet.”
"As you wish."
His smile didn’t quiet come out the way he intended. The painful grimace betrayed his fatigue; he looked older than before and weary. It was a little unnerving to see him like this and she couldn’t help giving him an apologetic smile before she closed the door and shut him out of her life – for now.
She dropped her bag in a chair and stretched out on the bed - finally alone again. She needed to be alone. Alone with just the noises of the city in this foreign country, with the buzz of the taxi's in the street below, the tingling of an occasional bicycle chime and the rolling bells of the streetcars in the distance. Alone with her thoughts about the trail of destruction in their wake – Diane Fowler, Meera, Cooper ....Tom. What more cruel surprises did life have in store for her? With her mind on rewind, she soon drifted away into blessed oblivion - in broad daylight, jetlagged and emotionally drained in the house of a stranger far away from home.