Chapter Text
It was a Thursday, and Liz knew that Reddington had arrived at the Post Office because when she got back to her desk after a brief conversation with Samar, there was a to-go cup of piping hot coffee sitting beside her laptop.
He had taken to bringing her coffee.
She considered him almost like a crow, leaving behind his shiny objects in hopes that she would trade for something. Exactly what, she hadn't determined yet.
But the coffee: it was always steaming hot, so fresh she wondered how he'd transported it to her without losing any of the heat. It was usually from the same coffee cart she knew was just around the corner, but which she rarely had time to stop at herself. And somehow he always left it at her desk without her spotting him.
She picked it up now, inhaling the aroma before taking a careful sip. She'd taken a couple more when she noticed someone standing a few feet away.
"Thank you for this," she remarked casually, "I didn't have any this morning and I think Cooper told everyone to hide."
Reddington approached her desk, doffing his fedora in a familiar gesture and nodding.
"You're welcome, Lizzie."
It was slightly concerning that he didn't immediately follow this up with an anecdote of some sort, and Liz examined him as closely as she could without appearing too obvious.
He was wearing black pants and a black overcoat: the one that had a double collar, but was currently only half-zipped. Underneath, a white shirt, grey vest, burgundy tie and a wool scarf in brown and blue plaid.
Or- could it be...?
She looked a bit closer and saw that in actual fact, he was wearing two coats: the black overcoat she'd noticed already, and beneath that a lighter jacket, also half-unzipped.
So many layers, she thought with more than a little frustration, and then paused to consider why she found this frustrating.
It just... echoed his persona, she told herself. Maddeningly, almost infuriatingly mysterious, never allowing anyone to get underneath, to the very centre. To who he actually was.
She watched him a moment longer and then realized belatedly that he'd noticed: his mouth quirked up in a half-smile.
She looked away quickly, grabbing her laptop and flipping the screen up.
"Something on your mind?"
"Ah, nope." Damn.
"You seemed quite focused on me. What could it be that interested you so?"
Oh god. He really wasn't going to let this go.
Mercifully, Cooper interrupted them just then with an update on their case.
"I'd like you to go immediately, Agent Keen," he said, already walking away. "Take Ressler with you."
But before Liz could acquiesce, Red stopped Cooper. "Not Donald. That man will either get shot, or stabbed, or both. Not to mention putting Agent Keen in danger. I'll go."
And that was that. Liz frowned as she holstered her gun and grabbed her bag, shrugging a bit as she passed a confused looking Ressler who'd been prepping to leave but was now being called back by Cooper.
Red had already replaced his hat on his head and was gesturing to Dembe to grab the car.
Why do I have a bad feeling about this? Liz wondered as she followed them out the door.
Oh. That was why.
Red had been knifed, at least twice, by one of the Blacklister's crew who'd popped up seemingly out of nowhere while Liz was looking in another direction and Red was trying to cover her.
She witnessed him wince at the pain but he hadn't made any sound, other than a short sharp breath in that she'd needed to be very close to hear.
Luckily for them, Liz's backup team showed up in good time and managed to round up the rest of the henchmen although the Blacklister himself had gotten away.
Immediately after, she turned to Red, noting with worry that a bright stain was making itself visible just above the top button of his vest. He'd removed the overcoat earlier, and she now saw a second stain bleeding through the jacket sleeve, right on his forearm.
"Hospital," she urged, forgetting for a moment that that was impossible. "You must have a doctor somewhere on call, then?"
When Red shook his head grimly, she felt her arms cross themselves in front of her chest rather than felt herself decide to make the gesture.
"Dembe." She looked to the other man for assistance, or at least support. But he was silent, only watching Red as if waiting for direction.
"You've been stabbed, or- or cut! In at least two places, you- you can't just... you can't -" she stammered, feeling helpless.
Red's mouth was set in a thin line. He shook his head again, slowly.
"No. I have a safe house - a hole in the wall nearby. Dembe knows where it is. We'll go there."
Liz almost stomped her foot in frustration. "What? No! Red, we have to-"
"You will go back to fill Harold in, and hopefully talk to the men we managed to bring in. Dembe will make sure I'm-"
"Absolutely not."
Even Dembe raised an eyebrow at her tone, which was insistent.
"I'm coming with you. If you refuse to see a doctor, I'm coming."
He looked like he was about to protest, but then he winced again on his next inhalation and Liz started ushering them towards the car. Dembe started it, then came around to help Red get in but found that Liz had already managed to manhandle him into the back seat in a sort of half-recline against her body.
She waved Dembe back to the driver's seat, and they set off.
The back seat would have felt roomy on another occasion, but on this one with Red's body leaning on her right shoulder, Liz would describe it as definitely a bit cramped.
She tugged his jacket off in frustration, balling it up and tossing it down by their feet, then pulled at his left shirt sleeve, the one that had the blood stain.
"What is-" she fiddled with what Red would have, at another time, gladly explained to her was a French cuff: with a gold cufflink in place of the buttons she expected to find.
As it was, he made a sort of grunting sound as she managed to rip the shirt cuff and the cufflink went flying across the car, landing who knew where.
"Those are- antiques," he croaked, as she rolled the sleeve up roughly, trying to locate the source of the bleeding. When she did: a slash about three inches in length along the inside of his upper forearm, she quickly grabbed the first piece of fabric she could find - his scarf - and wrapped it around tightly.
"Lizzie," Red protested weakly. "That's... Turkish cotton -"
She glared at him, effectively stopping the flow of words that were about to admonish her for so desecrating his fine linens.
"We'll have to look at your chest when we get there," she muttered, pressing his overcoat against the front of his body. "I can't get past all these damn layers."
He shot her a look which she silenced again with another glare.
"Honestly, why do you need the vest, Red?" she said through gritted teeth.
He looked baffled that she'd even ask.
Dembe made eye contact with him in the rearview mirror, then shot a glance at Liz.
"It completes the outfit," Dembe offered, quickly adjusting the mirror when he saw Liz's next glare directed at him.
Somehow they arrived at the safe house without Liz murdering anyone, and Dembe and Liz helped Red out of the car and into what Liz realized was a rather nice little apartment in an outwardly nondescript building.
Once inside, Red and Dembe exchanged a wordless look and Dembe disappeared somewhere, leaving Liz to get a better look at both of the knife wounds.
Practically pushing Red into a seat, she realized she'd need some sort of medical kit.
"First aid kit!" She barked, and Red tilted his head towards a lower cupboard, where she did indeed find a kit with bandages and disinfectant, among other things.
"We need to look at your chest," she said, voice low, as she realized that with his one arm still wrapped in the scarf he'd not be much help with the seemingly infinite row of small, dark vest buttons.
Tugging the vest to the sides, his formerly white shirt below was now a dark shade of crimson across the chest. She was trying to remember to be gentle, especially because every so often her fingers would touch something causing him to take a short, hissing breath. But she was also trying not to waste time, seeing as the vest and shirt were already so soaked in blood.
Her fingers reached for his tie, pulling ineffectively and actually managing to tighten it slightly around his neck.
He pulled away with a groan.
"Not. Like that."
"Jesus, Red. I'm sorry I don't know how to untie a fucking full Windsor knot or whatever the hell this is," she said, a mixture of frustration and fear making her ruder than she meant.
She'd noticed his face was becoming paler, and the knowledge that time was running out was making her anxious.
"Kelvin," she heard him mutter, and leaned in to better decipher what he was going on about.
"What?" Her fingers brushed alongside his and found the knot loosened enough for her to pull the tie over his head.
"It's called a Kelvin knot, Lizzie. The full Windsor is wider."
If she hadn't been focusing on unbuttoning his shirt, she would have stopped and shot him a very unimpressed look.
God, there were so many buttons. So many small buttons!
As she worked on the front of the shirt with her fingers she leaned over and grabbed a loose end of the scarf that was presently tied around his arm between her teeth and pulled.
Scarf and shirt came away - at last! - and she realized she'd finally reached skin.
The chest wound was smaller than the cut on his arms but deeper. She wiped away the blood to locate exactly where it was.
Red, for his part, refrained from making much of a fuss, even when Liz poured some disinfectant on a cotton pad and pressed it against the wound, making an unpleasant fizzing sound and causing him to press his lips together tightly.
"Sorry," Liz murmured, nearly inaudibly, focusing on applying some medicated ointment. "I don't think I can stitch you up," she looked apologetic.
"It's fine, Lizzie. I don't need stitches."
She wished she knew whether or not to believe him.
After bandaging up both his arm and his chest, and being about to ask him to turn around so she could make sure there weren't any other issues, Red moved to stand.
"Thank you," he said, voice still weaker than usual. Liz realized he was trying to stand and pushed gently on his shoulders until he was back on the chair.
"I can take it from here..." He began, but she wasn't listening.
"Do you keep pyjamas somewhere? For yourself, I mean." She was looking around as if they'd jump out from a drawer at her.
Red nodded. "Should be some in the dresser." He pointed, and she opened a drawer and grabbed a pair of pyjamas. Peripherally she was aware that the fabric felt both lighter and softer than she'd ever felt on pyjamas before, and made a mental note to ask him to get her a pair like that one day.
"I'll help you with these, and then you're getting in that bed and you're not getting up again until Dembe or I say so."
Red looked momentarily taken aback, then slightly amused as she proceeded to help him thread his arms through the shirt and do up the buttons.
Her fingers brushed against his chest again, but this time she wasn't cleaning blood or applying bandages, and she almost thought she felt him hold his breath for a moment.
Finishing with the shirt buttons, she realized with a flush coming to her cheeks that she'd have to remove his pants.
"You'll have to stand up for a sec," she directed, trying to maintain a businesslike attitude. He looked slightly surprised when her hands moved to his waistband.
"You can handle that," she amended, looking away as he managed to undo the button and zipper and let the pants fall to the ground.
She handed him the pyjama pants and snuck a glance over to make sure he was getting along okay (or at least, that's what she told herself).
Now fully in pyjamas, she supported his left arm as he gingerly got into bed, lying on his side.
She pulled a fluffy comforter overtop of his body and stood for a moment.
"Do you need anything else? Should I ask Dembe to sit with you, or-"
"Lizzie. I'll be alright. Thank you again for-... everything."
She hesitated, then accepted the thank you with a nod.
"I'm afraid there's only the one bed-" Red began, apologetically.
"I'll be fine on the couch," Liz assured him. "Just try to rest, okay?"
"I will."
She grabbed a t-shirt from the drawer and changed out of her now messy work clothes, spending some time in the hot shower trying to wash off the trauma of the day.
When she was done, she changed into the t-shirt which she was going to use in place of pyjamas, and set herself up on the couch. She probably wouldn't sleep very well, but at least she could rest.
She wasn't quite sure if she'd fallen asleep or just relaxed long enough to stop obsessively checking the time, when she heard a noise coming from the bathroom. She sat up, feeling one side of her back literally creak with relief at no longer being squeezed up against the couch back.
It sounded like someone was dropping a variety of small metallic objects onto the tiled bathroom floor. And then -
That was definitely Red. She could just about make out some muttered curses before she got up and stopped at the bathroom door.
"Is ev- are you... alright?"
There was a pause, then a concentrated, "I'm fine, Lizzie. Please go back to bed."
She hesitated.
"You... I'm sorry Red but you sound- ... do you need help with something? I can-" she had her hand on the doorknob.
"Elizabeth. Go. Back. To. Bed." Another pause. "Please."
That was enough for her.
She opened the door, which he'd luckily left unlocked, not having expected her to just open it and walk in like-
Oh. Oh no.
"Red! Your back- oh god, you- let me see that," Liz pushed past him and took him by the shoulders, turning his body so that his back, which she'd managed to catch a glimpse of in the bathroom mirror, was now facing her.
He had a third knife wound, that he'd clearly been trying to hide (so that was why he'd lain down on his side in bed, she realized), but the wound was almost less of a shock than the fact that the rest of his back was completely covered in deep scar tissue, the kind you'd see after-
"You've been burned," Liz started, without thinking.
Red, though she could only see a tiny bit of his face in the mirror, tensed under her hands and she felt the fury radiating off of him.
Before he could start anything, she grabbed the first aid kit which he'd brought with him into the bathroom, presumably to try to bandage himself, and shushed him.
"Nevermind that. I'm more concerned about the fresh cut- you should have told me, Red. It needs cleaning and a bandage and I will not be told to go to bed until that's taken care of."
Something in her tone resonated enough that he didn't protest, but he also didn't say anything as she cleaned the wound as gently as she could, though she was sure it must be painful.
What had happened to his back? Had he, like her, been in a fire and somehow been burned? Why had he never mentioned that they had this in common?
Her thoughts raced as she applied a bandage that just covered the cut. Smoothing it out, her fingers must have hesitated for the briefest of seconds and she felt him pull away quickly.
He turned around, expression impassive.
"Is that all?"
His tone implied that he expected her to interrupt him trying to use the toilet or something, and she bristled at the attitude.
"Yeah, that's all. Sorry for trying to make sure you didn't get an infection in a serious knife wound you tried to lie about not having."
Her hands were on her hips.
"Sorry for caring enough about you to worry about something like that."
"Elizabeth." His tone, now full of warning.
She glared at him, suddenly quite aware of the fact that he was now wearing only a thin pair of pyjama pants.
Jesus. He'd been hiding quite the physique beneath the five-freaking-hundred layers of clothing.
Wait. What was she thinking?
She shook her head, trying to focus. Realized she'd been standing in the bathroom just staring at him for the last few moments. And she'd just said she cared about him. Fuck.
He hadn't seemed to notice the remark about her caring. He still seemed furious that she'd invaded his privacy. But he didn't say anything more, so she just turned around and left the room before he could lecture her any further.
Getting herself comfortable back on the safehouse couch, she wondered if she'd be able to fall asleep. After that, the next thing she knew, it was morning.
Red had made breakfast.
She could smell it before she got up and when she wandered into the kitchenette to see what was happening, saw that despite his injuries Red was sitting at the small table, already fully dressed again in his excessive layers.
How he'd managed that with no help she didn't want to consider, and her keen observation made her note that he was still wincing slightly when he made a reaching motion with his left arm, and overall his movements appeared more stilted than usual.
"Here's some eggs, Lizzie."
"I see them."
She was still wary, unsure after their altercation earlier that morning.
"Help yourself if you're hungry. I made plenty."
She was about to say she'd prefer toast, but the eggs looked perfectly done: over easy with runny yolks, and seasoned with-
"Red, is that fresh parsley? Wherever did you-...?"
She sat down, accepting the plate of eggs and glass of (presumably freshly squeezed) orange juice.
"Thank you."
He nodded his acknowledgement.
She took a bite and tried not to raise her eyebrows in pleasure.
They ate in silence for a few minutes.
Red cleared his throat. "Thank you Lizzie for- your help, yesterday. All of it. It's not... unappreciated."
She blinked. She hadn't been expecting that.
"You're welcome. Red- those scars, have you-"
"Dembe will be back shortly with the car, and will take you back to your apartment if you like, or drop you off at work. You can let him know."
She pressed her lips together tightly, then nodded.
"Okay."
She could take a hint, and honestly there was no use pursuing the topic because he'd likely just make up some crazy story to get her to stop asking questions.
She stood up, and with a slight nod, went to go wait for Dembe.