Same Old Love Ch. 01-05

Chapter 1:

Lizzie was well and truly over Tom Keen.

She had the proof now of his infidelity spread across the twin bed in her motel room. The confirmation of his lies had stung, but it was his wasteful use of her feelings that really made her see red. Had anything about their life been real? She doubted that she would ever know now. When she had approached him with her suspicions, Tom had walked out the door without a glance, leaving Hudson stranded on the porch.

Why had it taken her so long to see the truth? And why had it taken her so long to trust Red when he tried to tip her off? You didn't want to see it. She hadn't wanted to believe that her marriage was a lie. Confronted with the harsh reality of his depthless duplicity, she had no choice but to accept that Red had been right all along. And, of course, why shouldn't he be? Liz thought bitterly to herself. He was right about everything else.

If Tom Keen wasn't real, then her marriage couldn't be real either. It was like she had been married to a fiction or, better yet, never married at all. When faced with the choice of sifting through the rosy memories of her false life searching for red flags that she should have seen sooner, or casting the entire debacle aside in favor of moving on, she would choose to forget. And why not? No use would come of analyzing the minutia of a life that never really existed. It was better to move on.

She paced the narrow aisle between her bed and the desk, wearing a path into the dingy motel carpet. She was restless and agitated, a jittery excitability skipping through her veins, reminding her distinctly of a very different kind of anticipation. Her mind surged to Reddington. A familiar thrill of pleasure trilled through her veins. She had spent so much of their time together avoiding his advances, ignoring his thinly veiled overtures, convinced that giving in to her own desires with him would be treacherous, wanton, wrong. She had wasted so much time. Liz halted her stride, her earlier realizations about her former husband giving life to a plan.

She glanced at the clock on the bedside table; it was just after midnight. Too late for a social call, but she knew Red hardly slept. Besides, for what she had in mind, she was certain he wouldn't mind being kept awake.

Chapter 2:

There would be no turning back from this, Liz knew. She steeled herself with a breath, steadying her hand against the heavy paneled door, stroking the dark mahogany, her knuckles curling into her palm. She held her breath, trying to calm the storm inside her. Her chest was tight, whether with apprehension or expectation she did not know. If she did this, there would be no undoing it. Anticipation coiled in her abdomen, enticing her to act on the desire that had driven her to his door. She wanted to dive into this. She wanted him and everything that went with that choice. She raised her eyes to her hand, still settled against the wood, lifted her chin boldly and then, fearlessly, she knocked.

The door swung open on a surprised Red in a white dress shirt, still crisp as it had been when she first saw him this morning, dove grey slacks, and a charcoal vest.

"Lizzie!" he smiled. He seemed pleased to find her on his doorstep. "Whatever are you doing out at this hour? Do come in!" he gestured for her to enter.

At the sight of him, her mouth went dry. She had no idea what she was going to say to him. She was suddenly unsure of her plan. It hit her abruptly, the magnitude of what she was doing and she hesitated, immobile, her foot poised to take that first step into his domain, knowing that this step was much more significant that simply crossing Red's threshold. If she did this, she would be crossing into his world.

Red cocked his head to the side, studying her quizzically, as if both questioning and somehow secretly understanding her resistance.

Fortifying herself with another deep breath, she stepped inside.

"So....what brings you 'round to my door this evening?" Red asked convivialy , closing the door behind her and reaching to take her coat.

"Oh,...I, uh....well, actually....." Lizzie stammered, unbuttoning her coat. This was going to be harder than she thought. In her motel room, when she had made this plan, it had seemed simple and fool-proof. She would show up at his current safe house, tell him that she was in love with him, and throw herself into his arms. But now that she was actually standing in front of him, she was unsure how to start. With all the culture and sophistication streaming from his every pore, she felt inexorably small, vulnerable, and a little bit foolish.

Red stepped up behind her, hands on her shoulders, lingering just a fraction of an instant longer than necessary, peeling the lightweight jacket from her arms. His face near her ear, he drawled softly, "Come now, my dear, it can't be all that awful. Couldn't you sleep all alone in that dreadful motel bed?"

Lizzie shivered at his subtle implication, turning her face toward him, eyes gazing softly over her shoulder. "Actually, no, I couldn't," she breathed, seizing the excuse he provided.

"Hmmm," he hummed thoughtfully, though it sounded for all the world to her like he was purring in her ear. "Well, we'll have to see what we can do about that," he murmured next to her ear, before withdrawing to hang her coat on the banister behind him in the foyer.

He turned back to her, flashing an inviting smile, as if totally unaware of the effect he was having on her. "Drink?" he offered brightly.

Lizzie cleared her throat unsteadily, "Um, yes, thank you. A drink would be perfect."

He led the way into a sitting room, fingertips gently guiding her elbow. "Please, sit," he invited, gesturing toward any of the furniture in the opulent room. She chose instead to pace closer to the mantle, feigning interest in the small art pieces situated there as he poured their drinks; a glass of wine for her and a Scotch for himself.

She waited until he turned around, drinks in hand, to comment on the statuette she had been pretending to admire. "This piece is.....evocative," she offered.

Red crossed to her, extending her the glass of wine, which she took gracefully from his outstretched hand. "That?" he queried. "A worthless bit of quartz!"

"Really?" Lizzie looked surprised. She turned in a slow circle, scanning her extravagant surroundings. "Then, why....?" she inquired, wondering why the owner of such an ostentatious home would decorate it with insignificant art.

"Ah, well, not all of my temporary dwellings are on loan from generous friends with good taste and the acumen to recognize quality. This estate is owned by a foolish dilettante, currently under an IRS investigation. He fled the country eight weeks ago and his holdings were suddenly available for rent. The man spends an absurd amount of money to surround himself with useless trinkets to appear more worldly." Red settled himself on the sofa facing the fireplace.

"That piece is most definitely a fake, but the story behind the actual sculpture is quite entrancing, if tragic." Red paused to sip his Scotch, knowing he had her on the hook for the rest of the story.

"The carving is called 'The Kiss'. It was created by the French sculptor, Auguste Rodin. It displays a woman, Francesca, in the embrace of her husband's younger brother, Paolo, with whom she fell in love while reading the story of Lancelot and Guinevere. As the story goes, the couple was murdered by Francesca's jealous husband when he learned of their secret love."

Lizzie turned to stare at Red and found him gazing past her, at the statuette.

"I've always found it sad......From your perspective, they appear to be embracing, but if you look at it from another angle, you'll see that Rodin carved them with their lips not quite touching. He captured them, frozen, as they were discovered and destroyed." Red's tongue was working at the inside of his mouth now, his jaw twitching as he focused on the story. "They died without ever tasting the others' breath." He shook himself from his reverie, expressions sliding across his face like waves upon the shore.

Lizzie walked toward him, choosing a seat on the heavily brocaded sofa a few inches from him. "That is a tragic tale," she agreed, taking a sip of her wine.

"Why do you think Francesca gave in to her lust for Paolo?" she asked, reclining against the plush pillows behind her back.

Red peered into his glass, "Probably she was unhappy in her current marriage. Perhaps her husband couldn't....fulfill her desires," he finished, turning hot eyes to her.

Her breath caught in her throat. It felt like they were having a conversation that meant so much more than the words they were actually saying. How could he know exactly what she wanted? Nervously, she drained her glass with an unladylike gulp. How had this conversation gotten so far away from her? She had had a plan.

She didn't notice him move, but suddenly, he had closed the distance between them, his hand reaching out for her now-empty wine glass, his index finger softly stroking hers where it rested on the stem of the glass.

"Is that why you're here, Lizzie?" he growled, his voice like a panther in his chest. "Is Tom unable to fulfill your.....desires?"

She sucked in a breath, paralyzed by the gentle pressure of his fingertips and the hypnotic quality of his voice. She was spiraling out of control. Her brain felt foggy and there was a nagging sensation that she had forgotten something important. She felt frozen until, of its own volition, her body leaned into him, her lips parting slightly for him. His eyes trailed down to her perfect lips, and she felt his gaze like a caress. Her breaths came in shallow pants as she waited for him. He swayed closer, drawn like a magnet to her mouth, his lips stopping just a hairsbreadth away from hers, unconsciously mirroring the statue on the mantle. Her eyes drifted closed, head angling slightly towards the right, breathing in the scent of him, so very close.

"You need a refill," he stated matter-of-factly. Swiftly he retreated to the sidebar with her glass in hand.

She was jarred back to being, her eyes snapping open. She blinked, confused. What just happened?

When his back was turned to her, as he prepared their drinks, he momentarily closed his eyes. What was she doing to him? He knew why she was here. Dembe had delivered the photos of her husband and Jolene Parker in the hotel room at the Orlando conference to Lizzie's motel and left them under her door this afternoon. The photos were the damning proof she'd needed to see that bastard, Tom Keen, for the lying, adulterous traitor that he was. She was here tonight for answers. Because she was lonely. Because she wanted revenge on Tom. She was here to feel like she had some control. But he couldn't help her with any of those things. She would hate him if he let her have what she wanted and he desperately wanted to stave off her inevitable contempt for just a little longer. She would regret it later and he couldn't bear to be the cause of that kind of hurt. She would blame him. And he was selfish. He knew he couldn't have her once and then give her up; and she would definitely never be his to keep.

He shook his head to himself, trying to forget the ache in his groin; better not to sample her at all if he couldn't ever taste her again.

Blowing out a silent breath, he spun around only to find her in his path.

"I don't want more wine," she spoke, her voice a sultry undulation across his skin.

He licked his lips. "What is it that you do want?" he asked, not certain he was going to like her answer.

"You." She stepped into him, her hands going to his face, cupping his jaw gently, and softly pressed her lips to his.

Red growled deeply into her mouth, overcome by his own desire for her. He knew he should pull away from her, should stop this, but he couldn't let her go. He let the glasses fall from his hands, unsympathetic to the amber and crimson libations staining the carpet beneath their feet.

His arms wound around her, fingertips digging into her hips, dragging her to him. She gasped as she felt his erection against her stomach. Lizzie curled her arms around his neck, arching into his kiss. As much as he wanted this, she knew he would pull away from her and she wasn't going to let him deny either of them.

Lizzie parted her lips at Red's insistence. There was an urgency in his touch that she matched. Her blood was singing in her veins; his tongue swept her mouth, claiming every last piece of her and she willingly offered herself up to his conquest.

With a moan tearing from his chest, he pushed himself away from her. He stepped back, the warning in his eyes held her at bay. "Lizzie," he panted. "We can't."

"Why not, Red?" she advanced, he retreated.

"You don't want this. You don't want me."

"Oh, but I do," she breathed, taking another step closer to him, backing him up against the sideboard, her hands on the cool marble on either side of his hips, trapping him with her body. She raised onto her tiptoes, nipping lightly at his jaw.

Red fought for control of his body, of his sanity. He remained motionless beneath her ministrations, though his eyes closed and he breathed out raggedly. He would have to hurt her, he knew, to save her.

"You're upset about Tom" he stated matter-of-factly, expecting her to stop.

"Oh, Red," she said calmly, as if talking to a child. "I don't give a damn about Tom! There was no Tom, not really. He didn't exist; he was a myth," she explained. "He....he didn't love me. I don't know why he was in my life, but I know it wasn't because he loved me. He's gone."

"Lizzie," he began, "there is something you should know." He couldn't let her continue without telling her truth about his part in this.

"Tom is in your life because I put him there."

Chapter 3:

Lizzie stared blankly at Red's most recent revelation.

"I hired him," Red stated simply, "to watch you and to report to me. I had to protect you and at the time, it seemed the best plan to keep you close."

She had stepped back from him slightly, but she did not speak. He continued.

"He was never supposed to take things this far. You weren't supposed to fall in love with him. He overstepped and by the time I knew how serious you were about him, it was too late for me to remove him from your life."

She remained silent before him, listening, hearing him out. Suddenly, he didn't want to hurt her anymore, he wanted to apologize; he wanted to explain.

He continued in a rush, aware of this unanticipated opportunity to unburden himself of this mistake. "You've been in danger since you were a child; that's partly my fault. I did what I could to protect you and keep you hidden from the people who sought information that you didn't even know you possessed. Sam had kept you safe for as long as he could, but you had grown up and you were in need of a new protector. The time wasn't right yet for it to be me, but please, Lizzie, believe me when I say that I have always done whatever I thought necessary to keep you safe."

He was dying to know what she was thinking, but he plunged on with his explanation.

"I know you have questions about your past, about Sam, about your parents; questions that I have refused to answer for your own safety-"

"I don't care about that anymore," she broke in, staring intently into his eyes.

"I'm so sorry...."

"I don't want to live in regret. I want to move on. With you." she finished firmly.

"Lizzie, you don't know what you're saying," Red tried to persuade her.

"Listen to what I'm saying, Red. I don't care anymore about what you know or what you did. You say you did it to protect me; I believe you. You say there are things you can't tell me because you're still trying to protect me. I'm tired of fighting with you; can't you just let me accept what you're saying? I'm ready you let you protect me. All this time I have been arguing with you and begging for answers about my past. I don't care about it anymore! Holding on to the past is what is keeping me from having a future. With you," she ended forcefully. She pressed the length of her body against his again, placing the palm of her hand over his heart. "Tom is gone," she said softly, pinning him with her gaze, "and I can finally see what was right in front of me the whole time."

She settled her lips gently on his, opening herself to him and waiting for him to decide.

Red leaned his upper body forward, resting his forehead against hers, exhausted by his fight to resist her, exhilarated by her declaration.

He reached up to smooth her hair away from the sides of her face, taking a steadying breath before he spoke. "You have to be sure," he said. "Because I can't give you up."

He grabbed her around her waist, lifting her and spinning her around swiftly, pinning her against the credenza, eliciting a surprised yelp from her. He wrapped her legs around his waist, running his scorching touch down her legs and grasping her ankles firmly, twining them around him. He ground himself against her, forcing a gasp from between her lips at his sudden change in behavior.

" .I .Will Not. Give. You. Up" he growled, timing each word to his thrusts, his gravelly voice cascading over her. "I won't have you for only a night. If you want this, I am going to ruin you for every other man," he assured her.

Lizzie threw her head back and moaned at the images his voice painted in her mind. She wanted this.

She wrapped her legs tighter around Red's middle, pulling her in closer to him. Her hands were on the back of his neck, digging into his flesh. He trailed hot kisses down her neck, teeth dragging across her collarbone, dipping his tongue into the hollow of her throat.

It wasn't enough. He wanted to feel her moving against him. Swiftly, he lifted her, carrying her from the room, up the stairs, and navigating down the dark hallway to his bedroom, his lips never leaving hers.

Red laid her back on the bed, standing over her, silently appraising her delicious form with his eyes. She reached for him, wanting him close to her again. She dragged his lips down to hers, opening for him until he was nestled between her legs, his tongue plundering her mouth, her hands scratching the back of his head.

Liz desperately clawed at the buttons on his vest and shirt, pulling them from his shoulders. He stilled above her as she laid her hands over the scars marring his back. She pulled her head back, staring up at him in wonder, open-mouthed, her eyes filling with tears, instantly knowing, instantly understanding. He balanced himself on his his arms, hands on either side of her body, holding himself off of her. He was impossibly still above her, pausing for her to choose whether or not to continue.

"Oh, Red," she gasped, pulling him to her, fiercely. Her lips met his and he tasted salt on her damp skin. Her hands stroked the destroyed skin of his back, soothing an ache that had disappeared decades ago. Now she knew. She knew, and she did not care. She trailed kisses down his neck, burying her face against his shoulder to place delicate kisses against the ravaged flesh of his shoulder. This was for me, she thought. She had known instantly, what those scars meant. It had been Red and not her father who had saved her the night of the fire, carrying her through the flames. And suddenly, she loved him even more.

The feel of his cock throbbing against her brought her swiftly back to reality and she quickly ceased her tender caresses to the heat in his hands as he reached between them, quickly shedding the rest of his tailored garments. She watched his hands move across his body, his eyes dark and careful, never left her face.

He grabbed her ankles, dragging her to the edge of the bed. She let out a startled cry when her blouse parted with a tear under his hungry hands. He devoured her with his eyes as he divested her of her clothing, roughly dragging her jeans from her legs in one smooth motion. How could one encounter feel to tender and yet so passionate all at once?