We're Not Promised Tomorrow Ch. 01-05

Liz smiles tiredly at him, "Me too. And Ress? Thank you," she says with feeling. She knows she owes him for this, for giving her time and for saving her.

Ressler shakes his head and turns away again, heading for the tactical response camper. "Don't mention it," he throws over his shoulder.

Lizzie turns back to Red, her eyes nervously searching his face for some sign of what he is feeling. She is grateful to him for buying them some time to talk, and grateful as well to have this moment with him, not under the FBI's scrutiny; not yet at least.

Red winces as the medic pulls the end of the bandage tight one last time, tucking it into the top of the piece that is already tightly wound around his chest.

"We're all done here," the medic tells him. "Keep the bandage dry or you'll have to re-wrap it. You're going to be sore for a few days; you'll probably want to take something for it, but it sounds like you've got that covered. I can give you a shot of morphine before you leave," he offered.

"No, I'll be fine," Red brushes away the offer. "I think I want my wits about me tonight," he says meaningfully, his eyes on Lizzie' face again.

He cannot read her expression and it's killing him. He needs to know what she is feeling, now that the danger is over and they know they are going to live. Does she regret what they did? Does she blame him? Is she pulling away?

"Let's go," she tells him.

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The ride to their hotel is a silent one, both of them tense in the backseat, each unsure of what the other is thinking and unable to talk about it with the junior agent driving in the front.

Lizzie's eyes follow the city lights the car moves along the quiet streets. It is late and the usually crowded thoroughfares are empty.

She cannot look at him and not know how he feels. Her chest is tight with the weight of unnamed emotions. What they had experienced in the prison had changed her. Was it possible that it didn't hold the same meaning for him?

She stares out the window, eyes unseeing as her mind wanders, remembering. She was in his lap, his hands on her hips. He had kissed her like she was his only salvation. He was inside her, moving and she wanted him so much. If this was going to be the last.....Lizzie's eyes drifted shut, her head resting against the window. She arched over him, his breath warm on her neck, coming together in the most spiritual way, a divine and heady pairing; the moonlight their only witness. Her eyes snap open. She'd told him she loved him. And it's true; she does, she realizes. Tears prick her eyes: what if he doesn't feel the same?

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Red's anxiety is like a sharp weight in the back of his throat, clawing at him to escape.

He watches her from the corner of his eye as she stares out the window, unwilling to look at him. How can he tell her, what can he possibly say? Those moments in the dungeon were the most precious thing to have ever happened to him. He still can't believe it was real. She was everything he had dreamed she would be: soft and muscled beneath his hands, satin lips and cool flesh meeting his, passionate and eager; unreserved as she sought her pleasure, offering herself up for his exploration; and, oh, so lovely. Red closes his eyes and hears, in his memory, the sighs escaping her lips as his body did things to her that he had only fantasized about.

He watches her again, willing her to turn to him, trying to read her thoughts in the language of her body. She is his light and he is terrified she will walk away. His need for her is a prurient burn in the back of his mind, blissful, awakened, wanting. How could he have her and not want more?

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It is well after midnight when the car finally drops them at the entrance to the hotel they have been staying at. They stand, staring at each other, for the first time since the ambulance, as the car pulls away from the porte-cochere.

With a deep breath, Red extends his hand to her, "Shall we?"

He breathes a sigh of relief when she closes the distance between them and grasps his hand firmly in her own.

He leads her through the lobby and into the elevator. The ride up is quiet, but he keeps her hand in his, taking a small measure of comfort in the fact that she lets him.

Lizzie's heart is pounding, she can feel each pulse in her temples, in her throat, in the surge of blood that pulses in her veins. She has never been so aware of her own body or of his, as she stands next to him, her hand nestled warmly in his grip. What is she going to say to him when they reach their room? What if he thinks it was a mistake?

She startles next to him when the elevator dings, announcing their arrival at their floor. Red glances down at her once before pulling her from the elevator and leading her down the hall to his door. They had booked adjoining suites for their stay, posing as a married couple, and she wonders now if they will be retiring to their own rooms as they had for the previous two nights.

He scans the keycard and ushers her inside, the door closing behind them with a faint click.

She stops a few steps into the room, her eyes casting about for answers, for reinforcements, for a place to start.

He walks past her, dropping his room key and wallet on the table. He crosses to the walnut sideboard, intending to pour himself a drink; then thinks better of it and turns to face her, hands behind him on the surface, resting his weight with elbows bent, hips leaning back against it for support.

They stare, unmoving, unbreathing, both desperate for a way to begin this conversation. There is doubt here and they can both feel it, uncertainty and apprehension electrifying the air between them.

Trembling, he takes a breath. He hates himself, but he has to do this. His own words repeat themselves back to him in his head, I believe I will always do whatever I think is necessary to keep you safe. This is not safe. This is not protecting her.

He lifts his chin, his jaw working back and forth as he tries to summon the courage to voice the words lacerating his throat, every syllable a shard of glass drawing blood.

His heart breaking with every word, he offers her an out, "It was a mistake."

Chapter 3:

Trembling, he takes a breath. He hates himself, but he has to do this. His own words repeat themselves back to him in his head, I believe I will always do whatever I think is necessary to keep you safe. This is not safe. This is not protecting her.

He lifts his chin, his jaw working back and forth as he tries to summon the courage to voice the words lacerating his throat, every syllable a shard of glass drawing blood.

His heart breaking with every word, he offers her an out, "It was a mistake."

Lizzie answers him immediately, vehemently, and suddenly she can breathe again, the force of her response driving her body forward a step, "It wasn't a mistake."

His relief is like a blow to the chest, "It wasn't a mistake," he repeats, his words carrying him across the carpet to enfold her in his fervant embrace.

She feels his arms close around her and something inside her breaks wide open, a sob tearing loose from her lungs. She sags in his arms, sobs wracking her shoulders and he lowers them both to the floor against the protest of his burning ribs, whispering his "I love you's" into her hair over and over again.

"Oh, god!" she moans, tears streaming hotly onto his neck, "I thought.....we were....I thought....."

"Shhhh," he is murmuring to her. "I know."

They sit like that for a long time, Red stroking calming circles along her back and kissing the crown of her head, taking his own solace by breathing in the citrus scent of her hair, until her tears abate and she quiets in his arms.

She takes a shuddering breath and pulls herself back from his embrace, his arms slackening on her as she raises her eyes to his, "I do love you," she says with feeling, "I meant that." Her eyes pin him; she needs him to understand the depth of her emotion. "It wasn't just the moment."

He crushes her to his chest again. "I love you, Lizzie," he tells her finally, the words desperately escaping his grasp.

And then Red's mouth is on hers and she is opening for him, meeting every thrust of his tongue with her own, desire fiercely battling with tenderness.

Breathless, they break apart, eyes meeting in a moment of shared acceptance.

"I won't give you up," she tells him forcefully.

Relieved, he exhales the breath he was holding.

"Thank god!" he laughs, hands going to her face, cupping her cheek, fingers tracing over her lips, her jaw. He rests his forehead on hers, eyes closed, gratitude pouring off his body in waves. He didn't know how he would have responded if she had told him that it had all been a mistake, if she had agreed, if she had walked out his door.

He crushes her to him again, murmuring her name, "Lizzie.....oh, my Lizzie!" for she is his now.

"Red?" she asks tentatively. "Will you take me to bed?"

He lets out a bark of a laugh, "I would love to do nothing more than do exactly that, but I think you'll have to take me to bed as I don't think I can get up off this floor".

She smiles up at him and rises gracefully to her feet. She bends at the waist, reaching down for him, wrapping her arms gingerly around his middle. With a grunt of pain, he heaves himself up from the floor with her assistance. He leans heavily on her, a pained expression on his face.

"Oh, Red," she squeaks, at the contortion of his features. "Come on, love, let's get you to bed. You should rest." Lizzie continues to berate him about the folly of refusing to go to the hospital all the way into the bedroom.

"Where is your bag?" she demands once she has helped him lower himself onto the bed. He is panting, his pain obvious on his face.

"Closet," he nods in the direction of the wardrobe.

She is gone only a minute for her search, returning with the bag in hand and dropping it onto the bed next to him. "I'll get you some water; you need to take some pain meds, Red, please."

"I don't want to be fuzzy tonight. I want to be aware for this. I want to spend my time with you and I'd like to be awake to do it!" he insists.

"We have time now; it's making me wince to think about how sore your chest must be. Please," she tells him firmly over her shoulder as she heads into the suite's kitchenette for a bottle of water.

Red searches through the bag while she is gone and finds something suitable, but not too strong. If this were any other night, if he were alone, he would down a bottle of scotch to numb the pain and take something to knock him out and forget all about the searing pain knifing a ribbon of fire through his chest.

Lizzie returns with a handful of ice wrapped in a towel and the water. She stands over him as he downs the pills and helps him lie down, shifting pillows around him until he is comfortable. She removes his shoes and unbuttons his vest, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before lying down next to him and curling into his side, careful not to jostle him. She wants to rest her head on his shoulder, but thinks better of it and rests her hand on his bicep instead.

"What will we do now?" she asks the question they are both thinking.

"Well.....I can think of a few things I'd like to do....." he trails off suggestively.

"Red!" she pushes his arm playfully. "I mean about the FBI," she looks at him seriously.

"What do you want to tell them?" he asks carefully, letting her take the lead on this decision.

"Nothing!" Lizzie exclaims. She toys with the fabric of his shirt for a moment, thinking. "They've taken so much already.....I don't want them to have this, too. If we tell them, they're going to split us up and you don't work with anyone else. That would mean voiding your immunity agreement and then I'm afraid they really would take you away from me for good. At the very least, they wouldn't trust me anymore."

Red sighs, wishing he could make this easier for her.

"We could leave," he says simply.

She looks up at him, surprised. "Leave? Like, just walk away from everything? Quit my job and just.....leave?" He cannot tell if she is angry with him for the suggestion or if she is simply grappling with the possibility.

She is quiet for a moment. "We could leave," she whispers. Her eyes dart to meet him, a small smile on her lips.

"Yes," he echoes quietly, "We could leave."

They sit with the thought, a plan beginning to take shape in their minds.

"We could travel," he tells her carefully, planting ideas like seeds, "See the world, sail.....eat the most incredible food in the most amazing locations......make love in every country on the globe," he continues suggestively, bending his head and catching her earlobe between his teeth.

She smiles at his playful suggestions and gasps when he gently tugs on the tender flesh of her lobe.

"We still have so much to do," she reasons, her tone just a bit regretful. "We haven't completed the Blacklist. And I do love my job." She pauses and then smiles mischievously up at him, "It's a good backup plan anyway."

Red smiles down at her, all his love for her shining in his eyes. She is considering his proposal, at least. It's a beginning.

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They stay up talking, making exotic, imaginative plans for their life away from the FBI. The fantastic, improbable ideas are refreshing to think about after the harrowing adventure of the last few hours. Both are grateful for the opportunity to make plans at all, even unlikely plans, after coming so close to losing each other. It is soothing and Red secretly files all her suggestions away, knowing that he could make every one of them come true for her if she only said the word.

Finally, Lizzie can no longer keep her eyes open and slips into sleep in the middle of explaining her ideas for a house in the jungle that had no walls and pet monkeys that would come and go as they pleased. Red switches off the bedside light, rolling her into his arms. He pauses before closing his eyes to thank the universe again for their rescue, for her love, for this second chance. He has never been as content as he is in this moment.

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She is back in the dungeon cell but the moonlight is gone. She reaches out in the darkness, searching for him with her hands, but she can only feel the cold, rough concrete scratching her palms. "Red?" she begs in the darkness. Where is he? She is scrambling for him on all fours, desperately seeking him.

The shouting starts again, and the smoke, and then they are there, hands clamping down on her arms, wresting her from the cell. But it isn't her friends this time. This isn't a rescue. No one is coming to sae them now.

They drag her down the hall, shadowy figures that move like ghosts. She is screaming for Red, but they don't answer her; pushing her forward harshly. She stumbles into walls, scraping her hands on the sharp stone, but still they urge her on, up the stairs now, shoving her from behind, heedless of her cries.

She bursts through the door at the top of the stairs, as before, but now she isn't outside, she's in a round room of stone and there is no light, no salvation here. The walls are coated in blood, the bright coppery stench all around here.

And then he is, in front of her on his knees, eyes pleading with her. She lunges for him, but steely arms grasp her around her waist, halting her progress. His hands are bound behind him and tears stream down his face. She is screaming for him, wailing in the arms of her captor; she must reach him, touch him one more time. She has to save him...

One of the ghosts materializes behind Red, his hands levelling a pistol at his head. She fights harder now, clawing at the arms holding her, her throat raw with her screams. The shadowy finger is already squeezing the trigger. She gives one last impassioned lurch and the arms release her, letting her stumble forward to him. She is nearly there. She is reaching out. She can almost touch him. She hears the shot.

She wakes with a scream, her upper body lunging off the bed. She is gasping, desperately trying to drag air into her lungs. Red wakes immediately at her movement. He lifts his upper body painfully up off the bed, arms coming around her to still her trembling. His back and chest are screaming with the effort, but he hides his pain in the dark and wraps his arms around her, leaning his upper body into hers for support as he rocks her back and forth.

"It's alright, shhhh.....darling, it's ok....you're ok, we're alright," he soothes her

She is gasping, her chest heaving against his shoulder.

He coos to her, "It's alright, Lizzie, it was only a dream."

"Red!" she cries out, reassuring herself that he is really there, still with her, still alive. "They were....we were back there," she is sobbing. "I couldn't reach you......and they were......they were..."she is beginning to hyperventilate.

"Lizzie," Red repeats her name, more firmly, to get her attention. "Sweetheart, you've got to breathe," he instructs, demonstrating by taking deep breaths himself. "Just breathe, Lizzie, come on sweetheart, breathe for me."

She begins to slow her breathing, following the even rise and fall of his chest against hers until her sobs subside again.

He presses a fierce kiss to her temple. "That's my girl," he soothes.

"How about a shower?" Red suggests, smoothing her hair away from her face. "That might make you feel better." He checks the bedside clock; four 'o'clock AM. They have been asleep for just over two hours. "You'll still have time to sleep for a bit before we go to meet Agent Ressler."

She nods, "Come with me?"

"Of course," he smiles.

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Under the bright lights of the spacious bathroom, she realizes her mistake.

"You can't get those bandages wet."

Red grins at her, "How about a sponge bath?"

Lizzie fills the tub with hot water and bubbles until it is waist high while Red strips off his clothes, leaving them in a pile in the corner. She watches him from beneath her lashes. It isn't a sexual moment, it is a practical one, but she can't help the flutters of desire that flicker through her.

He steps closer to her, hands at her waist. He peels her tank top over her head, tossing it behind him. His eyes are hooded, darkening with desire, captivated by her lips as they part imperceptibly when his fingertips come to rest on the hem of her pants. He has already had her, yes, but he hasn't seen her naked and she is suddenly shy. With effort, he drops to the floor, exposing the creamy expanse of her legs in one swift motion. Kneeling bent over like this is excruciating, but he cannot resist uncovering her for this, the first time he will really see her bare. She places her hands on his shoulders for stability as he drags her leggings over her feet, one at a time.

She feels the ridged flesh beneath her hands. She has known for a long time now about the scars and the truth about the fire, but this is the first time she has seen them, felt them. He stills below her, tensing; on his knees he lays a hand gently on the back of her calf for balance. Lizzie caresses Red's shoulders, gently smoothing her hands over him until she feels him relax.

"It's ok," she whispers, reassuring him. "I love you."

He raises his head then, looking deeply into her eyes, letting his gaze speak all the words that her touch means to him.