BEASTS OF BLAME BY NATURE

CHAPTER ONE

You've made your decision
Now get up and leave

Blue eyes brimming with angry tears, she had told him to leave. He had told her long ago that all she ever needed to do was say the word and he would be gone. He had never anticipated that she might call his bluff, yet here he found himself about to board his jet, never to return. He had anticipated a reaction from her, but not one quite so strong; while the redness had faded from his face he still heard the crack of her slap echo in his mind and felt the bruise forming along his cheekbone.

The familiar sting
Of the woodcutter's swing
To the tree

Unblinking, he stared out of the window at the passing landscape of the airfield, the darkening skies matching his mood. He had always kept his options open while working with the FBI, and leaving was always on the table; now that it had become reality he found the fine brandy in his glass didn't taste the same and he found no pleasure in it, just as the prospect of moving on to pastures new held no inkling of fun.

He hadn't expected it to hurt quite so much.

I'll fall in the forest
To elbows and knees

She'd spent the evening huddled at the top of the stairs, thinking over the events of the day. He was gone and it was her fault. She had meant what she said at the time, lack of sleep and an unbalanced emotional state only serving to fuel her ire; she hadn't listened to him as he tried to explain himself, hadn't paused to notice the desperate edge to his voice, she had only been able to lash out in anger and grief.

It won't make a sound
Since there's no one around
Here to see

The sting of the slap of hindsight still hadn't left her, and realisation of just what she had done began to settle over her like a suffocating shroud; with Red gone the team would almost certainly be shut down by Fowler, and that it was her fault he was gone meant she would most likely be out of a job. How could she have been so selfish? She wept quietly in the darkness of her empty house; she had nothing.

She hadn't expected it to hurt quite so much.

The spirit has left again
So lie to yourself

He would put her from his mind, get on with business; hard-eyed, cool, calm and calculating as ever. His business was his life's work, and when the time came for him to retire he would disappear off the face of the planet once again – even Fitch and his clients wouldn't be able to find him. He would have his luxuries, indulge his whims, and otherwise carry on as though the whole business with the FBI had never occurred. He did not fear reprisals.

Put them old records on
And admit that it's gone
Somewhere else

A sudden pang of spite flashed through him at the thought of faking his own death – a feat he was most accomplished at, though had never actually needed to action – and ensuring that the news reached her. He quickly quashed the thought, knowing it would achieve nothing.

Just because we're beasts of blame by nature
It doesn't mean that you should carry it again

On waking – not that she felt she had slept at all – regret washed over her in great crashing waves, testing her still feeble emotional state. Cold, she went through the motions of her morning routine; she showered, her tears mingling with the spray as she stared numbly at the drain, her ears deaf to her own wracking sobs.

It's a question of needs
And not rosary beads
In the end

She had known he was the key to her past, yet she had still sent him away. He had shown her the truth in her husband's lies, had helped her remove Tom from her life and encouraged her to move forward, to feel comfortable on her own and let go of the belief that living alone automatically meant she would be lonely. He had quieted the demons of her past and yet, with a few short words she had terminated their acquaintance. He had admitted to his part in her adoptive father's death, had told her it was what Sam had wanted, and she just couldn't process it. Now, as the truth of his words sunk in she found herself wishing he was there to answer her questions, to reassure her and to preserve the only shred of normality she had – him. She shut the shower off with a bleary half-smile at the realisation that Number Four on the FBIs Most Wanted list was the only normality in her life.

You were the coldest star in the sky
But I couldn't see it
I was blind

He felt despondent. He was alone, which was nothing new for him, except now he was acutely aware of it. Another large glass of his prized Petrus Merlot had his thoughts turning melancholy – overdramatically he considered he might as well be dying. His emotions flitted from indignant to forlorn to dejected, his certain attitude had deserted him where Elizabeh Keen was concerned. Even the wine didn't taste as it should. All sense of vibrancy had left him. On the few occasions he had left his accommodation without his trademark shades, Dembe had raised a heavy brow at the dark rings beneath his eyes though he had wisely remained silent. Still, Red felt the weight of his friend's concern and it irritated him. He just wanted to be left well enough alone.

In comes the black night
Calling your name since you were born

Even as a child she had never believed in fairytale endings; she was far too realistic and practical for them to make any sense to her. She was never the princess, or the damsel in distress – she couldn't relate to them at all – but now she felt distress and helplessness like never before, and while he was never exactly a knight in shining armour she had known, somewhere in the back of her mind, that Red would always come to her aid… and now, when she had practically thrown it all back in his face without thinking, she finally realised that she needed him far more than he needed her. She not only needed him to come back, to hold everything together, but she wanted him to come back… she wanted the witty remarks, the biting sarcasm, the humour, the suits, the fedora, that penetrating stare that told her he knew her better than she did. She wanted him, and at the realisation she felt her heart break all over again.

Totally dispirited, the numbness abated to reveal her anxiety levels were through the roof at the thought of returning to work. Perhaps she could feign all knowledge of his disappearance and claim he was likely just attending to his business, expecting his return in forty-eight hours or so along with the rest of the team? Maybe she could convince him to return in that time. She tried calling Nick's Pizza but the number was no longer operational, bringing it all back home just how much she had screwed up. Her ears grew hot with shame and a fresh slew of tears blurred her vision; blinking desperately to prevent them falling she attempted to think more rationally. She needed to cover her ass. She could buy some time at work, but not much. She needed a plan.

I couldn't hear it
I was empty as a drum

Of course, his own demons came to assault him when his guard was down in slumber. She reminded him of everything he had lost, the hefty cost of his choices; his family. She had, in a roundabout way, come to represent not only his second chance in terms of immunity, but a second chance at life – his freedom meant nothing without her, and his subconscious mind taunted him with the fact throughout the night, leaving him lethargic and moody during the day. Theirs had never been a conventional relationship; he had practically thrust himself into the light of her attention and coerced her into knowing him, after all, but he found he wasn't quite prepared to let it go just yet. Thoughts of spite and bitterness gave way to longing for a simpler life, such as he used to have.

He couldn't keep away too long. While not physically close he still kept an eye on her movements, kept his ear to the ground for news of the trundling behemoth that was the FBI; they'd not pose a problem for him again, of that he was sure. He would leave the States soon, and remain outside of it for the foreseeable future. Perhaps he'd find another bottle of the 1982 Petrus to replace the one he'd so carelessly drained without so much as a pause to appreciate it; he had not been himself.

I was prepared to love you
And never expect anything of you

She resolved to find him off her own back. With no new Blacklister to hunt down she was able to take some vacation time. She sat in her living room, the FBI dossier on Red and a roadmap spread out on the coffee table, different coloured marker pens ready to circle, point and question; she was sure he was still in the States… but where?

Fuelled by the adrenaline rush of her, some might argue reckless, decision she pondered that nothing was really worth it without him around. There was no fun in it. She wanted fun, and unwavering trust, and variation; all the things she didn't have but wanted so desperately he embodied. Once she had him she would decide whether to bring him in or give into the growing need for him to help her disappear. She had made so many mistakes, telling him to leave being the biggest in the grand scheme of things. A fresh start was just what she needed; she would beg him if she had to.

There's no patron saint
Of silent restraint

Twenty-four hours later saw her heading to a nondescript airfield. She had woven a sob story, taking a leaf out of Madeline Pratt's book, and said that her husband intended to leave with her children in the middle of their divorce proceedings – it had helped that she was so emotionally unstable on the call – she had given out the details of the jet and waited. Sure enough, a call had come through and she was in the car, pulling away from her house before the call had ended.

She arrived at the airfield in time to see the jet taxiing on the small runway. She stepped out of the car and watched as it took off into the sunset horizon. Rather than feel defeated she smiled – she hadn't felt so alive for a long time – and she considered the state of her sanity as she thought of what she needed to do next. The savings she had squirreled away for years would only get her so far, so she needed to act quickly if she wanted to catch up to him. A quick call to the tower attendant had his destination confirmed. She hung up the call and smiled at the horizon; a new game had begun, and for once she felt like he wasn't holding all the cards.

There ain't no sword in our lake
Just a funeral wake

Disclaimer: Lyrics are from 'Weights & Measures' by Dry The River. I do not own the lyrics used, The Blacklist, or the characters depicted in this work of fanfiction. I am making no money from this.