Disclaimer: Not mine.

Dreaming

Red was finished. It was that simple. No fancy words came to his mind to describe his situation, except for one: end. They had reached the end of his Blacklist and as a result, their cooperation. And it had been the end of him.

Slowly, he made his way into the suite on unsteady feet, careful not to make too much noise. Dembe would be on guard, and Red was tired of his brother's reproachful looks. He knew he was a mess and he didn't need to be told. He had been a mess since he had seen Lizzie last – and that had been six months ago…When she had told him to go.

He still couldn't believe it, couldn't wrap his mind around it. How could she possibly throw away three years of their relationship?

He laughed silently, Dembe momentarily forgotten. Relationship was not exactly the word Lizzie would use to describe the unfathomable something that had been between them. She would use a word like liaison, or partnership, and she would certainly add forced. Forced liaison.

With a sigh, he tried to take his shoes off – he had much better chance to slip around unnoticed without his shoes on, right? But then he decided it was too much trouble and trudged further into the room.

Lizzie had told him to go. Red would rather have been shot. Instead of doing something stupid, like fumbling for his gun, he fell face first on the enormous couch and groaned when his bruised body protested.

He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and waited for the pain to subside, refusing to move.

He drank lately – way, way too much – and he picked fights at every opportunity. He still couldn't forget her expressionless face when she had uttered those six simple words (I need you to go, now.), and his anger, that irrational hot burning in his gut… Didn't fade, it just didn't fade with time. It got only worse.

Red was angry at himself – for being such a fool, for lying to her, for withholding the truth from her, for killing both of her fathers, for destroying her life. He hadn't protected her, Lizzie had been hurt so much, and he had made her hate him.

"You look like shit."

That voice, her voice, Red observed and groaned. He was not drunk enough to pass out, or he had managed to sober up a bit during his very satisfying fist fight with that biker he had taunted two hours ago. Either way, Lizzie's voice was here and Red didn't want to dream of her, not tonight and not ever.

She would always make him cry in the end and Red didn't do crying – at least not fully conscious Red. Dreaming Red, now that was different. Dreaming Red cried shamelessly – at her gentle touches, soft words and sweet kisses; or at her words that cut him deeply, at her accusations that left him choking, gasping for air and searching for excuses he couldn't find. He wasn't sure which dreams he preferred – the ones where Lizzie loved him, or the ones where she hated him.

The latter was the bitter truth, his everyday reality, yet the real Lizzie wasn't so cruel to say all those awful words aloud. Or so he hoped. Red would not be able to bear it.

The other possibility – her loving him – was a beautiful fantasy and it killed him every time he woke up to know that it was all it would ever be –a dream.

"Oh, God! Is that blood, Red? Is it yours or have you beaten someone into a bloody pulp?"

Ah, so this dream would be of the less pleasant kind. Red sat up and looked around, searching for the source of the voice.

Lizzie was sitting in a plush armchair near the window, illuminated by the light of the waning moon. She wore simple clothes, practical – very similar to what her real life version liked to wear during their travels. She watched him with burning eyes and shocked expression – he noticed how she rubbed her scar.

He followed her gaze and looked down at himself. His jacket was torn in few places, his vest lost some of its buttons, his tie was loosened and shirt untucked. He would have minded his appearance should she be real, but now he didn't care.

Lizzie switched the lamp on and made her way towards him. Gently, she took hold of his hands and inspected his scratched knuckles while he gazed at her with a slow toothy grin forming. Maybe it would be one of the good dreams, he mused.

Her hands were so soft and warm and Red missed the warmth when she let go. He protested – a needy sound forming in the back of his throat.

"Hush."

She touched his face with her left hand. The stubble on his cheeks was only a little shorter than his cropped hair and it was exactly the same color and texture. She mapped the purple bruise there with her fingertips.

Red hissed. His right cheek had been introduced to the biker's left hook twice and it hurt like hell, not to mention that he had met a fist of an angry gentleman two nights ago, too; he had hit exactly the same spot.

"You smell, too. Like a distillery."

"Lizzie." Red's only reaction was to lean into her touch, ignoring the stinging, and he closed his eyes. It felt incredibly good and he knew that he would wake sobbing anyway. He could at least enjoy the dream. He searched for her other hand and squeezed, smiling broadly. When he wasn't met with any sort of resistance, he tried to pull her closer for a hug. Red liked a good hug very much.

"No, Red. Seriously, you smell. Like a bar and cigarettes and blood and… uh, sweat and vomit."

It took him a moment to register her words and the fact that she was not hugging him back, still standing awkwardly between his knees, half bent towards him. Lizzie was not pushing him off, exactly, but she tried to avoid touching him – as if she was uncertain what do with him.

Confused, Red leaned back and stared at her.

She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

"What for?" He spoke carefully, tried not to slur, and clutched her hand. So, so warm…

"We don't see each other for months and I say you smell. That's not nice." She patted his shoulder and pushed him down, to lean against the backrest fully. She sat beside him then, still holding his hand and rubbing small circles on his wrist with her thumb.

Red blinked twice to clear his vision. This wasn't the part when he started to cry; that was supposed to come later when Lizzie would say and do something nice and touching, like saying that she's in love him.

He wiped his eyes and grinned at her when he noticed that she was observing him. He had loved to be the center of attention – Lizzie's attention more precisely, wistfully thinking that she had been watching his lips or deliberately seeking out his eyes.

"Won't you ask me what I am doing here?"

Red shook his head and pulled her closer. Now they were touching from shoulder to knee and he clumsily put her palm over his heart. He covered it with his own and heaved a content sigh. His heartbeat had picked up speed gradually as the warmth from Lizzie's hand slowly penetrated Red's skin.

"I don't know this side of you."

"What do you mean?" Now he slurred a little, but he focused on the feeling her closeness brought out – he felt whole, complete, and at peace, not shattered to million pieces. He wouldn't mind more… action packed dream, so to speak, but this simple intimacy felt almost real. It resembled the maximum real Lizzie would have allowed him before she had known that he had killed Sam and had had her shot her biological father – the number one on his Blacklist.

But he refused to think about that, there was no need to ruin this pleasantly strange dream.

"You are silent."

"Am I?"

"Of all the uncharacteristic and unsettling things I've seen so far tonight…" Lizzie trailed off and looked around, her eyes eventually settling on him. Red remained motionless and didn't answer, unsure of what he could possibly say – he enjoyed the silence and he liked to be able to hear her breathing, to imagine he could hear her steady heartbeat.

He would simply love to fall asleep listening to such a beautiful melody.

"I've never seen you really drunk, you know, or this open and vulnerable. And really, I hope that the other guy looks much worse… Come on, Red, don't let me just babble like this! Just say something, this silence scares me the most."

Red frowned at the tone of her voice and looked at her. She appeared to be distressed, and that was not a state he liked to see her in. He pulled her even closer and hugged her tightly, words failing him. For once in his life, Red didn't want to talk. She pushed him off.

"For God's sake, you really do smell! It's gross! Don't do that."

His befuddled mind didn't offer him any explanation why would a dream Lizzie mind, so he only gazed at her bemused and then turned away. He didn't like this dream anymore, it was too confusing and made him feel uncomfortable and suddenly naked under her scrutiny.

"Alright, this was a bad idea…"

Lizzie got up and Red panicked, blindly tugging her back down and into his lap.

"No, no, no! Don't leave, please!"

These desperate words delivered in that awfully broken, strangled voice were coming from him, and he hated how it exposed him, how fragile and lonely and dead he sounded. The dream was turning into a nightmare. "Don't leave me, please."

His heart was beating rapidly, he needed her close. Red didn't waste any time and his arms encircled her frame, he held her like a drowning man is holding onto a life ring. Even if she was just an alcohol induced dream, Red was unable to let go and his emotions bled into his voice, and the truth behind them was unmistakable. "I can't bear it; you just not being here with me. I can't."

Drunk and dreaming or sober and awake, it didn't matter – he just couldn't.

Wordlessly, Lizzie stopped trying to get up and froze. After a second, she hugged him back. Her touch was tentative, uncertain, and she took only small breaths with her head turned to the side slightly.

"God, Red. I had no idea."

He didn't react and Lizzie hesitantly let her fingernails to scrape the back of his head. When he only tightened his hold on her, she flattened her palms on his shoulders and started to draw slow, lazy circles up and down his back.

"Hmm…" Red nodded, nuzzling her neck, and then he started to kiss the skin of her nape, and quickly proceeded to lick it. This dream might be salvageable after all.

"Oh, no you don't!" Lizzie stiffened and swung her legs down.

"No, no!" He squeezed her tightly, his panic returning full force.

"Jesus, calm down!" She dug her nails into his forearm and pushed at it, her other hand reassuringly caressing his face. "I'll be here in the morning, when you actually will know that one plus one is two…"

Red shook his head and refused to contemplate the morning, but loosen his death grip enough for her to slip between his arms and stand up. She pulled him up and started to tug him towards the bedroom.

He liked the direction they were taking, but the world around him started to blacken around the edges, and he needed to lean on Lizzie. His head spun – from the fight, from the scotch, from the emotional whirlwind of the last few minutes.

When they managed to stumble next to the bed, he lost his fight with oblivion and the last thing he remembered was Lizzie pulling his shoes off, mumbling:

"I swear, Red, you'll be the death of me."

.-.

Mornings were unforgiving. The light was too bright, the pounding in his head too loud and the reality too bleak. There was no Lizzie, never had been in the first place. Red took a calming breath, willing himself to remain composed, and tried not to reach across the bed for a warm body that wasn't there.

He pulled the blanket over his head instead, and hugged his pillow – bit it to keep in the cry of defeat, frustration, and despair from escaping. The dream had been amazingly realistic and made him feel absolutely lost. He stayed like this for a moment and then he talked himself into moving, like he had to do every day.

He had appearances to keep.

Everything hurt when he tried to sit and he still felt all the scotch. It would take him hours to sober up completely. He decided not to drink tonight, to give his liver a night off and his body time to heal. He would take sleeping pills in the evening and forget about this mess for blessed few hours.

He swung his feet over the edge of the bed, planting them firmly on the ground and stared at his thumbs blankly. He should clip his nails.

But where were his socks? Or his shoes, jacket and vest? And how exactly he had found himself under the blanket instead of on top of it? He just fell on bed usually fully clothed with shoes on, in the times he actually managed to stumble all the way to the bedroom.

Dembe had point blank refused to be of any help to Red when he was in such a state.

He looked around and found his clothes neatly stacked on a nearby chair, with his shoes at the foot of the bed. He rose and stretched, rolling up his sleeves as he walked towards the bathroom.

He noticed them, then; four perfect little marks in the shape of someone's fingernails etched into his forearm. Lizzie… had dug her nails into his arm to get her point across, not enough to draw blood but with enough force to leave these behind.

Red's heart started to hammer painfully and his breath hitched. Stumbling, he run to the other door and threw it open. On the other side he found Lizzie, sitting there on the couch and sipping coffee with Dembe.

Both looked up questioningly. Dembe smirked. Lizzie pulled a face of disgust. Red tugged at his shirt, painfully aware that he was not exactly at his best – and hadn't been during their late night meeting either.

"Lizzie?" Afraid that he was still dreaming, he edged closer and gazed at her uncertainly.

"You look even worse in daylight, Red, and I can smell you all the way from there."

"What are you doing here?" He took another few steps closer and glanced between her blue eyes and Dembe, who looked extraordinarily smug. Red had a fair good guess how she had gotten here and he wasn't exactly sure if he was angry at his brother or eternally thankful to him. Lizzie was speaking to him, which was more than Red had ever hoped for.

She glanced to the side and shrugged. "Dembe lent me your jet."

Of course he had. Red faltered, kept looking at her nervously and chewed the inside of his cheek. What exactly had Dembe said to her in order to get her here? Red wasn't sure. It must have been something convincing. She was still in the suite with them and was looking at him. Her face was a mixture of annoyance – nothing new here – and a strange softness which Red didn't dare to call caring. But it sure as hell resembled caring.

"I'll get more coffee." Dembe tactfully slipped from the suite.

Red nodded absentmindedly and slowly sat next to Lizzie. He clasped his hands together – the urge to reach out and touch her was almost unbearable. He couldn't breathe; her presence was tugging at him, tearing him to pieces.

"I don't know what to say, sweetheart. You have me at a loss."

"Somebody call a doctor!" Lizzie turned towards him fully. She was smiling, Red noted, not smirking but genuinely smiling. Her hand rose and touched his bruised cheek and then she caressed his split lip with her thumb. He tried not to lean into her hand.

"Why are you here?" His eyes stung, he felt prickling at their corners, and he refused to break down in front of her. However, he couldn't look away; he was caught and held by her blue, blue eyes.

"Well, when you didn't show, what was I supposed to do, other than track you down?" Lizzie playfully smacked his shoulder and Red flinched and frowned, not understanding her words.

"Pardon?"

She sighed.

"Honestly, Red. I meant for now." Lizzie bit her lower lip and reached for his hand. She laced their fingers together and tugged at them, a nervous energy coursing through her. "When I told you to go, I meant for the time being, until the shit storm would pass. I meant that you should go for now, not for ever, you idiot."

"Lizzie?" Red blinked and then the world around him spun. She steadied him, firm grip on his shoulders, and then her palm, so very warm, pressed to the side of his neck, cradling his head.

"I waited and waited, thinking you were cleaning up on your end, and then Dembe called that you broke down and if I would not mind at least talking to you…Seriously, Red? God, do you have any idea how angry I am with you right now?"

"Why would … Why would you be upset with me?" Her words simply didn't make much sense. Red was at a loss. It had to be the scotch, he thought; that was the reason why he couldn't think straight and just was not able to grasp the meaning behind Lizzie's words.

"Maybe 'cause you left without clearing things between us?" Lizzie flashed him an annoyed look and then tugged at the collar of his shirt, inspecting the dried blood there. "'Cause you were trying to get yourself killed in all those fights? Dembe snitched."

"Obviously…"

"And you will be grateful for that, Red!" She hit him in his chest. "Otherwise how would I know how you feel about me?"

He had hoped that he hadn't managed to embarrass himself last night, but obviously he had. What had he told her? What had he done? There was a roaring sound filling his ears and Red closed his eyes tightly and covered his face, a groan escaping his lips.

"I am so, so sorry, Lizz-"

"Shut up!"

Red jerked reflexively. Her words felt like physical blows. What did she want to hear? Not an apology that was certain. What then? He was scared to look at her, so he didn't – until she pried his hands away from his face and forced him to meet her gaze. He could drown in her eyes. He wanted to.

"Oh, Red, you are so damaged." Lizzie whispered, her hands firmly but gently framing his face. "Under all your suits, behind that maddening attitude of yours, you feel you are just a scarred and broken man; more like a boy who is so, so afraid of love. Are you afraid to love, or are you afraid of being loved, Red? Do you think you don't deserve it?"

He wanted her to pull out a gun and shoot him. He wanted to be dead right now. It would have been much more merciful than her gaze and her words. But why was she looking at him so gently, so lovingly with her eyes sparkling and glistening with tears? Why was she on the verge of crying?

"But you're not, do you hear me, Red? You are not broken yet. You're the strongest man I know, and… well. You do, you know. You deserve love and you don't have to be afraid of it. You don't have to be afraid of telling me."

Red blinked, utterly ashamed of the two tiny streams of salty wetness trickling down his cheeks, but not caring anymore. He felt cut open – and Lizzie saw all that was inside of him. She was seeing him, and she… she… Red didn't understand. "What are you saying?"

Lizzie shook her head and looked at a loss of words momentarily. Then her face cleared and she met his eyes resolutely, speaking calmly: "You're an ass and you annoy the hell out of me, but I want you in my life. Scratch that, I need you in my life, Red. I'm not sure in what capacity, yet. You are a handsome guy, you know, so I won't deny that I am physically attracted to you… and I won't deny that emotionally, you are… special. I just… just need you close, period. Maybe not as much as you need me, but I really do. So, if you are willing to try, I want to find out where this will lead us. Are you willing to try?"

He felt himself trembling when he slid down to the ground and on his knees in front of her. Lizzie briefly tried to stop him, but it was to no use. Red was kneeling before her, his expression one of wonder and fear at the same time. He felt hope and he wasn't sure if the previous despair hadn't been the better option, because this hope could kill him. He functioned, it was painful, it was ugly and he was slowly dying inside, but this? Should Lizzie decide that there was no 'us' for them, Red would be unable to think, to breathe, to live.

Catching a glimpse of paradise and then being thrown down to hell? No. Never. Should she decide that she didn't need him anymore, or that she didn't want him as a lover, as a life partner – because that's what Red needed her to be, his other half – he would be better off dead.

"I-I can't do that, Lizzie, sweetheart. I ca-can't. " Whispering those words, Red rested his forehead on her knees, hugged her calves. Would she understand? Could she? But Lizzie already knew. Red was scared of love, of loving her, and losing her – and his wonderful Lizzie knew.

She parted her legs and pulled him closer, and Red responded, pressing his face in her stomach, arms encircling her back, while she just held him tightly. Her breathing was calm and deep and he shifted a little, moved higher a little, and he heard it finally – Lizzie's heartbeat. Steady, regular. Then he felt them, her words, forming a moment before he heard them in his ears.

"You have me, Red, and you will always have me." Lizzie leaned down and he could feel her hot breath on the back of his neck. He shook his head desperately. That was not true, not really. Sam had had her. Tom Keen had had her. But Red? Red had only wished it, craved it while he had forced his way into her life. Or could he truly? Could he truly claim that Lizzie was somehow his?

"In here." She moved her hand and put her palm on his chest, above his heart. "That's something that won't ever change. Have faith in me. Take a chance, Red."

Brave Lizzie had just asked him to love her, she had asked him to be her man. Just how he could deny her that? Lifting his head, Red looked into Lizzie's eyes and he saw light, so much of the light he had tried so hard to follow. His heart throbbing painfully, he shut his eyes again, the sight too much for him. He had longed for the light – her light and only hers – so much, and for such an unimaginably long time… Red had never been more afraid than now, but he was no coward.

He couldn't deny her anything; unable to speak, he slightly nodded.

He didn't see her face but he felt a soft touch of her lips at the corner of his mouth, and he could tell that she was smiling. It was more than a kiss, it was a promise of something he had never believed was possible and Red's spirit soared. He held her tighter for a moment, enjoying the peace, the lightness, the warmth. Enjoying her.

Then she sniffed and said playfully, "Now, Red, a shower please?"

Of course, he did remember that she had complained about his distillery smell several times. Perhaps it was time to do something about it? So he can be close without grossing her out? Red opened his eyes and grinned at her, even though his bruised face protested. Lizzie was the happiest he had ever seen her and that alone was enough to chase all his doubts and fears away. She had just seen him at his worst, and she had still kissed him, accepted him. Maybe she would stay in the end? And if not, dying in light sounded better than living in darkness.

Feeling more like himself, Red cleared his throat and said flippantly, "Why, sweetheart, are you offering to join me?"

Lizzie was taken aback and blinked twice. Then she smiled lazily and something in her eyes lit up, the heat of her gaze warming every inch of Red's body. "Sure."

Red chuckled and seeing no need to restrain himself and deny his wishes any longer, he leaned in and kissed her jaw, breathing in her ear: "You never cease to amaze me."

"And you should stop underestimating me." Lizzie pushed him back, rose and tugged him in the direction of the bedroom and the adjacent bathroom.

Red followed, enjoying the feel of their joined hands, humming with satisfaction in the back of his throat and idly musing that he needed to brush his teeth, too. He would kiss her in the shower properly. Then he would worship her as he had longed to do for years. Oh, the things he had in mind! Drinking always made him horny and Lizzie didn't seem to mind that they actually hadn't had a proper date yet, but then again, the foreplay took them three years.

She smiled at him devilishly when they crossed the threshold to the bathroom and Red had to wonder if he wasn't the only one with action packed dreams. He grinned, quite stupidly. Lizzie had confessed that she had been attracted to him, after all.

So, it's basically an apology for Absolution. Comments and reactions would be appreciated :)

Edited by artemisfae, as always :)