Chapter Text
She'd had her whole day planned.
The whole day of nothing but lounging around doing nothing.
The previous night Liz had vacuumed, done her laundry, washed the dishes, and bathed the dog just so there wouldn't be anything lingering the next day to disturb her from her plan. Then she'd turned off the alarm on her clock, the back up she had on her phone, as well as the one on her coffee maker.
The first day in over a month she'd had that she hadn't had work, errands to run, or things to unpack was not going to be disrupted.
This morning, Liz hadn't even gotten out of bed until ten o’clock.
Not as late as the noon she'd been aiming for, but considering her day usually starts before six, ten is, to her, a perfectly acceptable alternative.
Next on her list had been watching television in her pajamas until she couldn't stand it anymore, followed by a long bath with a book.
She'd had a sinking feeling that her day of relaxation would be cut short when work had showed up on her caller ID, but being employed where she was meant that when she got a call from there, she had to answer it.
Even when she wasn't on call.
And had other plans.
Which is why Liz is in a dingy construction site running after a scruffy twenty-something with her heart thumping loudly in her ears and adrenalin narrowing her vision aggressively to the skinny thread of her fleeing suspect in front of her rather than being at home curled up with her dog.
She can hear Ressler right behind her, all harsh breathing and heavy steps as they gain ground on their fleeing target. Their target has to slow down to turn a corner, and Liz puts on a burst of speed to catch up before he can disappear around the corner.
She's just inches from Scruffy (There hadn't been a name attached to the file they'd received on their lowly little extortionist, and Scruffy is as good a name as he deserves for causing her to be called in.), , her fingers reaching out to grab onto the back of his backpack as she dodges construction debris and tools, when Scruffy swerves purposely to the side and knocks overs one section of the precariously stacked drums of gravel littering the construction sight.
Liz manages to dodge the first canister that careens down on her, the heavy object crashing and cracking as it hits the hard cement loudly, spilling the pea sized gravel inside of it all over the floor. The second one manages to clip shoulder her though, catching her and causing her to stumble and scramble to keep her footing on the gravel that now slides unsteadily under her feet.
She's somehow kept hold of Scruffy's bag throughout this, and the struggle causes the worn looking backpack to creak strenuously as it stretches before ripping along a seam. The sudden lack of resistance has her falling hard backward, toward the precariously balanced large drums of gravel, and it is only instinct that has her tucking and rolling away from the drums threatening to fall on them.
Liz can feel the sharp bite the gravel on her shoulder, then on her back and neck as she hits the gravel covered concrete floor hard and continues to roll.
She hears Ressler shouting her name in alarm, but she waves him off, managing to cough out a “I'm fine, I'm fine, get him!” around the dust kicked up the gravel and gesturing toward Scruffy, who was already scrambling away. Ressler jumps over the fallen drums and runs after their target as Liz finds her feet once more.
On the ground among the gravel lay the scattered contents of Scruffy's bag, which had fallen out of the bag when it ripped. Liz bends down, despite the protests of her neck and shoulder, to pick up the usb drive she can see half way buried in the gravel.
With any luck, even if their suspect gets away, he'll have left behind something useful.
In the end, Scruffy stumbles over a pipe, and Ressler manages to tackle and cuff him before he gets lost in the maze like construction site.
Which means, for her at least, that she doesn't have to sit through hours meetings about what went wrong. Instead only has to stick around long enough collect the things scattered from Scruffy's bag catch up with Ressler and the rest of the team, and then she is home free just an hour after Ressler cuffed him.
Food. And then a bath.
Or the bath first. Her back and neck are making their unhappiness over her treatment of them well known each time she moves.
Not to the point where she thinks they should be checked out by a doctor, but more than enough to want to be careful with them.
Not to mention the fact that her shirt feels like sand paper against her back. She doesn't know if gravel and grit got down her shirt that she hasn't been able to shake out, or if her back is just that scraped up.
She can't lean back in her seat without her back rubbing against it uncomfortably, so she has to sit abnormally straight backed in her car, which in turn starts to make her lower back hurt in addition to the other complaints her body is nagging her with.
All this equates to her being in an already snippy mood before she even pulls up at her new place, to say nothing of the way her mood takes a dive when she spots the car Red's been using for the last couple of weeks parked a few cars down from her door. It's not Red himself, just Dembe waiting outside the car. Whenever Red sends him to fetch her after a job, Dembe is always waits outside the car for her. Whereas Red lets himself in and waits inside her home.
Which just goes to show that Dembe has better manners than Red does. Or just that Red has no sense of personal space or boundaries when it comes to interacting with me.
Maybe it won't be a long visit.
Maybe he's just here to request a short, entirely optional social call for Red.
Yeah, and while I'm dreaming, maybe he here to tell me that Red's changing occupations and joining the priesthood.
Well, no sense in hiding out here like she's too nervous to go outside and see what Dembe wants. The sooner she deals with him, the sooner she can get this shirt off and go back to her plans for the day.
She climbs gingerly out of her car, trying to keep from moving the muscles in her back or neck as much as possible- No sense in trying to hide it. Even if Red doesn't know about me almost being made into a pancake, the second we get there, Dembe'll just tell him I'm trying to hide some injury. He probably wouldn't even wait to tell Red, just call him on the way.Then she'd have a pissed off Red on her hands, and no hope of getting back to her place for a long while.
She isn't surprised that Dembe is already beside her car before she is even standing beside it, his hand on her elbow helping ease her way out of the car. “Is it serious?”
“No, no, it's not. Just- uncomfortable,” Liz reassures him. He still hasn't let go of her elbow, which is never a good sign. She looks down at the grip he has on elbow as she says flatly, “Let me guess, Red wants to see me.”
“He's advised me to tell you to get your dog, and anything you can't live without for a few days.”
Fuck. “What?” Maybe he doesn't mean what I think he means.
“You'll be staying at the safe-house with Red for a few days.”
He does mean what I think he means. “And I -and my dog- are just supposed to go?”
“He didn't think you'd want to stay that long without your dog.”
“Wow, that's rather optimistic of him. What means him think I'll want to stay even with my dog? And why do I even have to go at all?”
“He's advised me to let you ask him about that.” They both start up the steps to her place, and while he's let go of her, he's still sticking close.
“Of course he did. And I bet he told you just what to do if I decided to be difficult, didn't he?”
“It wouldn't be the most comfortable thing for you, especially with the- injury to your back is it?”
“Just a few scrapes. Not really even a- oh, forget it. Let me get my dog. Then we'll see just what Red has to say for himself.” Liz opens her door, and is surprised when Dembe goes in in front of her, weapon drawn, which makes her draw her own, even if she doesn't know what she's drawing it for. “Dembe?”
“Wait here.” He does a quick but through search of her place, which, as her new place is rather ridiculously small, doesn't take very long, even with her dog trailing excitedly after him. “It's clear, get your stuff, and let's go.” He moves to wait for her by the front door.
Ten minutes later, she, her dog, and the small bag of essentials are sitting in the back seat of Red's car, heading toward the safe-house. Dembe doesn't talk during the ride over, despite her attempts to get him to tell her what is happening.
She eventually gives up, and sits in silence for the rest of the ride. One thing you can say about Red at least- He may have no concept of personal space, but at least he willing to help carry a conversation.
When they do arrive at the safe-house, Dembe is once again standing beside her door, helping her out of the car before she is even halfway out of the vehicle.
He has the dog leash in one hand, and the other is once again on her elbow. Once she and her dog are out of the car, he lets go of her elbow, and says, “Red is inside. I will be back later with your dog, he needs a walk. Red doesn't want to have any... accidents... inside.”
Liz moves toward the steps that go to the safe-house, and Dembe must have sent some message of their arrival to Red, because the door opens before she's two steps up.
Red appears from behind the door in his customary suit, although he's ditched the jacket, and his sleeves are partly rolled up. He still has the vest on though, and she can't help the way her eyes take a (hopefully stealthy) quick trip over his appearance.
Red looks nice, as always, but... his expression is not one of his normal ones. He looked- concerned, worried even, when he had first opened the door, then, when he saw her, relieved. It's gone almost before she realizes it, but she's seen it all the same.
That, even more than Dembe's coming to fetch her and checking her home for intruders, lets her know that something serious has happened. Red doesn't display that range of emotion on his face, not when it's real. “Red? What's happening? I asked Dembe, but he just said ask-”
She breaks off as Red's moves quickly down the steps to stand next to her, taking her bag from her, “Get inside, Lizzie. I'll explain there.”
He puts a hand on her lower back, pushing her forward. Which, unfortunately, also causes her shirt to rub against the portions of her back that feel like the they've been put through a meat tenderizer, causing her to swear and flinch away.
“Lizzie?”
She continues moving up the stairs, pace cautious as she tries to avoid moving her back too much. “It'd not serious, I just fell on some gravel.”
“You're moving like a ninety year old arthritis patient whose been hit by a car.”
She can feel him hovering behind her, matching her slow steps. “I think it rubbed some of my a bit raw. If I move wrong- or if you know, someone touches it- it makes it feel like someone's rubbing sand paper on my back.”
She steps through the door, Red right behind her, who closes and locks the door behind him.
“Now what is this- on second thought, you can explain it through the bathroom door. I need to change out of this shirt.”
“Alright, bathroom's right over there. Do you want to take something for your back?”
She starts moving toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind her even as she replies, “No, I'm fine. Anyway, I hate the way pain meds make me feel. I've had enough experiences feeling drugged to want to feel that way voluntarily over something this small.”
“Understandable, even if I'd prefer you to take some for it if you're in pain.”
“It's-fuck- fine, Red,” She'd made the mistake of trying to speak while carefully peeling off her shirt, and what it feels like is like she'd taken off a layer of skin along with her shirt.
“Lizzie?” Red's voice sounds alarmed, even through the door.
“It's fine, Red. Just moved wrong taking off my shirt, it's nothing.” She turns around to look get a look at her back in the mirror, gathering up her hair to get a clearer view. “Oh, crap- it's nothing, Red, nothing, just moved wrong again.” Shit, while her neck had mostly escaped the impact with the grit and gravel, her back, especially her upper back, was another story entirely. Whole sections along her shoulder blades were rubbed raw with bits of dried blood and cotton sticking to it. Peeling off her shirt had mad it start to bleed sluggishly again, and between her shoulder blade across the center of her back it looked like gravel had scored dark, angry red lines along it.
She leans closer to mirror, trying to get a better look, and, sure enough, there was still bits of grit ground into it. It needed to cleaned and disinfected -the last thing she needed was for something to get infected because she didn't clean it well- and some parts of her back would be... difficult, if not impossible for herself to clean.
She reaches a hand behind her back, trying to see how much she can reach, but the stretch pulls sharply and painfully at her back, making her stop.
“Lizzie? Everything okay still?” Red asks through the door, and from his tone he is obviously getting tired of being stuck on the other side of the door. Well, luckily for him, she needs someone to help with her back, as it seems she can't do it by herself. She's still wearing her bra, so she's still mostly decent. And she'd be facing away from him anyways.
She unlocks the bathroom door and pokes her head through so she doesn't have to ask him through the door. “Yeah, Red, everything's okay. I can't reach, and I need some help cleaning up my back, and I was hoping you could come in and help?”