Chapter Text
Early afternoon on the northern California coast, the fog not yet advancing, bright sunlight dancing off the sea and the grassy, rolling hills sere and dry in tones of yellow and silver and sienna.
Red steps from the delivery truck and walks confidently up onto the sagging porch and into the weathered farmhouse. The unpainted door is unlocked, as he expects, and he lets the screen door slam behind him as he listens to the truck drive away.
His half-brother Gerold's house. Red hasn't set foot in this room for more than twenty years, but he recognizes the pattern of the faded green linoleum.
Liz has been safe here, he's sure of that, but where is she?
Gerold Jr. has kept her occupied and protected, Red has no doubt about that, but he can't go wandering around the farm or the outbuildings to look for her. Not in broad daylight.
He passes through the kitchen, opens the closed doors at either end of the hall, ignoring the small bathroom in the center.
A masculine room at the front, piles of boots on the floor and a red plaid wool blanket on the bed. Tidy despite the paperbacks stacked high on the shelf beneath the window.
An office with a couch bed draped in quilts at the back, his brother's old oak desk weighted with piles of faded paper. No computer, and a brick of an old black phone. The bag he sent with Liz, just one change of clothing and a few toiletries, sits on the floor beside a number of plastic shopping bags.
Apparently she's been purchasing western wear?
Red didn't mean to leave her here for more than a few days, but things became complicated quickly.
Closing the door, Red makes his way back to the kitchen and brews a fresh pot of coffee, finding the supplies in the same cupboards, his aunt's flatware in the same drawers. He takes off his overcoat and drapes it over the back of a chair, then sets his fedora on the kitchen table, where it sits looking decidedly out of place. He's so weary, his ribs are sore from a fight where Dembe would have beyond useful, and he needs to see her again. He needs to know she's still safe, and then he can rest.
***
The fair is small, and local, but crowded every day.
Elizabeth Keen, with her hair dyed in streaks of blond and red, wearing cat eye black framed glasses and sporting several fake tattoos and piercings, including a small silver hoop in one eyebrow, is having a wonderful time.
"Gerry! Cotton candy!" She tugs at the strong, freckled hand she's holding. "Buy me some, please?"
Liz bats her eyelashes at him, and Gerold Reddington, Jr. laughs down at her from beneath his Stetson, his green eyes fond. He's no taller than his infamous uncle, but his narrow, hard-muscled shoulders are just as erect, and his ginger hair frames a similarly expressive face.
"Of course, darling, so long as you let me have a bite?"
She's been introduced around town as his ex-girlfriend from college, and has enjoyed watching several local woman cast new eyes at this unfamiliar new Gerry.
"A bite of what?" she responds, laughing back at him as they join the line at the booth, still holding hands.
Gerry was a little shy, almost tongue-tied, when she appeared on his doorstep at midnight with a sealed letter of introduction from Red.
Liz wishes he had allowed her to read that letter before burning it; she searched for it the next morning, while he was out doing chores, but found only some fresh ash near the stove. She often wonders what Red told Gerry about her.
He proceeded to behave in a completely normal and friendly manner the next morning, and has entered into their role play with great enthusiasm.
They are wearing matching plaid shirts today, and her boots are finally broken in sufficiently that they don't give her blisters.
He buys her a fluffy cone of pink cotton candy, and two more sealed bags to take home.
They feed each other bites as they make one last round through the games.
Liz could win anything she wants from the shooting gallery, but this is no place to display the skills that won her a marksman's medal. She commiserates with Gerry when he misses, and tugs him away.
At least she won't need to cook tonight. Her skills are improving, but very slowly. So many of the recipes for Gerry's favorite foods begin and end with "My mother just went in the kitchen and cooked it."
They are singing along with the radio when he pulls the truck up to the house in the twilight.
They left the porch light on. The screen door is slightly ajar.
"Get to the barn, Gerry," Liz whispers, pulling her new pistol from under the front seat, then settling her nerves for an assault. "I'll let you know when it's clear."
"Hell, no," he whispers in protest, nevertheless sliding down low in his seat while leaving the engine running. He casts a glance up at his deer rifle in the rack.
"If you leave, they'll think we both went," she urges him. "They can't see anything with our headlights on the house."
For a second she wants to just drive away with him, flee into the night. She wants Red at her back. She would even take Ressler. Not this clean living farm boy, with his college dreams of a future turned to farming for lack of money after the illness and death of both his parents.
Then a familiar silhouette appears at the door, and Liz flips the safety back on.
Red.
He's come for her at last.
***
Gerry reaches for his companion's arm as she begins to open the door of his truck.
"Gerry, it's Red," she tells him. "Bring the bag in, will you?"
He shuts off the engine and sits watching her approach the house. She still has the pistol in one hand, as if expecting the possibility of a trap.
"Lizzie? Is that Gerold with you?"
"Yes, Red."
Apparently reassured, she tucks the pistol in the back of her skin tight jeans.
"Nice boots."
He opens the screen door and they stand staring at each other in the yellow glow of the porch light. Liz moves first, to catch him in a quick hug. Red's face contorts with pain as her arms come around him, unseen except by Gerry.
Gerry shuts off the truck lights and grabs the bag with their purchases. For a second, in the porch light, the man reminded him of his grandfather.
He doesn't know how he could have expected his uncle to remain the youthful officer he knew as a boy. Who is this heavyset, elegantly dressed man?
All he has is a letter, memorized, then burned, and a handful of treasured memories. And Lizzie, of course. This man entrusted Lizzie to him.
She's a wonderful woman, playful, hard working, and an excellent listener. He hasn't been lonely since she arrived.
***
Red ushers Liz into the house, trying not to stare at the changes she's made in her appearance.
She looks so much younger, and her face is tan and relaxed. Red could hear her singing country music with his nephew all the way up the gravel drive. His stomach is sour from too much cheap coffee.
"I see you've made yourself at home," he temporizes, ushering her into the kitchen, his eyes drinking in her slight form as she pulls out two mugs and starts preparing coffee for herself and the wary young man who at last follows her into the house, holding a creased paper sack.
"Yes, Gerry and I are very comfortable together." Her eyes laugh at him as she refills his mug. He takes it and sips, not wanting more coffee but unable to say no to her.
Red turns and holds out his hand.
Gerold Jr. looks enough like his half-brother that Red has to consciously remind himself they haven't seen each other for two decades. That this man was a boy when last they met.
"So you've come back."
The grip of his freckled hand is firm, his tone is not encouraging.
"Yes."
Red doesn't mean the word to come out that flat and cold, but he can't allow any confusion between them. Liz needs to come away with him. Not stay here.
The younger man's jaw tightens, but instead of responding, he reaches into the bag.
"Want a little more, Lizzie?" he says, waving a plastic bag at her without looking at Red again.
"Sure!"
Liz puts down her coffee and crosses the room, opening her mouth as Red watches in speechless outrage.
"Here you go."
Gerold Jr. tears off a large pinch of cotton candy and feeds it to her, grinning as she rolls her eyes in pleasure. She licks her lips, and Red's eyes are drawn helplessly to the pink triangle of her tongue, her little outbreath of delight as she opens her mouth and begs for another bite.
"More, Gerry, give me another bite."
They are standing so close, so obviously comfortable together.
For a second Red wants to stomp out of the room, then his sense of humor takes over.
"Me too, Gerry, can't you tell I want a big bite of that, too?" he drawls.
The younger man's eyes widen, but Liz, thankfully, bursts into giggles.
"Of course, you can have a bite, Red," she tells him, plucking a generous amount of the fluffy candy from the bag and holding it out to him.
He hates cotton candy.
He licks her fingers as she feeds him, bite after bite, wordlessly staring at each other.
***
At last, Gerry retreats into the night to double-check the barn and the gates, and she's alone with Red.
"Are you hungry? I could cook you something?" she offers, not without pride at her new skills.
Red shakes his head. He looks exhausted, and there's a hint of a bruise on his neck, barely visible above the collar of his customary starched dress shirt.
"It's past time for me to turn in," he says, looking around the kitchen as if expecting a bed to materialize.
The tiny front sitting room holds two recliners and a pair of elderly, high backed side chairs.
"You'll be in with me," Liz asserts, shutting off the coffee pot and putting the glass jug of cream back in the fridge. "Gerry snores."
"Oh?"
Liz turns and gives Red her most severe frown, trying not betray her delight at his sour tone.
"I can hear him all the way down the hallway, through a closed door."
"Ah."
Red collects his hat and follows her down the hallway and into her room, then looks around wearily.
Liz touches his arm.
"There are clean towels in the bathroom cupboard. Why don't you take a shower?"
Listening to the water run, Liz tidies the room, then sits on the edge of the bed. Imagining Red naked in the shower, wishing she felt confident enough to join him in the big clawfoot tub.
He didn't invite her. She needs to allow him to set the pace, although that's not her style. She prefers to be in control. He probably does as well.
They've never shared a bed. It's a start. A start is more than she ever dreamed might be possible.
Red enters the room, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Liz gasps at the extensive bruising visible at his neck and across his ribs.
"Your turn," he says shortly, his mouth twisting as their eyes meet.
Liz blushes and nods, then hurries from the room. She probably smells like the fair, animals and beer and cheap fried food, so she takes the time to wash her hair and towel it dry. She loves the streaks of color, so different from the conservative look the FBI encouraged.
When she returns to the room in her robe, the lights are out, and Red is lying on the far side of the bed with his back to her.
She can barely make out the pattern of scars Cooper once described to her, but she's never seen. She tosses the robe on the desk and slides naked into bed.
"Good night, Lizzie."
His tone is firm, and he makes no further movement, even when she rolls from her back to her side, facing him. Liz listens to Red breathing, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. There's a faint glow of moonlight through gap between the curtains.
"Red?"
"Yes, Lizzie?" His tone is anything but encouraging.
She was going to ask him for a kiss goodnight, but now she's once again afraid she'll be rejected.
They've only kissed once, the night he brought her here, and it was the lightest brush of his lips, intended for her cheek.
"I'm glad you're back."
Her voice emerges small and unhappy. His breathing quickens, but he doesn't respond.
"Red?"
"Yes?"
"I'm going to move a little closer. Tell me if anything hurts."
Cautiously, she slides over until she can curl her body around his larger form. His skin is very warm and he smells soapy clean. She doesn't want to risk jostling his ribs, so she lays her top arm along his thigh, her face pressed to the base of his neck.
His leg is soft with hair, his skin warmer than she expected. He's so badly bruised that she can only hope he isn't starting to run a fever from some undiagnosed internal bleeding.
She runs her fingers over his knees, then up his thigh. Petting him as she cautiously explores this new flesh, this unanticipated opportunity. Thinking of how he licked at his lips, so sticky with cotton candy.
As her hand passes his hip, she splays her fingers, reaching for the loose curve of his belly.
"Lizzie. Sleep." Red catches her fingers in his and lifts them briefly to his lips, then tucks her hand, still enfolded in his, against his heart. She lies beside him and listens as his breathing slows, feeling his body settle into sleep in her embrace. Bruised and battered, far more extensively scarred than she ever imagined.
Here beside her, and safe. It's enough, for now.