THE SILENT EXCHANGE

Disclaimer: I do not own, or pretend to own, The Blacklist or any of the characters from the series. The lyrics used in this work are from 'Love, Love, Love' by Of Monsters & Men. I am making no money from this.

Maybe I'm a crook for stealing your heart away;
Yeah, maybe I'm a crook for not caring for it.
Maybe I'm a bad, bad, bad, bad person...

Two months. It was a sizable chunk of time. More than enough for Elizabeth Keen's anxious mind to run every moment she and Reddington had ever worked together, every word they had ever exchanged, and every second they had been in the same room as each other through her head; she picked over the minutiae in the vain hope he had left some clue as to where he could be found. If you are in need. Her own head had turned against her over time as she came to the realisation that every time he had put a piece of himself in front of her – I have you – she had been so quick to shoot him down, to sweep his honesty aside in favour of the task at hand and her own need to keep him at arm's length out of... what, exactly? It wasn't fear. In the end she put it down to her tumultuous early childhood, as she tended to do with everything that made no sense to her.

Go to Hell.

Regardless of where her need to keep a gulf of distance between them stemmed from, somewhere along the line it had changed; at some point in his self-imposed absence from the team she had begun to feel the niggle of regret at the back of her mind and, as the days slogged by with no new leads on his whereabouts, that niggle had only grown into a gnawing nagging in her gut. You can trust me. Despite the fact she knew so little about him he had told her time and time again that she could trust him, and only now he was gone did she consider just how alone she felt, how she had been leaning on him for emotional support without realising, how she rushed to shut him out when she should have taken into account the time and effort he had clearly expended on her and for her; all too late she had realised she should have trusted him completely from the start, however absurd that would have appeared.

The third month marked a change in Liz's thought pattern. Her ruminations and regrets had turned to longings. Are you my father? She had felt so lost since losing Sam; she had no idea why the question came to her at that moment, she had just found her mouth running away from her head in the aftermath of Garrick's siege... she didn't want to be alone.

No.

She hadn't known his answer would only serve to pique her interest in his interest; rather than lessen the mystery surrounding him it had only presented her with more complex questions. Why did he care for her quite so much? His endearments and brief touches began to take on new meaning in her memory. The way he held himself around her. The searching gaze that it seemed he reserved for her alone. The obsession Zamani had referred to, right in the beginning... could it be romantic? Did he have some image of her in his mind that he- she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to consider that he thought of her in such a way, but her traitorous mind would not be silenced.

She had a feeling he was still nearby, still keeping one eye on her while he got on with whatever it was that he was up to. On several occasions, when she was grocery shopping or sitting outside a café with a book and cappuccino, she had the distinct feeling of being watched; it was more comforting to think it was Red rather than anybody else, so she had allowed herself to believe it was him... to hope. Be careful of your husband. She pictured him emerging from the passers-by and seating himself opposite her outside the café, or meandering up to her in the store... the gas station... as she walked Hudson, the clouds of their breath mingling as they stood facing each other in the cold night air. It was at this point her mind's descent turned into a plummet.

She had found herself unashamedly fantasising about him returning in the middle of the night; coming to her house and watching over her, although events in her mind soon turned to him appearing in her bedroom, wrapping her in the warmth of his protection and understanding. She woke with butterflies when she realised she yearned for him, the security he represented, and his physical presence in a far more intimate way than just 'FBI Agent' and 'Most Wanted #4'. She had made a habit of picturing Red's face in place of her husband's in an effort to make her marriage feel less of a charade, to make her performance convincing; she had initially felt guilty and ashamed at her wantonness but had come to accept the fact that several times a week she bit another man's name back in the darkness of their room as Tom collapsed beside her in a sweaty, breathless heap. Be careful of your husband, Red's voice, smooth and rich, relentlessly echoed around her skull until she would fall into an exhausted yet fitful sleep every time.

These fingertips will never run through your skin,
And those bright blue eyes can only meet mine
Across a room filled with people that are
Less important than you.

Month four rolled around and her thoughts were at screaming pitch; she felt like a saucepan boiling over on the inside, and fought to affect outward calm as she went about her everyday existence. Tom had left her for the weekend; a stag party for Jason, one of his college buddies, he had said. She didn't know what to believe. Her friends – the few who hadn't completely given up on her – dragged her out of the house to a local bar for a 'catch up'. The place was rammed and while her friends chatted and gossiped around her she felt removed from the situation entirely – outside herself, like a part of her was missing and she was only just truly coming to accept how hollow that left her feeling. Abigail had suggested they all hit 'Element', the newest club in town, so they could party like they did before they settled down to the 'humdrum of adult life', she had said. Liz made her excuses – tired, work in the morning, can't leave Hudson too long – and opted to stay in the bar; only one of the girls asked if she was okay, though didn't hang around for her answer, before the gaggle of women bustled out of the bar and into the night. She didn't envy them for the hangovers they would be nursing the following day.

Despite the raucous atmosphere, she was content enough to be left alone with her runaway thoughts and moved to sit on one of the stools at the bar. As she sat playing with the stem of her wine glass she felt like she was being watched again; she didn't move, save for flicking her eyes around the room until they landed on a face she had been seeking for months. He was still, staring straight at her, unblinking on the other side of the bar; she drank in his familiar features; the quirk of his lips as she lifted her face to stare openly back at him. She returned his nod of acknowledgement and released a shaky breath as he rounded the bar and smoothly seated himself on the stool beside her without a word. The din of the establishment faded as her entire being focused on him; the heat of his thigh, not quite touching hers, seeping through the leg of her pants and the subtle scent of him surrounding her made the experience different from any fantasy she might have dreamt up as she sat there. He said nothing, just sat beside her looking straight ahead until they had both drained their glasses, and even then he only spoke to order them both the same again; his voice was rougher than the one she heard in her head every day, and he sounded tired. In a stolen moment she studied him while he was distracted – a rare occurrence – by the bartender; he looked paler than she remembered, and his chin and cheeks were smattered with salt and pepper stubble; his clothes, while appropriate for the wintry weather, were nowhere near as sharp as the suits she was so used to seeing him in. Essentially, he looked like anybody other than the Concierge of Crime, which she knew was precisely the purpose, but she wasn't sure she liked it. Not on him.

Even with fresh drinks on the bar before them he said nothing, just picked up his tumbler and sipped at his whisky as she sipped at her wine. She wanted to say something, but had no idea where to start; 'Hello,' didn't seem an appropriate greeting, and nor did 'Where the fuck have you been?' She sipped at her wine a little more quickly than she usually would, her mind forming a plan. The bar was no place for a conversation, if they were going to have one at all; her house stood empty, save for Hudson, and she would rather be on familiar ground in any situation that posed the very real chance she would end up sobbing openly. She drained her glass and smirked slightly at his questioning eyes as she placed the empty glass on the bar and slipped off the stool, he understood her intention then and drained his own glass before standing and wordlessly offering her his arm; she took it, something she would never have done all those months ago, and he allowed her to lead them from the bar and into a waiting taxi.

You love, love, love,
When you know I can't love you...

When she invited him over the threshold and into her home her anxiety did not abate, despite being on her own turf. Her nerves were getting the better of her so she gestured for Red to remain in the lounge as she busied herself with making coffee she wasn't sure either of them wanted. He appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, brow raised at the gurgling coffee machine. She switched it off and followed him back into the lounge, taking a seat at the end of the couch. He sat in the middle, something she had not expected him to do; she suddenly felt completely transparent under his gaze – she was used to sitting at opposite ends of the couch with him staring out of a window, not sitting in such close proximity with his entire attention focused solely on her. She found herself unnerved and excited by the difference. In order to deal with her nerves she decided to play the same game as him and gazed straight back – her mind briefly interjected the age old quote warning against staring into abysses – and she felt the atmosphere of the room shift as they sat, openly regarding each other in the low lamplight of the lounge, closer than they'd ever sat before; he invaded her every sense, and she found herself unable to do any more than absorb his presence. His appearance, while scruffy, was refreshingly ordinary and made her feel like they were on a more even playing ground, although his intense gaze hinted at the depth of his knowledge – while she wanted to believe it she knew this man was above her, however much he led her to believe they were equals, it was his nature to always be one step ahead of her and neither of them could deny the fact. In the stuffy silence of the room, and in such close proximity, she heard his measured breaths as he inhaled with his mouth – the air catching and whistling slightly around naturally uneven teeth – and exhaled through his nose... she could also practically hear the cogs turning in his head as he regarded her with critical eyes; he was looking for something in her, though she was just looking at him. The scent of him that had seemed light in the bar now surrounded her and she detected subtle spices within his cologne – it was a delicate scent, though masculine – and there was something else, some other accent to his scent that she could only think of as being him... it warmed her, brought blood blooming into her cheeks as she reveled in the exquisite yet understated bouquet that smacked of sophistication and she found that she wanted his comforting and tantalising scent to surround her forever.

Red surprised her out of her thoughts when he found her hand and drew it to rest in his on his thigh; she found herself squeezing his hand tightly while her other hand moved to grip his wrist and traveled over his forearm, it was as though she needed affirmation that he was really sitting beside her – that he was flesh and blood and bone and sinew just like her. He still knew exactly who she was, even though she had forgotten herself somewhere along the way, and she clung to that knowledge as tightly as she held his hand. His free hand came to enclose her wandering one and he pulled it up to his face, her palm brushing against the rough stubble of his cheek; she cupped his face with her hand freely and brushed her thumb across his cheekbone. His eyelids fluttered closed at her caress and his lips parted slightly; she felt the rushing return of temptation at the sight of his totally unguarded expression, his shoulders sloping as he relaxed into her touch. She had considered that her marriage vows meant next to nothing to her for the past couple of months; she believed Red about Tom, however reluctant she was to see it at first. Her husband was undoubtedly a part of something, and though she didn't know exactly what that something was she knew that Red would not have warned her so emphatically if it was not potentially dangerous to her. He gripped her wrist to hold her hand in place and turned his head into her touch. His lips pressed softly against the middle her palm and then brushed down to the base of her thumb; his grip loosened as he pressed a final feather-light kiss to the inside of her wrist before he completely released her and returned his eyes to meet hers.

So I think it's best we both forget
Before we dwell on it...

His expression was as unreadable as ever, but his eyes were dark and hungry; she felt drawn to him and found herself leaning into him, her need to match fantasy with reality spurring her movement. When the thought that he might not want any more than to kiss her hand and sit in silence popped into her head, she faltered on her course but he finally moved to close the distance between them, their lips meeting hesitantly at first as they wordlessly confirmed that it was what they both wanted and needed. The final sense that had not yet been appeased rejoiced; he tasted faintly of the whisky he had imbibed in the bar, of cigars – he hadn't quite given up all of his luxuries – and a hint of mint. Fleetingly, she worried how she must taste, although he didn't seem to mind as their kiss became more confident. She cracked one eye open just to watch him, and she reveled in the sight of him, lost in the moment; she soon closed her eye again to join him in shutting out the rest of the world and the complex events they found themselves embroiled in. Reluctantly they broke apart, resting their foreheads against each other, both sets of eyes fixed on her hand that still gripped his tightly. His jaw moved briefly, as though he was attempting to form a verbal response, but no sound came from him and she was thankful for that; the silent communication they maintained suited the situation, and to break it might just shatter the crystal of the moment.

She considered her next move carefully before she stood from the couch, pulling him with her by the hand she refused to relinquish to him. Without looking back she led him to the stairs before ascending them. She felt his weight pull slightly at her hand as they reached the top of the stairs and she turned to face him; she stood on the landing and he on the step below, bringing their faces level – she nodded at him by way of confirmation that she was sure this was what she wanted and he took the step to join her on the landing, nodding toward the bedroom door. He allowed her to lead him into her room and reluctantly relinquished her hand as she moved ahead of him to kick off her shoes and shrug out of her jacket; she turned to look him in the eye as she began to undo her blouse, fingers shaking as she passed each button through its corresponding hole before finally removing it and standing before him in her pants and bra. He approached her slowly, shoes heavy on the floorboards and took his own coat off, throwing it on the pile with her clothes. He stood close to her and she laid her palms flat against his chest, her eyes still searching his for... she didn't even know what anymore. She just needed him to tell her everything would work out, that the disaster that her life had become would have a happy ending; she wanted him to be that happy ending, however improbable it might be. She'd even accept an outright lie from him at this point, so long as he supported her in her fantasy. Slowly, she slid her hands down until she gripped the hem of the polo neck he wore and she tugged it out of his belt and up his torso; he stopped her halfway and removed the top himself, discarding it across the room without a glance. His hands came down on her shoulders and he ran his slightly rough palms down the length of her arms and back up again before repeating the action. She scraped her nails lightly through the soft hair on his chest and trailed them down to his belt, at which point she heard him suck in a breath and hold it; she glanced at his face and saw he had tilted his head back and closed his eyes at the sensation. With a shy smile she set to work on his belt and then the buttons of his fly, letting his pants pool around his ankles for him to step out of. He returned the favour and slid her pants over her hips, hands following her contour, before he let them fall in a heap. They divested themselves of their own socks before stopping to regard each other again. She opened her mouth to speak, though she had no idea what to say in the moment, and he shook his head to stop her; he understood that she needed this and she understood that, while he was willing to give her anything, he would not remain there with her for reasons he would not divulge. I am never telling you everything. It would be enough for her, for now at least, and she would take whatever she could get from him while he was offering himself so freely.

Liz pushed away from him and turned to walk to the bed, the butterflies beating a tattoo in her stomach as she deftly unhooked her bra and dropped it on the bedside table before she turned and sat on the edge, looking up at him shyly through her lashes. With light steps Red crossed the room and sat beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight caused her to overbalance into his side; she pulled away from him, embarrassed, but he turned her by the shoulder to face him and cocked his head to one side as he considered her. The silence between them and the tension she sensed felt stifling, and she looked away from him. His hand found hers once more and squeezed reassuringly; it was her turn to fix him with a questioning gaze. He released her hand and scooted backward to the other side of the bed, stretching himself out on his side with his head resting in the crook of his arm, and held his other arm open to her with a look of encouragement on his face. Though she didn't quite understand why he stopped her from jumping his bones she thought better than to push the idea and pulled the duvet out from under him before she climbed in and covered them both. She lay on her side facing him, one hand resting on his ribs, and they regarded each other once more; she noted that his eyes seemed different in his completely relaxed state and realised that he must have known about Tom's absence over the weekend to have approached her so readily in the bar and agree to return to her home, he knew he had nothing to worry about in her space aside from Hudson who had slept through their return. Not that Hudson was worrisome at all, house-training aside. Red ducked his head to hers and planted a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth; she turned into him and met his lips with hers, accepting that they would go no further regardless of how amorous they might be feeling. She allowed her palm to graze up and down his ribs as he resolutely kept his hand on her hip, thumb grazing her side as their lips said everything they had not all night.

They broke apart and she shifted in an effort to find a more comfortable position for her left arm, which was rapidly going numb; Red huffed a breath that sounded like a quiet chuckle and indicated that she should turn around. She followed his advice and laid on her preferred side, welcoming the slight scratchiness of his chest hair as he scooted closer to her and tucked his legs behind hers, his arm coming around her to keep her close to him. She took a deep breath and released it slowly as she felt herself relax into him completely; she welcomed the calm he brought with him, her chaotic thoughts quietened as she listened to his breathing even out. Wrapped in his heavy embrace and surrounded by the scent of him, she soon fell into a deep and restful slumber for the first time since he had disappeared from her life.

The way you held me tight
All through the night
'Til it was morning...

Liz woke alone and found the sheets on the other side of the bed were cool. She allowed herself to mourn his departure as she rose and descended the stairs to put a pot of coffee on. She went back up to the bedroom with a steaming mug of java, knowing she would find no trace of his presence anywhere except her bed as the faint scent of him clung to her sheets. She resolved to enjoy the feeling of serenity it brought her until she had to change the bed before Tom returned home from his weekend away. In the light of the morning she found herself thankful that Red had stopped her from doing something she may have come to regret – she wouldn't have regretted the act, per se, but more the timing; when Tom returned she would not have the pressure of yet another secret to keep to herself and he would have no reason to suspect her of anything; even when she was offering her body to him, all Red was concerned for was her safety in his absence.

Later, as she pulled the bedclothes from the washer, she wanted nothing more than to seek Red out – she considered that she would run through the streets hollering his name if it would bring him to her – but she refrained and reined herself in. She found herself able to quieten her thoughts for the first time in months, although she welcomed the return of her own voice to her internal monologue. She knew he would return when he deemed the time to be right, and she knew that she would be there when he did and her world would be all the more dangerous for it, but it would also be brighter as the one true constant in her life – whether she had known he was there or not – would be beside her. She vowed to herself that, whenever he returned, she would echo his words back at him – I will always do whatever I feel have to do to keep you alive – and she would mean every single one. I have you.