My Mind Was Frozen In Your Love

Chapter 1:

It was the worst luck they'd had yet.

A freak blizzard had stranded them in their latest safehouse and they had missed their scheduled flight out of the country. Red had been in contact with Dembe to let him know that they would not be able to make it to the airstrip where his private jet was on standby, waiting to spirit them away overseas. The delay would undoubtedly cost them some measure of inconvenience: Red had hoped to be reunited with Dembe by now, Lizzie's nerves were fraying at the edges, and to top it all off, it was Christmas Eve. He had planned this night much differently for her. He wanted to celebrate this Christmas with her on some remote tropical island, preferably one without a U.S. extradition treaty, and to show her exactly how well he could protect her. Somewhere in the tropics was a fully furnished hideaway bedecked in Christmas finery; a decorated tree had been prepared, eggnog would be chilling in the kitchen, even a stocking hung with her name. He had wanted to preserve some semblance of normalcy for her during her first (and what he hoped would be her last) holiday on the run. Unfortunately, Mother Nature had other plans.

Red had chosen their current location and so, of course, there was nothing they lacked. The cabin was luxuriously appointed, with dark wood paneling in every room, opulent furniture in rich tones and fabrics, and a fully-stocked pantry that would enable Red to cook several weeks worth of sumptuous meals. They would be able to ride out the storm in relative comfort, but the extravagance of their surroundings did nothing to calm Lizzie's anxiety.

Lizzie was restless, nervous tension vibrating off her tense body like she was a tightly-strung bow. She paced the living room in burgundy tights and an oversized, cream sweater, her thick socks padding softly across the floor as she marched back and forth, continuously checking the storm's progress from the large bay window on the other side of the room from where Red lounged easily in a black vest and crisp, white shirt on the sofa, reading a well-worn copy of War and Peace. She was huffing exasperatedly, muttering softly about the wisdom of trusting a known felon with her safety when his judgement obviously wasn't very reliable if he dragged her to Vermont in the middle of winter as part of their escape plan. Eventually, her mumblings and twitching, erratic path could no longer be ignored.

"Why don't you come sit and let me read to you for awhile?" he asked, his offer a means of diversion.

"How can you just sit there?" she exclaimed, wheeling on him. "When the FBI could be out there, combing the woods for us right now? At any moment they could be breaking down our door!" she gestured about her wildly. "It's freezing out there, we're stuck here, and it's Christmas!" she finished bitterly. Red felt a pang of regret at her words. Of course, she would rather be anywhere else than trapped here with him.

"Lizzie, no one is coming for us, no one even knows we're here," he replied patiently, lowering the book into his lap. "That was part of the social media diversion, remember? All our tracks lead to California."

"I'm sorry," she deflated next to him on the sofa, crumpling from the exhaustion of her tension running so high, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, resting her head in her hands. "I don't know what to do with myself. We should be running and instead we're stuck here. I feel like there is something I should be doing. How are you so calm?"

"Years and years of practice," Red replied conspiratorily. "I can't tell you how many times I've been trapped in hiding places by various circumstances, with nothing to do but wait. Usually, though, I was alone. I must admit, it's delightful to have such a pleasurable companion for a change."

"I don't think I've been very good company," Lizzie admitted, apologetically. "My mind won't stop racing and I just don't know what to think about. I need a distraction." She thought for a moment. "Tell me a story?"

Red paused a moment, startled by her request, a small, surprised smile on his lips. She normally seemed so annoyed by his stories. Perhaps she was just desperate for something to keep her mind busy? Whatever the reason, he would appease her. There was, after all, nothing he could deny her if it was in his power to give.

"Well," he began slowly, his tongue working around his mouth as he fought to come up with something that would divert her attention from their current situation and also put her mind at ease. "There was one time in particular that comes to mind...."

Chapter 2:

An hour later the wind had picked up outside, causing the window panes to creak under the weight of the blowing snowfall, darkness had fallen around the cozy cabin, and Lizzie was finally reclining against the opposite sofa arm, her feet resting in Red's lap as he finished recounting an amusing story about a long weekend he spent shipwrecked with an Italian opera singer on a tiny Caribbean island during a tropical storm.

"Oh my god, I can't believe you were stuck for three days with nothing but chardonnay to drink!" she exclaimed, laughing. "You must have been so upset!"

Red covered her toes with his hands, keeping her feet warm, and tilted his head to the side, enjoying the musical tinkle of her laughter, smiling at her in response.

"Yes, well, we made do," he responded. "As I said before, though, the company has never been as sweet as it is with you," he told her honestly.

Lizzie smiled back at him shyly and for a long moment they just gazed at each other in companionable silence.

Without warning, the entire cabin went dark and they heard the whir of the heater slowly die.

"The storm's knocked the power out," Lizzie pulled her feet from Red's lap to stand. "I'll see if I can find some candles."

Red rose as well, "There is a stack of firewood on the side of the house; I'll go bring some in," he explained, pulling on his coat and wrapping a fawn-colored cashmere scarf around his neck.

"Be careful," she admonished. "It's colder than it looks out there and it doesn't take much to get lost in a blizzard."

Red just smiled at her enigmatically, "Well....I always seem to find my way back to you." With that, he opened the cabin door and stepped out into the night.

Lizzie rolled her eyes at his back and turned back to her task.

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Fifteen minutes later she had located and distributed enough candles on bookshelves and end tables to make it through the living room without stumbling into every single piece of furniture and wall, and Red still had not returned. She glanced out the window into the darkness, becoming worried at his absence. What could be taking him so long? As she went from room to room, checking to make sure nothing flammable was placed too close to the candles, her mind raced from one terrifying scenario to the next. What if he had fallen and was lying out in the yard somewhere hurt? What if he had lost his way and was wandering far from the house? Soon, she could no longer bear the anxiety of his unexplained absence and had decided to go out and check on him.

She had just zipped on her boots when the front door opened. Red, covered in white, his arms loaded with firewood, struggled through the door.

"Red!" she cried, "Where were you? I was getting worried!" Lizzie hurriedly crossed the room to take some of the firewood from his arms and close the door.

"The woodpile was absolutely buried by the snowstorm," he offered, by way of explanation, carefully placing the logs near the fireplace and shrugging out of his coat and scarf. "It took me nearly twenty minutes just to uncover enough wood to start a fire."

She helped him stack the wood next to the fireplace, trying to quell the panic she had felt not knowing if he was alright. She knew she was being stupid; he was the most capable person she knew, and yet, the thought of something happening to him had scared her and she didn't quite know what to do with that emotion.

Red could feel her disquiet though she hadn't said a word. It had been etched on her features, in the spooked look in her eyes when he came through the door and he was reading it now in the tense, flustered movement of her hands.

"Could you make us some coffee, please, Lizzie? I'm chilled to the bone," Red requested as he knelt in front of the fireplace. "Let me know if you need help starting the gas stove."

"Sure," Lizzie disappeared into the kitchen, grateful to feel useful for a moment. He had taken such good care of her and she had behaved like a spoiled brat, complaining about missing Christmas. She felt a sting of regret for her earlier outburst as she remembered her unkind words. He had been nothing but generous to her, completely solicitous of her needs along this journey. She hung her head in shame for a moment as she stopped to consider their situation: he could have stashed her in some dreary boarding house, he could have simply abandoned her! But instead, he had risked his own personal freedom and the security of his people to see her safely out of D.C. and on every leg of their journey since then. He had given her asylum in some of the most stately hiding places, seen to her comfort on a grand scale, and most of all, offered her absolution from her sins. He understood her, he listened. He allowed her her pain and her rage at the injustice of the Cabal and the perfidy of Tom Connolly that had ultimately broken down her self-control and put them both in danger.

She would do something to show him how much she appreciated his sacrifice and his friendship, she decided as she rummaged through the cabinets, smiling when she came up across the baking supplies. She could do much better than mere coffee.

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While she was gone, Red had expertly built up the fire from materials stored in a brass box on the floor next to the fireplace, lighting first the tinder, then arranging thin sticks of kindling above it, and finally feeding in a few logs.

"That looks good," Red turned at the sound of her voice to find her holding two steaming mugs, one arm extended in front of her offering it to him, a paper bag tucked under her other arm.

Red stood, brushing his the dirt from his hands on the legs of his perfectly tailored slacks. "It'll do, I think," he replied modestly. He reached out to take the proffered mug from her, "Thank you; I needed this."

"Can we sit for awhile?" Lizzie asked timidly.

"Of course," his voice amiable. They sat on the sofa, reclaiming their earlier positions on opposite ends of the couch. Red took an experimental sip from his mug, eyebrows shooting up at the familiar taste.

"Hot cocoa!" his voice was excited, childlike. "However did you manage this?"

"You're people are excellent shoppers," she smiled coyly. "We both know I can't cook, but Sam did teach me how to make hot chocolate from scratch. We always used to make it around the holidays," she hesitated, shyly. "It....it felt like Christmas to me," she finished lamely, embarrassed at her childlike revelation.

"I haven't had hot cocoa since I was a boy," he sipped reverently, eyes drifting closed, savoring. "This is truly lovely, Lizzie, thank you," he told her sincerely.

She took a deep breath, "Thank you, Red. I don't think I've said at all since this all started just how grateful I am to you for what you've done for me. I don't.....without you,...I know I wouldn't be...." she faltered. She stopped for a moment, remembering what he meant to her; she wanted to do this right. She began again. "You saved me," she stated simply. "No one's ever done that for me before except for you. It seems like you're always saving me," she said quietly. "I know that I wouldn't have survived without you. I've been ungracious and I'm sorry. You have shown me so much, done so much on my behalf; I want you to know that I notice all the things you do for me and I appreciate you," she was rushing through her explanation, unable to look at him but feeling his piercing gaze on her. "I hope you know what you mean to me," she finished finally, staring into her cup.

He was quiet for so long that she plucked up the courage to turn and look at him. His eyes were hooded, dark with secret thoughts that she was certain he would never share. He was watching her so intently, she shivered under his gaze.

"Lizzie," he began, "There is nothing, and I want you to hear me when I say this, nothing in this world that I would not give to you or do for you if you asked it. Nothing,"he stated emphatically. "You are the sole reason for my crusade against the Cabal, against everyone on the Blacklist. I came out of hiding for you, to make your world safer for you to live your life in it." He worried the inside of his cheek with his teeth, head tilting to the side. He knew he was revealing too much, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. She had to know how important she was to him. "Everything I have done since the night of the fire has been to protect you, to see you safe. I have been selfish in the course of my plan, but it has all been to secure the armament you would need to live your life the way you wanted to safely. All of it, the Fulcrum, the Blacklist, it was all for you."

They stared at one another, the intensity of the moment taking on a life of its own, becoming a third participant, sitting between them on the sofa with all its weighty intent. Finally understanding him, Lizzie nodded. Red reached out a hand to her across the couch and she took it without reservation. They sat that way for a time, simply staring into each other's eyes, her hand in his, the warmth and magnitude of their earnest emotion communicating for them soundlessly. Perhaps, he thought, they had finally found some common ground.

Chapter 3:

Red tried to convince himself that he was still holding her hand because he wanted to offer her comfort, because she was distressed, because they had shared something important and he wanted her to feel reassured.

But the truth was, the feel of her delicate hand in his was one of the greatest joys he had and one of the few pleasures he allowed himself with her. The rare occasions when she had turned to him for solace and had allowed him to console her this way were some of the most precious moments that he treasured. Her touch assuaged his weary soul in a way that nothing else had and with her hand in his, he could actually believe that forgiveness existed for him. And so he remained, gently holding her hand, her warmth spreading into him far deeper than what their contact should allow.

Lizzie tried to tell herself that she had lingered, clasping his hand because they had shared a moment, a baring of souls, and that this was the expectation. But the truth was, it was comfortable. She was comfortable with him. She enjoyed his touch far more than she had wanted to admit to herself and she liked being close to him. His presence made her feel protected, calm, cherished. And though she had fought that realization for so long, she was ready to recognize that this was what she wanted, too. There was nothing he would not do for her, she knew. More than merely saying it, he had proven it to her time and again. Why keep punishing them both when what she actually wanted most was to let him protect her?

"Do you like s'mores?" she asked suddenly.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, confused by the turn in their conversation.

"S'mores. You know, with marshmallows and chocolate?" she elaborated.

"Oh! Oh, yes, I do actually like s'mores," Red smiled. "Though I must admit, I haven't had one in more years than I can remember." he looked at her quizzically.

Lizzie pulled her hand gently from his to reach down beside her on the floor. "I thought we could make them," she explained, shrugging, pulling up the paper bag he'd seen tucked under her arm earlier. "I found graham crackers and everything in the cupboard earlier. I guess your grocery shopper thought we might end up using the fireplace," she smiled sweetly at him, looking younger and more at ease than he'd ever seen her.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," he told her genuinely, pleased that she could find something cheerful in their situation.

Lizzie crossed to the fireplace, selecting two iron roasting sticks from the stand holding a poker and shovel. Red came to sit beside her on the floor, tossing down throw pillows in front of the fire. She expertly speared two marshmallows and handed one stick to him. The smiled at one another, feeding the marshmallows into the flames, turning them until they became a gentle golden brown. Red took both sticks, holding them while Lizzie smooshed each marshmallow between a set of graham crackers, generously heaped with pieces of dark chocolate.

Red's eyes closed and he let out a soft moan of delight as he bit into the gooey mess.

"Oh, Lizzie," he drawled, "That tastes delicious."

Though she knew his praise was for their snack, she couldn't help blushing as she imagined him saying those very words about her.

Soon their fingers were sticky with melted marshmallow and there were graham cracker crumbs nestled in the folds of Red's vest. Red felt lighter than he had in years, genuine laughter crinkling his eyes as they attempted to eat delicately and, finding that an impossible accomplishment, making a mess in the process.

Lizzie smiled up at him beside her, her eyes drifting down to his mouth. The laughter died on his face, replaced by an intent look, full of meaning.

"You have......um......you have a bit of chocolate," she told him, her eyes trained on his lips.

The tip of his tongue darted out to lick at the corner of his mouth, eyes steady on her face.

Her breath caught in her throat as images flashed across her mind of what he could do to her with his tongue.

"Did I get it?" the slow gravelly tone of his voice pulling her back to the present.

"Um, no, not quite," her voice had dropped almost to a whisper, their playful banter of a few moments ago forgotten in the new sort of tension that was building between them.

Her hand touched his face, the pad of her thumb gently caressing the edge of his lip. She was biting her own lip, nervously.

"There," she murmured.

She withdrew her hand, sliding the tip of her thumb between her own lips, sucking the chocolate away.

His groin tightened painfully and he was pretty sure he stopped breathing for a solid minute.

He could not tear his eyes away from her lips; she was so entrancing. When he found that he could breathe again, he tentatively reached his hand out to her, unsure of her response, softly cupping the curve of her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed and, like a magnet, she was drawn to him, turning her face into his hand, tenderly pressing a kiss into his palm.

Languidly, she raised her veiled eyes to his, staring intently into their depths.

A million thoughts were running through his head about why he shouldn't be doing this, but he ignored them all and sought redemption in her kiss instead.

He dipped his head and claimed her lips with his.

Chapter 4:

Red breathed her in like she was oxygen, his lips taking everything she had to give. They fell back on the floor in a flurry of hands and lips grappling for purchase on the other, legs braiding together, desperately seeking the other's touch.

Lizzie ended up with her back flat against the floor, Red above her, braced on one elbow, hands in her hair, pulling her close to him. He whispered her name like a prayer each time he took a breath. She was drowning in him and she didn't want to come up for air.

All at once, it wasn't enough for either of them. Reds hands began pushing her sweater up, seeking contact with her flat stomach, her tender skin, her glorious breasts. Lizzie cupped him through his slacks, his stiff shaft surging forward in her hand. He breathed in her scent and all of the things he had spent the last two years denying himself suddenly came flooding back. He wanted to bring her to the edge and watch her tumble over. He wanted to own all her pleasure for the rest of her life. He wanted to plunge into her depths and hear her scream his name. The feel of her hand stroking him through his clothing made him want to brand her body with his mark so that no one could refute his claim, that she was his. His need was uncontrollable; he had to have her now. Which was precisely how he knew he shouldn't.