so A LITTLE BIRDIE TOLD ME PENNIRO MONTH IS COMING ??? had to make an early submission. These two are precious. Yes, they’re aged up here, 17-18 give or take. goD IM PROUD OF THIS AOXNPAMXLXN Anyway, y’all should go get ready for Penniro Month bc it’s gonna get LIT THIS YEAR.
Ah, here it is, at long last! Sorry it took so long guys. It was a bit of a struggle, I’ve got some RL things going on. But I’m steadily chipping away at this story, don’t worry! So I hope you enjoy this chapter! It will also be posted on my FF.net and Ao3. Please feel free to send me any feedback or comments! They are much appreciated! Thank you! :D Below the cut <3
Red heaves a sigh, easing himself down into his favorite armchair, propping his feet up on the coffee table. He had only a handful of meetings today but he is exhausted. He hasn’t been sleeping enough and he’s been drinking far too much, as evidenced by the size of the bags under his eyes and the amount of scotch in his tumbler. He would go to bed now and sleep like the dead but he’s waiting for Dembe to return from his…errand.
After thanking Gordon, Red and Dembe had left the office building and gone straight back to the car. As soon as the door had closed behind them, Red had only one thing to say to Dembe:
“I want everything you can get me on her.”
Dembe had just nodded and drove them back to their current safehouse while Red made some phone calls in the back. When they had arrived, Dembe made a few of his own phone calls to various contacts of Red’s, aiming to collect the intel Red wanted. He had left soon after to pick it up.
At the moment, Red wants to see him safely back and then hopefully have a bit of late night reading on his new most intriguing associate: Elizabeth Scott.
Liz.
Lizzie.
He knows it’s a sizeable risk to take on a new grifter so quickly without the proper background checks first but there was just something about her…Red couldn’t help but say yes to her impossibly blue eyes. And her quick reflexes. He still isn’t sure how she managed to swipe his wallet. But, at the same time, she was also sure to swipe his…interest. Dembe thinks he’s foolish, surely. Red can tell, knows him too well to expect anything else. And Red doesn’t blame him. He usually makes a point of being more immune to women he’s working with. At least before he gets to know them better.
But with Lizzie, he can’t seem to help himself. He wonders if this will become a habit. He wonders if he cares.
Red’s musings are interrupted by a key rattling in the lock. Ah, Dembe is back. Wonderful. The door opens and the man in question shuffles in, carrying a thick manila envelope. Red can immediately see how tired Dembe is by the slump of his shoulders and the hang of his head. He will sleep deeply tonight.
“Here is the information you requested, Raymond.” He says softly, handing him the envelope.
“Thank you very much, my friend. Get some rest.”
Dembe nods sleepily and heads to his room.
Red puts his scotch down and eagerly turns to the envelope, breaking the seal and leaning forward in his chair to spread out the contents on the coffee table. The first thing he sees are several undercover photographs of Liz in action, wearing a variety of subtle disguises, including sunglasses, beanies, and wigs. He feels the corners of his mouth pull up into a soft smile, seeing the talented, and beautiful, young thief at work.
The photographs show Liz in and outside an assortment of establishments that all look…strangely familiar. Red frowns, flipping through the photographs faster. His eyebrows lower as he lays the photographs out next to each other on the coffee table.
No, he’s not mistaken. And no, this can’t be a coincidence.
“Don’t think I haven’t heard of you.” she’d said.
Red scoffs and collapses back into his arm chair, picking up his scotch and taking a generous swig, shaking his head. He should have known something about her was too good to be true. Every photograph, every place Liz is shown to be robbing, is a business Red has significant ties to and investments in.
Elizabeth Scott has been stealing from him.
Red waits for the familiar surge of anger that should accompany the discovery of such a betrayal. He should be mad, livid, beside himself.
But it doesn’t come.
Red quickly realizes that of the various things he is feeling, anger is not among them. Irritation perhaps, and a touch of annoyance at the sizable inconvenience that Liz was able to cause for his businesses but there is mostly surprise. Awe. And more…interest.
How intriguing.
Red then realizes that, strangely, he has no intention of renouncing Liz. He still wants to use her for this heist. After all, if she can steal that successfully from him, he can’t imagine what havoc she can wreak on his enemies. And the odds are she was being consistently hired by his adversaries to steal from him, not mounting a full-fledged attack on his empire of her own accord. She wouldn’t have met with him if she was trying to declare a war. Liz may be a thief but she’s not stupid. Yes, he will use her for this heist. At any rate, it will keep her from stealing any more from him for the length of the operation. He’ll make sure of that. Keep your enemies close and all that.
(At least, this is what Red will tell Dembe when he inevitably asks if Red has lost his mind. And Dembe will scoff and shake his head and not believe him. And Red won’t blame him.)
Red nods to himself, satisfied with his plan of action. He takes another sip of scotch and then leans forward to pick up a typed sheet of information that was included in the packet of photographs, skimming the facts about Lizzie collected by his trustworthy sources. Orphan, adopted father, raised in Nebraska, bachelor’s degree in psychology (Red snorts at that. Psychology. The perfect useless degree for an aspiring thief), currently single (Red tries not to linger over that fact), apartment in a nearby DC suburb. Red stops.
Hmm.
Perhaps he and Dembe will pay Lizzie a little visit tomorrow morning. He can question her thoroughly about her recent business endeavors and get her up to date on the heist. And perhaps he will finally gain the upper hand in this little dance of theirs.
He smiles in anticipation at the thought.
-----------------
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Dembe mutters to him, keeping watch, glancing subtly up and down the empty hallway.
Red shoots him a look from his current position, crouched down in front of Elizabeth Scott’s apartment door.
Picking the lock.
“You’re just grumpy because I got you up so early,” Red says, jiggling the pick a little.
Dembe grumbles something unintelligible. Because it is early. 7:00am, as a matter of fact. But Red wants to be there well before Lizzie wakes. To surprise her, unnerve her, show her that he is not someone to be trifled with, despite all her successful thievery from him.
(And perhaps the thought of her all warm and sleepy sends a thrill through him but that doesn’t matter. Not at all.)
Red sighs in relief as he finally moves the last tumbler and the lock clicks back. 45 seconds. Not bad by any means but certainly not his best time. He’s out of practice.
Red stands swiftly and eases the door open, slipping his lock-picking tools into his pocket, while Dembe, with a final cautionary glance down the hallway, follows him inside.
Hearing Dembe close and re-lock the door behind him, Red moves slowly into the apartment, listening closely for any movement upstairs that might indicate Lizzie is awake. He hears nothing. He sheds his coat and hat, placing them neatly on the back of a chair by the door that holds her purse and other going-out essentials. He tries to shake a strangely domestic feeling as he does so. He moves forward past the little entrance hall into the main living area. It is quite a beautiful loft apartment. Red can’t wait to snoop.
He moves forward eagerly to inspect the closest thing, her bookshelf. It is surprisingly well packed for a young thief fresh out of college. Red expects to see girly magazines and sappy romance novels. But instead he sees a plethora of psychology books, ranging from encyclopedia sized to the average novel length. Red frowns. Her college textbooks perhaps? No, it doesn’t look like it. Well, perhaps she has a vesting interest in the human psyche after all. Interesting. He skims the remaining books, a mixture of classics and murder mysteries.
Hm.
He moves on, around her comfortable looking leather couch, and crouches down to her modest entertainment center to peer at her DVD collection. He expects much the same as he did with her books, chick flicks and romances. But he is once again surprised, seeing only a handful of “girly” movies that are lightly sprinkled amongst a variety of dramas and psychological thrillers that would probably grace his own collection, if he ever stayed long enough in one place to amass one.
Red frowns, straightening up, and turns around to actually look at the apartment, doing a 360 degree turn to take it all in.
There is light, simple décor on the walls and a handful of neatly framed paintings, which are an interesting mix of minimalist and impressionist styles with, unbelievably, a well-painted portrait of Freud on the far wall.
Red blinks, confused. This is Lizzie's apartment? This doesn't make any sense. Red prides himself in his ability to read people and have an accurate idea of their personality, likes, and dislikes within the first ten minutes of meeting them. This kind of skill comes from years of experience and keen observation. Following his instincts, he had easily pegged Elizabeth for a typical young girl in her early twenties. But this apartment clearly shows the personality of a slightly older, more sophisticated, very intelligent, introspective woman.
How fascinating.
If there was any doubt that Red would be working with Lizzie before, there certainly isn’t now. Red has never been more stunned by a first meeting and then this completely turned around by a second. Elizabeth is a mystery. And he is curious.
And when Red gets curious, he digs deeper.
Red is snapped out of his enthralled stupor by a creak from upstairs.
Elizabeth is up.
A strange thrill goes through him at the thought and he hurriedly pushes it aside, walking to the couch and sitting down, adjusting his vest. Dembe takes his place behind the couch. Ah, the old breaking-in-and-making-himself-comfortable routine. It unnerves people every time. He smirks, already pleased with himself, as he sees movement at the top of the stairs.
"Good morning, Lizzie!"
He takes pleasure in seeing her jump, almost falling down the stairs in her surprise, hand going to her ankle apparently out of habit. Interesting. She probably wears a knife strapped to leg. He'll remember that.
She straightens up quickly, seeming to realize she's just given something away, and plasters a carefree smile on her face, smoothing down her oversized t-shirt.
Her oversized t-shirt.
"Well, good morning, Red. Dembe."
The only thing she's wearing.
"This is certainly a pleasant surprise."
No, he sees a peek of blue cotton as she sashays down the rest of the stairs. She's wearing blue cotton panties and an oversized t-shirt. That's all.
And she's waiting for him to speak.
Dembe surreptitiously kicks the back of the couch.
Red clears his throat.
"Yes, I imagine it is."
Great. He's come here to take her off guard and somehow, he's still the one to end up speechless. He should have anticipated her state of undress and been prepared for it. But even if he had, he gets the feeling it wouldn't have mattered much. Her legs look even more smooth and endless when they are bare and jean-less.
With considerable effort, he drags his eyes up her legs to stare at her face, which is smirking at him once again. Her hair is pulled up in a messy, sleep-tousled ponytail and her face is free of makeup, pale and pretty. Natural.
He thinks fleetingly that she doesn't need makeup. She's gorgeous.
She’s also standing with her arms crossed and her hip cocked in what he’s coming to recognize as her trademark confident pose, once again asserting dominance over Red.
Now that won't do.
"What can I help you with this early in the morning, gentlemen?" She asks politely. "The heist isn't today, is it?" She smirks again, teasing Red.
Oh, she's so young.
"No, it's not, Lizzie. But I thought you might want to discuss the details of the job sooner rather than later."
“At 7:30 in the morning?"
Red shrugs, smiling pleasantly.
"We're early risers."
He can feel Dembe seething behind him. Ah well. He'll make it up to him with Indian food for dinner tonight.
“I also thought you’d like to know that it has come to my attention that you’ve made… rather a habit of stealing from my interests.” He watches her carefully. She stiffens slightly but maintains her uninterested expression.
“Oh, yes? Well, I must admit I was wondering when you would figure that out. But it’s nothing personal, Red, I was hired to do all those jobs and I was paid good money to do them. You’ve rather a lot of enemies, if you haven’t noticed.” She grins tightly at him, still wary.
“Oh, yes, I’ve noticed.” He smiles darkly. “But there’s no need to look so ill at ease, Lizzie, I assumed as much. And I understand a young thief such as yourself has to make money wherever she can.” He sees some of the tension leave her shoulders at the sincerity in his voice. “I’m willing to forgive your past… indiscretions against me in exchange for not taking any other jobs from now until after our heist is complete. I assure you that your cut will have you well compensated for any gigs you may miss in the meantime.”
She pauses, narrowing her eyes a little at him, trying to gauge the amount of honesty she sees there. He stares back at her calmly, openly, unperturbed.
“You want a truce?” she inquires suspiciously.
“I suppose that’s a good name for it, yes.” He agrees. “Mostly to make sure you aren’t stealing from me behind my back.”
She raises an eyebrow at him. “You really think I’d be stupid enough to double-dip from Raymond Reddington?”
He smiles in spite of himself. “No, I don’t. But it pays to be cautious.” He says simply. “This pact will also ensure your complete and utter availability and loyalty for this heist. My previous grifter got into a spot of trouble with a simple gig he took to keep himself busy.”
“Enrique? Yeah, I heard about that.”
“You’ll understand the necessity then.”
She hesitates, her blue eyes flickering back and forth between his green ones.
Hers are the color of a clear, cloudless, bright blue, early morning sky. Beautiful.
“All right, then,” she agrees finally. “I suppose that’s fair.”
“Wonderful!” proclaims Red, smiling brightly at her. “With that little matter out of the way, we can move on to more pleasant business! Now, this heist –“
"Hang on,” She interrupts with a chuckle, holding her hand up to stop him before he can get going, “I don't know about you two but I need some coffee in me before I discuss work. Want a cup?"
"Oh, please." Replies Red, equally surprised and delighted, as she turns and pads to the small kitchen to plug in the coffee maker.
Red tries not to stare at her as she goes.
Dembe clears his throat pointedly as he passes Red, following Liz to the kitchen.
"Oh, shut it." Red mutters to him as he stands and makes his way to the kitchen as well.
Dembe snorts quietly but otherwise stays quiet.
"How do you like your coffee?" Liz asks politely, bustling around, setting out milk, sugar, and mugs on the island, still sans pants.
"Would you like to dress before we begin?" Red questions courteously, both for her comfort and for his sanity.
Liz shrugs, perching on a kitchen stool at the island and demurely crossing her legs. Red notices that her lower half is tactfully hidden by the counter.
"This is how I usually eat breakfast. Does it make you uncomfortable?"
Red works his mouth.
"Not at all."
Lizzie grins.
"Alright then."
Dembe hides his smirk behind his mug.
"So," Liz starts, taking a sip of her coffee (three creams and two sugars, Red notes) and once again taking the lead, "What do I need to know about this heist?"
Red sighs, taking a fortifying gulp of his own coffee (just one sugar, Liz notes) and smooths down his tie, preparing himself.
Time to impress.
"Our target is one Amos Rodfield," Red begins imperiously, feeling both very comfortable with commanding a room and very excited at commanding Lizzie's attention, "owner of the AR&M Bank in downtown D.C."
But, once again, he doesn't get very far.
"AM&R?" Liz repeats, somewhat incredulously.
"Yes," Red answers, a little irritated at being interrupted one sentence into his tirade. "It stands for 'Amos Rodfield and Money'. Not very original, I know."
"No, I know what it stands for." Liz says, waving her hand as if batting away a fly. "But we in the grifting business call it 'The Fortress'. That place is impenetrable."
"Perhaps for some." Red states confidently.
Lizzie's eyes narrow at his cockiness. He feels a tiny stab of guilt. He finds himself quickly speaking again to get rid of that sliver of irritation he sees in her eyes.
"But I think with the combination of my sizeable resources and your substantial skills, we'll be able to accomplish it without difficulty."
The thinly veiled compliment seems to please her, her blue eyes lightening, and Red feels an easing in his chest.
"All right then," Liz says flippantly. "I'm always up for a challenge." She grins at him in a way that makes his heart stutter.
Ah. Well then.
"So, what did the poor Mr. Rodfield do to bring your formidable wrath down on him?" She quirks her eyebrow at him.
Red chuckles, endlessly amused by her.
"I was a loyal client of his for many years, storing a large portion of my funds in his bank with complete trust in his discretion and animosity." Liz leans forward a little on her stool, becoming enthralled with his dramatic storytelling, his hands gesturing to bring even more life to his words. "But after seven years of loyal service, one minor competitor comes knocking and he gives away some important information with only a few questions asked."
Liz frowns. "But why would he do that to you after seven years?"
"Well, to be fair, I don't think he meant to. My competitor and their motives were well disguised."
"Well then, why don't you punish the competitor, not the banker?"
"What makes you think I didn't?" Red ask with a strange, dark glint in his eyes that sends a shiver down her spine.
"Not to worry, I took care of the main problem.” He continues easily. “But Amos really should have known better. Loyalty is invaluable in my business, especially when it comes to money. So, I withdrew all my funds immediately and made it clear that I would never again be paying for his unreliable service."
"And that isn't enough?"
"Not quite. It was a rather well publicized betrayal and people connected to me may get the idea that little slipups like that are acceptable, if they can get away with it. They most certainly are not. So, my goal is to rob Amos and make it obvious it was me, thereby sending a message to the rest of the criminal world that I am not someone to be tested. It’s the price of business, you see, Lizzie."
Liz nods. She is not unfamiliar with the vindictive ways of criminals in Raymond Reddington's circle. But she can't help but admire all the thought and planning that obviously goes into Red’s every movement, so unlike the clumsy low-level crooks and drug dealers she usually deals with.
"Okay," Liz says easily. "So what now?"
Red just looks at her for a moment, surprised at her acceptance of the back-stabbing and two-faced nature of the criminal underworld he lives in. He can't help but look at her and wonder how such a young, beautiful, talented thing like her became so deeply immersed in the world of crime. And why does she seem so at home there?
Red mentally shakes himself and nods jerkily at her, swigging the last sip of his coffee and standing. He hears Dembe preparing to leave behind him.
"Now?" Red repeats. She nods, looking up at him, eyes twinkling. "You get dressed and enjoy your day, Elizabeth. I'll be contacting you soon to set up another meeting."
"And will that one be in my underwear as well?" She asks cheekily.
"Certainly," Red purrs, looking at her with lidded eyes, pausing in shrugging on his coat and donning his hat. "If that's how you usually plan heists."
The blinding light that had surrounded Cas moments ago slowly dimmed down to a level that wouldn’t burn their damn eyes out, before disappearing as quickly as it had appeared, leaving a confused, but blessedly healed, Angel of the Lord sitting on the ratty ass couch. Cas turned to Dean, looking as shocked as he had felt, before turning to stare at something behind the hunter. That something turned out to be Crowley, as he was holding the Lance, or the top part of it anyway, running his fingers over the now relatively harmless spear head. Apparently he had broken the Lance while they had their backs turned when Cas started spazzing out, black goo that looked eerily similar to the crap that came out of him during the Leviathan fiasco, effectively breaking whatever spell that was killing Cas and allowed him to finally be able to heal himself.
They all turned to him, bewildered, but Crowley just looked at us, a look of indifference on his face. “You’re welcome” was all the King of Hell said before he dropped the spear head and left, ever the drama queen. He looked around and saw that mom and Sam looked just as confused and relieved as he did, though Sam was looking rather proud and mom looked like she was wondering how in the hell (no pun intended) a demon could do something so selfless, so human, and so out of character like saving an angel’s life.
But none of that mattered, not when Cas was safe, healed, alive. Sure his clothes were still bloody, they’ll get him some clean ones as soon as they get to the bunker and burn the bloodied ones because he did NOT want to see the evidence of Cas’ closest and almost final brush with death for a second longer than necessary, and still weak from the amount of grace that had to have been used to heal himself, but he was alive. That didn’t stop the worry and fear that had taken hold of Dean when Crowley said that there was no cure for this one, Billie’s warning of ‘consequences of the cosmic scale’ still ringing in his ears and hammering about in his skull as he and Sammy reach out to haul Cas up to his feet. And if he held on a little longer to Cas’ hand and squeezed a little tighter than necessary, then who could blame him? He almost lost his best friend, he had a right to indulge in his need to be clingy, even if it was for like a second.
But that fear and worry had abated, for just a moment, when Cas turned to him, blue eyes slightly widened in shock, but with an underlying sense of apprehension. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights and for a moment Dean couldn’t understand why, before what would have been his last words to them came crashing through like a frieght train
“I love you… I love all of you”
Cas might have tried to save himself by attempting to clarify that his love was equal for us all, but even Dean, the most emotionally constipated human ever, could tell that that first ‘I love you’ was directed at him. Cas loved him.
Wait
Cas loved him?
Why would he love him? Why would he, an Angel of the freakin LORD love him, a hairless ape that has caused him nothing but grief since the moment they met. The mud monkey that had gotten him killed Chuck knew how many times, had cost him his family upstairs, his wings, his grace, everything? It just didn’t make any sense. Cas should love someone who could take care of him, and he wasn’t exactly boyfriend material, people didn’t look at guys like him and think ‘that’s them, that’s the person i want to spend the rest of my life with. That’s the one.’ He never had had a good track record with long term relationships, Lisa had been his longest and even then it was rocky and wasn’t long before it all went to hell in a hand basket. He didn’t think he could be the kind of boyfriend Cas deserved, the kind he wanted to be for him, but if tonight, of all the other times they had lost or almost lost each other, had finally taught him anything, it was that life was too short for doubts and hesitation and you never knew when your time would come (for good). He was done burying his feelings.
He turned to Sammy, giving him a look that he hoped his brother understood, before addressing him and mom, “You two go on ahead in mom’s car, me and Cas will take Baby after we clean up here, don’t want the LEO’s to find the Lance, depowered or not.”
Thankfully his giant moose of a brother understood, grabbing ahold of mom while heading to the door, giving her a toned down Bitch Face #14 when she went to protest and pull away, “Sure man, you guys be careful though. I’ll get something for all of us to eat on the way to the bunker. And Cas, I’m glad you’re ok man.” Was all he said before he dragged mom out of there and to the car, not before discreetly throwing a eyebrow wiggle his older brothers way, the bitch.
Dean breathed out a sigh of relief as the door closed, he waited till he heard mom’s car start and leave before turning to look at the angel beside him. Cas looked confused, if a bit pleased. It was then that Dean realised that his hand had migrated to the angels back during his epiphany earlier, but he couldn’t bring himself to care all that much. It felt nice, the warmth of Cas’ back seeping into his hand, the surprising softness of that damn trench coat he always insisted on wearing. He was closer than Dean remember him being a few moment ago, staring at him with wonder, with no little bit of hope just shining through those beautiful blue eyes of his.
“Dean?” He asked, as if he was afraid that this was all a dream. And quite honestly Dean was having a hard time not thinking like that too.
Dean smiled slightly, eyes raking over his entire form, making sure that he was completely healed, reassuring himself that he was really alright, before moving his other hand to cup his angels cheek. Cas turned slightly into the touch, a soft smile blooming across his face.
It was then that Dean’s eyes started to burn slightly, the full gravity of what almost happened tonight, what he almost lost, finally register with him. He pulled Cas towards himself till he was flush against his body, holding him tightly. Cas looked at Dean, worried and but happy, before he brought his arms up, his left going around his waist and his right buried in the hair on the back of his head. Dean cleared his throat before looking him in the eye, thumb brushing away the stray tear that had escaped the angel’s eyes.
“Cas… I love you too.” Was all he got out as the rest of what he was going to say got stuck in his throat, but that didn’t matter, because Cas knew, he understood all that he was trying to convey, if the blinding, watery smile was anything to go by. And beside, words were no longer need, not as he finally pulled him even closer, closing the rest of the distance between them, pressing his lips to the angel’s surprisingly soft ones in a gentle, chaste kiss. It was the first of many, if he had anything to say about it, because now there was no way he was going to ever let this go, ever let Cas go.
Hum.. yeah okay i am sorry for the color i dont have a lot and i am the worst with them well… Hope you dont hate it to much 🙇🙇🙇🙇
Nelly belong to @nelly-the-dog
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