A/N: Okay, firstly, no one kill me. This is one that will go slow, mostly because the first season isn't over so relax, I am still working diligently on all my other fics – with some random, obsessive time devoted to Chopped on the Food Network Channel, plus it's Christmas time so…yeah. Anyway, my first Blacklist Fanfic, and I am totally obsessed with this show, and Emika, and London Grammar. Anyway, Read & Review. This is…generic, for now. For more info, read the A/N below.
Key: 'Thoughts' & regular stuff & "Speaking"
Disclaimer: I do not own the Blacklist or anything of it. So please don't sue me cause you won't get a dime. NADA.
Inkling
It was more than the mere chance of feeling such velvety softness underneath the tips of her fingertips. All her senses seemed heightened as she stared out the window at the snow blanketing the streets of Washington, D.C. Despite the softness of the glass the window itself was very cool to the touch and she relished in how it calmed her frayed, hot nerves. Her body felt spent, stress taking its toll each day that went by.
It had been at least two or three months since the Concierge of Crime, otherwise known as Raymond "Red" Reddington, had disappeared from right under the FBI's nose. It was very odd to her, now, that she'd be thinking about Red as she awaited Tom's return from work. She had been relieved of duty for a while—Cooper's fancy terms for temporarily suspending her—now that Red was no longer around. On some days, before her suspension, it had felt more strange than usual to sit at her desk when she was working and expect a phone call from the master criminal. Other days she expected those mysterious calls at home while even more on other days, she expected to randomly seem him. And knowing Red, she might have but maybe thought it was a figment of her imagination. Even with his departing words to her, Elizabeth Keen knew that he wasn't lying to her about being there. For whatever reasons, he wanted to be in some form or another. 'But he isn't my father.' His response to her teary eyed question had been a no, which, for some reason, caused more questions to spring up. Mounting frustrations had her keeping a careful eye on Tom. Though nothing had come up yet.
But she was ever watchful.
Whenever Tom stepped out for anything she was back at the window, wondering, always wondering if she'd see even the faintest glimpse of Red in the chilly weather. Most of the time she'd spent with Red had involved her running around in circles trying to keep up with him. He never seemed to divulge more than he thought necessary. It kept her coming back for more she guessed. She had served herself a cup of tea but it remained desolate and untouched on the dining room table behind her, a picture of loneliness forgotten and unimportant. His words kept ringing in her ears, the very last words he'd said to her before dropping off the face of the earth.
"Lizzie, be careful of your husband."
What was it that she was missing? They had investigated Tom and nothing had come up. So what exactly was she missing? So Gina had said she killed Fokin but it didn't explain why the information that was classified included anything on her husband. This thought had been circling her thoughts as of the late, more so since Red's words. For that brief moment she'd returned a strange albeit impromptu happiness that had seemed almost real—before his Red's parting words. She couldn't deny one truth through the sludge of all these lies: Red had never lied to her about anything from his criminal nature to the answers she sought. He may have left her with more questions than she initially asked or had, but he always answered them honestly from what she could tell. It was a feeling she had that did not involve any usage of her profiling skills the way other things did. Christmas time was just around the corner but Elizabeth Keen had no worries about Christmas presents—she only had Tom. Buying a present for him wouldn't be the hardest feat she had yet to overcome. She thought perhaps a nice watch, a nice pair of sunglasses, some new clothes; something had to be bought. 'A lie detector test?' the thought came out bitter, dark and detested in her own head even though she had no real idea where it came from in the first place.
It would seem that's Red's words had affected her so much more than she let her fellow colleagues see, especially Cooper. She had the sneaking suspicion Ressler saw right through her, and that CIA Agent Meera Malik had more than an inkling, though the Indian woman wouldn't say a word to her about it. Being a woman, Lizzie thought perhaps Meera understood; however, if what Agent Ressler said held any truth, the woman was even more ruthless than Lizzie could've dreamed. She was all business and nothing more, or so it seemed. Nevertheless, it was as if just by being the only two women working the cases with Red—directly like Lizzie, or indirectly like Meera—both women had a mutual understanding of their positions and place in the FBI and CIA. Neither agency nor task force seemed to hold women in high regard, which was why Lizzie herself had had such a challenging time with Ressler. Or at least it may have been part of it. She knew the main part had everything to do with Red himself and the criminal's desire to only speak with her and no one else. Ressler had been following him for five years and now here he was, the Concierge of Crime, right in front of them and Ressler couldn't even get a real inch in with the man. That seemed a pretty good reason to not like Lizzie right now.
Sighing, she quickly reached for her teacup to warm it up, hoping to operate under the guise of staying home comfortably to watch TV and nurse something warm to drink in the dreary weather. Tom would be home any minute and she didn't want him to wonder about her any more than usual. As time passed since the incident with Gina Zanetokas, Tom's interrogation, and Red's departure, she found her desire to remain with her husband and in her current house to be less and less appealing. She had a hard time even connecting physically with her husband. She couldn't deny the part of her that couldn't, for the life of her, shake Red's last words. He was waiting for her to figure it out, waiting for her to see the nasty truth hidden just beneath the surface of Tom's caring, loving façade. But so far she had yet to discover anything different than their original findings. Not to mention that Gina, no matter how many times they'd interrogated her, had yet to change her story about killing Fokin. Through and through the female assassin claimed that she did not know Tom nor did she know anything about him murdering Fokin as she was the one that did it. But the pictures she found in Gina's apartment could not be denied regardless of whether Red ordered the hit on Fokin. It was all the proof Elizabeth needed to not trust her husband anymore. It seemed a moot point now to try and argue about principles when it came to criminals and possible ex-agents.
She'd be lying if she didn't admit, at least in some form, that she missed Red.
Wise-cracks, and good conversation at that, were extremely hard to come by in her line of business. Everyone was just that—business. Begrudgingly, she hated to give in to the fact that Red brought a certain sense of worldliness and intrigue into her mostly adrenaline filled but boring job. When she wasn't on a case she was at her desk mulling over paperwork or digging through old evidence without a care in the world. Without a doubt, Elizabeth Keen knew that she was feeling out of place in her job. She had yet to do any real profiling work, her training from Quantico seemingly pointless now that Raymond "Red" Reddington had waltzed into her life and interrupted it, rather unceremoniously. Sighing, she sat back down in front of the TV in their newly redecorated home, which she had refused to move from despite Tom's insistence. At the last minute she had dug her heels in and refused. Tom had, grudgingly, agreed to stay and she did not voice any reasons other than her job was with the FBI and she had trained for it, so she was going to continue to do it. What she did not say is that when Red returned she wanted to be there because in reality, he seemed to hold answers to many of her burning questions. And she'd be damned before she left and didn't get them. It was too late to ignore what had transpired; there was no going back. The door to the front of their house opened, and Lizzie took a deep breath.
"Liz, honey, I'm back from school."
Setting her cup down on the coffee table, Elizabeth Keen offered him a weak smile. "Hey. Can we talk?"
CLIFFHANGER! I didn't want to do too many offshoots since the season will pick back up again in January (which isn't THAT far away even though I'M dying from the suspense and waiting) so this will mostly explore Lizzie and her time with Tom until it all starts again—with of course some Lizzie/Red scenarios in her head. Totally don't believe that he's her father. LOL. Either way, it's not romantic at this point but eh…we'll see where it goes, ne? Until next time! Gotta go update other fics before continuing this one. SERIOUSLY.