Disclaimer: Not mine; I own nothing.

A/N: I would like to do a second chapter from Lizzie's perspective. Let me know in comments if that's a good idea or if this should be a oneshot. Thanks!

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Raymond Reddington had always been fond of self reflection. Self reflection wrought realizations about one's weaknesses, and he was not a man to entertain weaknesses of any kind. When identified, he sought them out and dispatched them as handily as how he did his work. He did so judiciously. He had always been judicious about his work. It was not his task to examine the moral significance of one job or the other. He was simply a liaison. His work was a service and one that he provided well.

He sat in the near dark, in an overstuffed chair in an anonymous luxury suite in Georgetown and watched the sun rise. He had long ceased staying in the same place twice, despite having an affinity for one hotel over the other in select cities. Such was his nomadic lifestyle, one born of necessity and one he did not mind. He used to keep track of his various abodes, even patterning them, but Red knew that even the randomized patterns of personal habit could be eventually detected by a skilled observer.

Like Elizabeth Keen.

The rapid evolution of his thoughts caused him to wince inwardly. Lizzie had a way of slipping into his thoughts unbidden as of late, and that put him ill at ease. His business and very survival were dependent upon his ability to control his thoughts, to orchestrate his actions, emotions, and movements perfectly, yet finally meeting her had...complicated things. Yes, he realized matter-of-factly, things had become quite complicated.

It was not a complication that was readily fixed, and Raymond Reddington had a penchant for fixing things.

He swirled his drink, almost invisible in the early light, and watched the day unroll its tendrils onto the streets and avenues and early morning commuters visible from his lofty perch. There was a fog that clung low to the horizon, darkening the ground, yet he was high enough in his penthouse to almost see above it. It was an exhilarating feeling, being able to see both sides, to know the known and the unknown and be satisfied in that.

There was too much about Elizabeth Keen that was unknown. Not things as pitifully banal as her past or present (Red had practically watched her grow up, for Heaven's sake), but other more gossamer things, things Red was convinced he had total control over because that had always been the case. More than he knew anyone, he knew himself. The veneer that Raymond Reddington presented to the world was carefully crafted. The immaculate suit and fedora, the polished control. His charm, ease, and fluidity of movement often portrayed an accessibility that was non-existent. Red kept the moat between him and everyone else wide, deep, and heavily guarded.

Except when it came to Lizzie. He sighed, still perplexed by being caught off guard and least of all by a woman. Red knew, though, that this woman was storming the walls of his defenses. Her effect on him became painfully palpable the first time they had shared the same air. He remembered it well. The moment she strode over to sit across from him, all of his rules, all of those carefully laid plans of interaction completely dissolved in the blinding hot light of her presence. It took him aback, his reaction, like smothering on pure oxygen. The hallmarks of his condition hinted at far more than mere physical attraction. To think it was only that threatening his carefully cultured facade was an insult. Of course her attractiveness was obvious and it was true that he was not immune, yet physical attraction was nothing beyond the control of a man who is an expert in the very art. She was indeed beautiful, he ruminated, remarkably so, but for so many other reasons than the obvious and superficial. Raymond had never held a concept of beauty, but if he had, he was sure Lizzie would exceed all the criteria of such a standard. No, Elizabeth Keen had more of a profound affect on him than a paltry siren or nymph. Raymond had known beautiful women. Elizabeth Keen made him feel slightly out of control.

He first recognized this on the day of their meeting, recalling the candor with which he had spoken to her. That development, that spontaneous eruption of pure honest truth he had not anticipated, but he had no regrets. Raymond was not a man given to regret. Indeed she is very special, he thought, and she deserved to know it (deserves to be told it every day, and to be shown it by someone capable of doing so), he finished inwardly. He did not presume to be that man, but he knew he could be. He finished his drink and sat the glass down heavily.

The sun had risen high enough now to threaten the thick blanket of fog over the city. He watched as the sun fought through the weak areas to illuminate the dark below. Red fingered the cuff of his dress shirt and realized he had not been to bed. Suddenly he thought of Lizzie getting up for work, of her going through her morning routine. He imagined her sipping a cup of coffee in the kitchen and struggling with her hair in the bathroom vanity. Red could have had her surveilled of course, but he much preferred these little daydreams; they were more personal and more civilized than the fumbling methods of a high tech Peeping Tom.

He pulled himself from his reverie. The morning was growing and there was business to be done. He straightened yesterday's clothes and contemplated a shower. Lizzie was not affecting the end game, he told himself. The plan was still in play and all was well.

He stood, taking a last look at the swelling sunrise and smoothed the wrinkles of his suit vest. The fog was nearly gone now; the sun glittered off the buildings and dew-stained cars. A beautiful day was afoot.

That's what Elizabeth Keen is doing, he suddenly realized, pushing her way through the dark.

And he was letting her have her way.