A/N: First Blacklist one-shot (and a very short one at that), so I'm not sure how good this is, but I had to write it. If you haven't watched the episode "Tom Keene", (Season 2, episode 16), then please do not read this! SPOILERS. It's literally just one entire spoiler. With that said, you may proceed at your own risk. This picks up at the end of the episode.

Raymond Reddington hated him. Tom Keen...the man that had previously held Lizzie's heart. He probably still held her heart, she just didn't know it yet. She was too furious at him, at his betrayal, to have any other feelings for him. Let the anger ebb away and she'll probably fall for him again. But why did he hate Tom? He licked his lips and readjusted his fedora as he climbed into the car after his discussion with Lizzie at the college cafeteria. He supposed he hated Tom because he knew Tom still loved his daughter. Lizzie would let Tom back into her heart far sooner than she'd let him in - her own father, for Pete's sake! But he'd protect Tom nonetheless - somewhat. Because of Lizzie. Because of the things she didn't even know she'd feel once more for him.

"Are you okay?" Tom repeated the question into the phone he held. He was on the run - quite frankly, when was he not - and really didn't have time to be repeating himself. But he had to know that Elizabeth was okay; somehow, that overrode his instinct to run. He could see her now: front teeth just visible between her lips, which would part in mild surprise at his question. Her brown eyebrows would furrow as she mulled over this, and her cool blue eyes would search the air as if she could see a lie fabricating before her.
"Yes. I'm fine," she said shortly, and then she hung up. He snorted, setting the phone back on its hook. That move was purely Lizzie. She was probably on the other end of the phone, staring pensively at it as if it could give her the answers she needed. She was probably wondering why he'd called her, why he cared.

Well, maybe it was because Tom Keen cared a little bit too much. Why else would he blow his cover from an op in Germany and take off back to Washington, D.C. in order to help her? The woman he'd betrayed for another cover? The one who'd held him in a shipping container for months, the one who'd shot him, the one who probably hated him?
It was true that he immersed himself into his covers. He became the individuals he was posing as. The cute elementary teacher? He'd aced it until Lizzie found out about him. The tatted-up biker dude in Germany? He'd been working on it. Deadly lover with dark secrets in Switzerland several years back? Nobody suspected him. But there was something about Elizabeth.

He'd broken the number one rule in this cruel game. Don't involve your own emotions. He'd tried not to, but she was so...different. He smirked sarcastically to himself as he realized that most men said the same thing about their lady friends, but it was true. She was complex. Sometimes didn't pick up on things right away, but she was smart nonetheless. And she hadn't deserve his betrayal. This phone call was like a band aid on a gaping wound: it didn't do much good for patching their relationship. Heck, he probably shouldn't bother trying. But he was anyway.

Elizabeth Keen stared pensively at the phone in her hand before slamming it down. The man was insane. One minute, filling their home and marriage with lies; the next minute, disappearing - the minute after that, asking if she was 'okay' after her exhausting day, just like he'd done numerous times before. Her heart squeezed in a nostalgic pang. Sometimes she wished she could go back to when they were newlyweds, when she wasn't working with Red, when she was blissfully unaware of his covert op that was their marriage. Life had been pretty simple, and hadn't caused so much frustration.
"You okay?" Ressler asked, peering into the doorway.
Her gaze shot up from the phone sharply before realizing it was just him. "Yes."
"Look like you saw a ghost," he mentioned, his forehead creasing.
"Just packing up for the day," she shrugged, waiting for him to stride off. When he had, her gaze veered back to the phone. She considered the short conversation; thought about the soft tone in which he'd addressed her, as opposed to the sharp one he'd used a lot after she had found him out. Maybe she had seen a ghost.