Note: This isn't out and out crack. There's some semblance of a timeline and loose plot while attempting to keep our favourite couple relatively in character, I suppose. I feel I owe it to you for 'The Tears I Gave You' being such a downer.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Blacklist or any of the characters recognisable from the show used in this work of fanfiction. I am making no profit from this work.
NO REST
DAY ONE
Elizabeth Keen had started her vacation time as she meant to go on. Currently sitting on her couch, feet on the coffee table, laptop balanced on her knees, with a half-eaten tub of cookie dough on the seat next to her as she rinsed Netflix. She had resolved to ignore the pile of ironing covering the dining table and the dishes stacked by the sink, fully intending to spend her time lounging or sleeping.
Idly, she checked her online dating app. No messages. She had signed up after shooting Ressler down a second time after yet another terrible pickup line; while she didn't see him that way it had got her to thinking that she might as well try to meet somebody. She'd been on her own long enough since Tom left and Hudson was put to sleep due to ill health; she smiled fondly, remembering how much life her little dog had brought into the house. It all felt too quiet now. That and she was desperately horny half the time. She browsed through the members, only for the app to be swallowed up by the incoming call screen; Nick's Pizza. With a long suffering sigh she hit the 'Answer' icon on the screen and lifted the phone to her ear.
"Lizzie!" He sounded entirely too chipper for her liking.
"I'm on holiday," she said flatly by way of a warning.
"I know, I just thought I'd call to see how you're enjoying your time off." She said nothing. "Y'know, make sure you're using your time to its full potential," he expanded.
"Uh huh." Her response was non-committal as she scrolled through Netflix, waiting for him to get to his point.
"So," he continued, ignoring her sarcasm, "what do you have planned for the week?"
"Sleeping, mainly. I miss lie-ins." She sat up, setting the laptop on the seat beside her. "And dreams," she added as an afterthought.
"I had the most wonderful dream last night," he stated, waiting for her to say something to make him explain further.
She heaved a sigh. "Do I even want to know?"
"It involved you, me, a saucepan full of cocaine and lightsabers," he explained.
"A recipe for disaster," she commented dryly, biting back her original response which involved needing cocaine to deal with him and just what she'd do with a lightsaber if he was anywhere near her. He could keep the saucepan.
"I almost cried when I woke up, it was so beautiful."
"I'm sure. So I have to get back to my housework," she lied, wanting the conversation to end so she could get back to her vacation.
"You mean the Kardashians," he retorted.
"Are you watching me?" she asked, the pitch of her voice rising as she nervously looked outside the window.
"I'm not outside your house."
"How did you know I was looking?" she countered.
He chuckled, amused by her discomfort. "I know you well enough by now, Lizzie."
"Well... get out of my Netflix account," she ordered lamely.
"Oh, look, the parental restriction settings," he observed brightly.
"Don't you dare," she ground out.
"Have a good day, Lizzie!" The line went dead. She scrabbled for the settings herself, changing the password to something she probably wouldn't even remember in the hope that it would boot him out of the account.
"Liz Keen, one; Raymond Reddington, zilch." With great satisfaction she pictured the smug grin dropping from his face when he realised what she'd done.
Her phone trilled brightly on the armrest of the couch, right next to her head as she attempted to nap. She reached up with her arm and grabbed at the armrest before grasping the device to check the screen. Nick's Pizza. Again.
Bored. V. V. Bored. She sighed at the sight of his message and sat up, naptime ruined.
She jabbed at the phone screen. And?
Want to go out? The response came back almost immediately. Somebody was eager.
And do what? She was not in the mood for this.
House party. Pick you up at 9 ;) She wished she'd never told him the meaning of what he called 'bizarre punctuation' – his messages were often littered with winking faces, their bracket-smiles leering at her all too suggestively. Most of his texts were suggestive enough as it was. She didn't bother send a response as she knew it would be futile – he quite clearly had his mind made up. She dragged herself up to her room to find something to wear and soon convinced herself that going out, even with him, was a better idea than staying in and bemoaning the fact she was single.
True to his text, Red arrived at her house bang on nine o'clock. Dembe drove, as usual, to a house she would later come to refer to as 'the swish one' because she hadn't listened to him when he was telling her all about the owner; something about legs and then waking up naked next to a single slice of bread, she recalled.
The modern architecture and matching high-end minimalist interior made her long for her old beat-up couch and creature comforts. As Red whirled her around making introductions to people she'd likely never see again she quickly realised that practically everything there was laced with something illegal; she hugged her wine bottle to herself, aware of the regular drug tests the FBI required their agents to undergo. Red evidently didn't share her concerns and made a beeline for the lavish buffet, not bothering with a plate as he picked at the finger food. She set about finding a glass, rinsing it out in the kitchen sink before pouring herself a generous glass.
It was going to be a long night.
