A/N: I have no idea, honestly, that Keen and Ressler could be this inspiring. Since this week there will be no episode - and next week's has me worried already - I spent a bit too much time thinking about them and well, here it is. Again, it's not much but my Muse can't be helped.

Disclaimer: Jon Bokenkamp, how do you do it?

"Status update."

"No sign of Mendels yet."

"Be on the lookout, he's supposed to make an entrance soon."

Not for the first time, Elizabeth Keen wondered just how her nights had turned into this madness. When she joined the bureau, she imagined a few late nights at the office and maybe an occasional undercover assignment. But here she was, at a club with flashing lights and loudly pulsating music, all because of a number on the blacklist, and the funny thing was, this felt normal.

"Keen, your three o'clock."

She turned her head towards the direction Ressler indicated, slowly rotating her head and leaning her hand on his shoulder for their supposed cover of a couple at a club.

"Too short. Not him."

He let out a small growl of disapproval. If she had to guess, he wasn't too happy about their latest assignment either. Red's face had practically lit up with joy when he suggested Ressler needed to loosen up for this role.

"Honestly, Donald, how did you ever make it this far when you always look like Special Agent Ressler?"

So, here he was, out of his normal suit, in a pair of jeans and a black shirt, looking decidedly normal and, as far as Liz could tell, rather uncomfortable. He didn't do casual or relaxed or anything close to laid-back and the fact that he had to force himself out of his usual persona was grating on his nerves. He hid it well enough for the general public but she could read it on his face. There was no Donald at the FBI, it was only Special Agent Ressler and he felt conflicted at having to mix those two aspects of himself.

"He'll be here."

"Just not quickly enough." He frowned again and she had to fight the sudden urge to reach over and smooth the lines that had appeared on his forehead; honestly, given how prone Ressler was to frown, it was a wonder he didn't already have deeply etched worry lines.

"Someone who could be Mendels just entered the club. Your five o'clock, Ressler." Meera's voice in her ear cut her out of her reverie and she leaned closer to him to casually glance at the direction which had been indicated.

"That's definitely him."

"Okay, stay in position. We need to confirm who his buyer is and we don't want to spook him. Just stay on him."

The man they were eyeing was far enough to hopefully not notice their interested glances but unfortunately also far enough so they couldn't really do anything. He walked the floor with confident steps, moving away from their line of sight, through the people and seemingly knowledgeable about where he was supposed to be going. Within moments, he would disappear and there was a decision to be made.

"Damn it. Come on." Ressler was on the move before she could react and he reached back to grab her hand.

"No time to think about it, Keen."

She didn't protest – had no intention to – as she felt his hand in hers and tried to relax into it. It was a foreign stance for them and she could feel the tension in his fingers as he held her hand; they hadn't really touched before and it took some getting used to.

They passed the throngs of people caught up in dance and no one took particular notice to them. Mendels was moving fast, and she could hear Ressler swear when he disappeared behind a corner.

"What's back there?"

"That was personnel only."

He seemed to contemplate their next move as they reached the same corner Mendels had turned and found a small secluded alcove which ended with a door, adorned with a sign confirming what she'd just said. Personnel only. She saw him weigh the pros and cons.

"I'm willing to risk it."

He turned a disbelieving gaze at her. "We have no way of knowing what's there, Keen. It could be a room full of armed guards."

She shrugged and returned his gaze, releasing her hand from his hold to cross her arms defiantly. "Or it could just be a hallway. I saw the building plans, I remember them. We can't just stand out here; he could be meeting with the contact in there. There won't be another opportunity like this."

He wasn't pleased but she could see that he knew they really had no alternative. "Fine."

He turned the handle slowly and the door opened easily; it hadn't been locked. It did lead to a small hallway and there were a few more doors on each side. One of them was open and as they reached it, Ressler raised his hand to let her know to stop. She leaned towards the door, trying to get a good look.

Just a few feet from them, Mendels was talking to a redheaded man, dressed in all black. Their voices were low and the words they exchanged couldn't be heard but it didn't matter; they both had a good look at his contact.

Ressler signalled for her to take out the small camera, courtesy of the CIA, and she followed his lead, slightly reaching out her hand to take the pictures. Whoever the man was, he would be their next lead to John Laskey, no. 57 on Red's list. Mendels was the middle man who took care of the technicalities; the stranger was probably Laskey's unidentified right hand man.

She pulled back and indicated that they should leave; just as soon as she'd turned, the floorboards creaked tenatively beneath her and she froze in place. She could hear all conversation cease and as she turned her gaze towards Ressler, it was obvious they were both thinking the same thing. They needed to be gone.

As they made their way towards the door, she could suddenly hear Meera's voice in her ear. "Get out, now! A guard is approaching from the club and he'll be on you in seconds."

She could hear Mendels and his mystery guest walking towards the door and estimated they could get out of the door before they were made but couldn't leave the alcove without being caught by his bodyguard.

One look at Ressler made it clear he understood the predicament they were in and he was working on finding a way out.

As soon as they were out the door and it fell shut behind Ressler, he grabbed her hand and pushed her against the wall next to it. She looked up at him, confused, and found him a lot closer than she had expected. This was suddenly the most ridiculous scene of every crime show and cop drama she had ever seen – making out to avoid getting caught. She had no idea this really could happen and Ressler must have seen the slight edge of panic on her face as he knew what she must have been thinking.

"Relax, Keen. I'm not going to actually kiss you. Just go with it, okay."

And with that, he stepped even closer and his head dropped to her neck. She could feel his hot breath there and froze but willed herself to relax as she realized he really had no intention to do anything, rather than make it seem like they were doing something.

One of his hands sneaked around her waist, pulling her closer, as he placed the other on her hip, hiked her already short dress a few inches up and slid his knee between her legs, still managing to keep it respectable. It all happened within seconds and she was aware of both the bodyguard approaching them and the door opening. Ressler didn't react, didn't even flinch and she could hear him whisper drunk and understood immediately, her eyes sliding half-shut and adopting what she hoped was a perfectly alcohol-influenced expression.

Her hands found their way to his shoulders and she let out a small happy giggle and a gasp, just enough to be heard by everyone.

"God, you smell so nice." His words had a slightly slurred quality to them and she giggled more as his hand caressed small circles on her hip, the heat emanating from the hand and his words making her feel like she had actually been drinking.

"Mmmm." She hummed contently and in a moment of pure improvisation, buried her hand in his hair and pulled his head slightly back. The character in her focused her gaze on his lips as if prepared to pull him closer for a kiss; as her gaze met his, she noticed that his eyes were impossibly blue and a bit startled and she could feel the hand on her hip clench the tiniest bit as he ever so slowly moved closer.

"Who the hell are you?"

Mendels' voice startled them both and they turned to look at him, still managing to maintain the drunken happy person expression.

"Look, man, me and my girl just wanted some private time."

Ressler then gave the other man a lascivious smile and leaned closer, as if to let him in on a secret. "I mean, wouldn't you want private time with all this?"

His words were the appropriate amount of lewd and leering because Mendels slid his eyes over her form and she could see the glint of appreciation in them, making her feel like taking a very hot bath. "Find somewhere else."

Ressler nodded and pulled her away from the wall and she let herself be manhandled, knowing that for a man like Mendels, women were a commodity, not people.

She didn't breathe properly until they were out of the club and it was then that she noticed Ressler's arm still around her waist, holding her close. The moment she did, so did he and he stepped away with an apologetic look right before they made their way towards the car.

"You okay?"

Meera's voice in her ear surprised her; she'd completely forgotten her presence in this operation and for a brief moment wondered whether the other agent had heard everything and what she would make of it.

"Yeah. We got the photos."

"Good."

A resounding click signalled the end of communication and she pulled her earpiece out, letting out a shuddering breath.

"That was close."

"At least we got what we went in for. That's a good result, Keen."

"Yeah, I guess."

They drove back to the Post Office in relative silence.

"Thanks, by the way."

"For what?"

"Your quick thinking saved both of us. I just...froze. I was sure we were going to get shot."

"We got the photos. In the end, that's all that matters."

He refused to take her thanks, not even acknowledging what had almost happened and really, there was no reason to. He had resolved a situation quickly and effectively and had managed to not make her feel uncomfortable with it. Nothing more to it.

And if she woke up that night from dreams of hands and lips on her that definitely didn't belong to Tom, she refused to read anything into it.

A/N: I hope it wasn't very out of character; maybe I took them to this place too early? Do tell!