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.

THINK TOO MUCH

Red Reddington, Concierge of Crime and man on the run, sat in the quiet darkness of his suite, tumbler of hard-earned golden rum in hand. With a small sigh, if only to break the silence surrounding him, he rose from his seat and moved out of the room on to the balcony, seating himself once more in a rattan armchair overlooking the moonlit waters of Havana's Harbour. The still night and the bright of the moon had his senses attuned to every little noise and movement around him, though he pointedly ignored everything he picked up on; he knew he could relax for the moment, after moving around for two months he had certainly lost any tail that had been put on him. He wasn't the best for nothing, old school as his methods might be, they were still the most effective.

He allowed his thoughts to wander, idly tracing the rim of his glass as he stared into space, the lights of the old town blurring before him. She popped into his head, as she always had a habit of doing, only it relaxed him to think of her now where it used to cause him a certain amount of tension. They had an understanding now, relying on each other for company and conversation, knowing each was the key to the others answers kept them close to each other. She had taken to her new life of moving from place to place; he mused that perhaps first-hand knowledge of his world, having had her present at several meetings without her FBI badge burning a hole in her pocket, had changed her perception of him also. He considered the changes he had wrought in her – his influence was undeniable – and he doubted she had ever stopped to notice them herself, not that he'd given her the chance to. If she did take the time to realise just how far she'd come he doubted she would see herself the way he did; stronger now, more resilient, with better control of her emotions despite his efforts to goad her ire for his own amusement at times. He loved it when she was flustered. He knew he was rubbing off on her. She laughed more often, the most pleasing sound he had heard in a long time, and usually at something she would have remained stony-faced at before; she was learning to find the humour in the dark situations they dealt with, and she was playful. He knew before they had left that he was failing miserably at keeping his growing feelings at bay, to stop himself from hoping for something that would never be; yet here he was, hopelessly besotted with Elizabeth Keen.

The sound of the balcony door opening brought him out of his thoughts. He turned his head to see the object of his mostly concealed affections closing the door softly behind her, wine glass in hand. As she approached to take the chair beside him he wondered what her reaction would be if she knew the depth of his feelings for her. He imagined a rabbit in headlights might look less stunned than she would. If she knew.

"You were right about this place," she said quietly so as not to disturb the peaceful night. "It's really quite lovely."

"It is quiet," he said by way of agreement. "I can hear myself think up here."

"Will we be moving on again?" she asked after a moment of stuffy silence.

Red shifted in his seat, watching the amber liquor swirl and settle in his glass, pausing to think before responding. "We ought to move to a safe house rather than stay here."

"Can we at least stay in the city?" Her voice was filled with hope; she really had fallen in love with the place and he smiled at his little victory.

"I knew you'd like it here," he commented, the 'I told you so' evident in his tone.

"I do," she agreed, ignoring his unspoken dig. "So can we stay?"

"I don't have a place here. If I can find one that's suitable then I don't see why not."

"I think I'll turn in for the night," she announced as she rose from the chair and stepped over his outstretched legs, crossed at the ankle, to get to the door.

"Don't leave on my account," he called after her, not wishing to appear ungrateful for her company.

"No, I can see you need your peace to work out whatever it is you're turning over in that head of yours," she explained from the now open doorway.

"Mostly working out what it is I need to work out and what can be left as it is." He chuckled, though there wasn't much humour there.

"Well, if you're ever looking for a second opinion, you know where I am."

"There's not much that you can do for now, Lizzie," he replied. "Go on and get some rest."

"You think too much," she said softly before she disappeared back into the overlarge suite they shared.

He laughed softly to himself, completely in agreement with her parting words; he thought entirely too much and had never found an off-switch for it. It was the reason his business thrived, and responsible for the fact he was still alive; it also made him so very tired, especially when he had thought everything through already. He just wanted to sleep but found himself unable to without a hefty nightcap or sleeping aid. If he had his way he would sleep all day and conduct his business after eleven, finding he was far more productive during the night-time hours; unfortunately the rest of the world didn't operate according to his body clock.

He fell back into his silent contemplation, occasionally sipping at his rum, appreciating the warmth it imparted. It might be nice to stay for a while, to enjoy a brief idyll until reality demanded they move on again. Perhaps, if he wished hard enough, he might see her in a Guayabera dress yet; summer was almost upon them, so it wasn't entirely beyond the realms of possibility. He would continue to enjoy her company, laugh with her, share meals with her and show her the things he knew and enjoyed, cherishing each moment while keeping to himself the truth of what he loved most.