It was textbook stuff.
Straight from psych 101.
Touch established familiarity.
Touch lead to bonding. To trust.
...
Trust was essential to life.
Mundane trust, sincere trust; innocent or calculated.
Every moment of the day relied on trust.
Nothing functioned without it.
Trusting the ones close to us not to seize on our vulnerability and exploit it.
Trusting that what people tell us is more or less truthful.
...
Elizabeth Keen held no such trust for Raymond Reddington.
He was a criminal.
One of the worst.
Or they had thought he was...until he began revealing the names on his Blacklist.
By comparison he seemed almost benevelent.
...
By asking for her by name, Reddington had placed Elizabeth Keen in the uncomfortable spotlight of the FBI's scrutiny.
There was no discernable reason behind his choice of intermediary.
Despite what he said, Elizabeth Keen was not "very special". Certainly not in her own eyes, and not in the eyes of the world.
He was changing that.
Forcing her into a role she had never asked for, never even imagined.
The FBI was right to be suspicious. Elizabeth was suspicious.
This was a man who did everything for a reason.
He had been watching her for a while.
He made that known from the start.
Reddington turned himself in to the FBI on the very day Elizabeth was scheduled to begin working for the Bureau full time, a month after she graduated Quantico.
That was no coincidence. He had to have been waiting for her.
Everyone saw that.
The question they were asking was "why"?
She was a rookie. A nobody as far as the Bureau was concerned.
No connections of value, a career history just long enough to prove her competent.
For a job like this, working alongside a man like Reddington, alongside the "Concierge of Crime"... Agent Ressler was a far better candidate as far as the Bureau was concerned.
Elizabeth Keen agreed with them.
Let Ressler have the job.
Reddington was the only one who wanted her there; he was forcing the arrangement, not her.
That did not prevent Agent Ressler from holding Reddington's choice against her.
Ressler made it clear that he did not trust Elizabeth Keen.
She tried to make her distrust of Reddington as equally apparent.
Reddington obviously had different priorities than the Bureau.
For whatever reason, he chose her; leaving both Elizabeth Keen and the FBI scrambling to deal with the consequences of that choice.
He no doubt chosen her because she was new.
Isolated.
He thought she would be easier to control.
Elizabeth kept a brave front, reassuring AD Cooper that Reddington "didn't know her", that she wouldn't let that happen.
She was here to work for the FBI, for her country, to try and make the world a little bit better.
If the Bureau needed her to serve by working as a go-between for the FBI and Reddington, so be it.
Elizabeth had been determined to stay strong, indifferent and aloof.
She wouldn't let Reddington get to her.
...
It was proving harder than imagined.
...
Even without the suits and the meticulous personal grooming, Reddington drew the eye.
His personality was magnetic.
Everything about him was designed to draw you in; the manners, the smiles, the laughter that could be both warm with emotion or bone-chillingly threatening.
The little demonstrations of how clever he was; offering tidbits here and there to lure them.
It was all calculated.
It had to be.
A wolf in a designer sheep suit with a fedora to match.
Reddington was laying on the charm and he was laying it on thick.
It was second nature to him.
It made it difficult for Elizabeth to determine if the attention he paid her was worth noting, or just a natural extention of his normal act.
Demanding to work only with her, calling her special.
Establishing a personal connection was one of the best ways to build rapport, but Raymond Reddington was taking it to extremes.
Right from the start he was asking questions that were much too personal, revealing intimate details of her life for the ears of the FBI.
It unsettled her, and that had probably been his intention.
Demonstrating that the two of them were not on equal footing, even if he was the one handcuffed to a metal chair.
He insisted on calling her "Lizzie", forcing the intimacy of the nickname, much to Elizabeth's chagrin.
She tried to correct him; but it was a losing battle, and Elizabeth needed to chose her fights carefully.
With Tom and his mysteries distracting and distressing her at home; with Reddington waiting for her at work, prepared to cause more problems than he resolved...Elizabeth was willing to let the smaller things slide.
If only to preserve her sanity.
So she allowed him to call her Lizzie.
There wasn't much she could do to stop him.
Instead, she pretended it didn't bother her.
He, no doubt, saw through her feigned indifference.
...
The touching began soon after.
...
Casual, gentle, fleeting contact.
The fact that she had stabbed him in the neck with a pen didn't make him bat an eye.
...
It started with a hand on her elbow; but the longer they worked together, the more opportunities presented themselves.
Reddington saw them all.
...
It was so casual, so utterly "above board" and decent that there was little Elizabeth could do to prevent it.
From the outside it seemed almost comforting, a guiding hand on her lower back as they entered a restaurant together or stepped into a car...but the feeling of him touching her set Elizabeth's nerves on edge.
...
If Reddington noticed how it affected her, he ignored it.
Maybe it was what he wanted.
He certainly failed to stop.
Being around him made Elizabeth feel vulnerable.
She found herself reaching more often for the comforting pattern of the scar on her hand... the one he had been so interested in.
She felt defensive whenever Reddington caught her little tell, the heavy focus of his attention doing nothing to help calm her nerves.
She would catch him watching her, feel his intensity when their eyes met; sense his gaze lingering on her face whenever she turned away.
He seemed just as determined, and perhaps more capable, of reading her than she was of him.
...
Raymond Reddington held all the cards and Elizabeth was left to bluff, calling on her hollow status as an FBI agent to keep him at bay.
x.x.x.x.x
He knew where they stood.
She wasn't exactly careful to hide her distaste and resentment for him.
Elizabeth did not trust him and she made certain he knew that.
It did not seem to matter to him.
...
In the basement of the radio center he had been Mr. Congeniality, hovering over her as she worked. Leaning on her chair.
Always attentive to her, proving himself capable of adjusting their plans on the fly and navigating them safely out of the dangerous situation he had placed them in.
...
The touching was utterly unnecessary.
But there it was.
...
One thumb stroking, stroking, stroking her lower back as Reddington carried on casual conversation with the very man he was betraying.
She felt an electric shock, tingling up and down her spine at the contact.
The little flip in her belly could be explained away by her nervousness at the entire situation
The racing of her heart rationalized as the adrenaline coursing through her system.
The gentle stroking of his fingers against her back was far far too intimate for Elizabeth Keen's taste.
An unsteady feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as Elizabeth scrambled to get the decryption program (and the FBI's bug) up and running.
The feeling of Reddington's hand against her back, him looming beside her, was uncomfortable on so many levels.
Trapped by the situation, by the need to maintain cover, there was nothing for Elizabeth to do about it.
They were in a dangerous situation.
Their plans had hit a snag and they needed a way around it.
...
Communicating anxiously through a computer screen about the need to create a distraction was not the opportune time to tell Raymond Reddington to get his hands off of her.
x.x.x.x.x
A protective...almost possessive...grip on her arm as he hustled her towards the elevator.
Everything went south as an alarm sounded throughout the basement.
Reddington turned back to face Wujing, handing off his bag to Elizabeth and subtly angling himself in front of her.
She played her part as his associate, standing quietly and letting Reddington take control.
The blame was shifted to someone else's shoulders.
Watching the cryptographer take the fall for her was too much, but Reddington shot down Elizabeth's insistence that they do something, grabbing her roughly, restraining her and silencing her with a growled command of "Be quiet."
Elizabeth Keen obeyed him.
And she hated herself for that.
In that moment (like always) Raymond Reddington was in control, and Elizabeth was just...there...grudging but obedient.
She hissed at him, insisting that they couldn't let them do this.
It was awful...and then it got worse.
Their (her) cover was in danger of being blown- and Reddington shot a man without warning or ceremony.
The same man she had been insisting they try to save.
Reddington's expression never changed, and Elizabeth had to fight to cover her own shock and revulsion at his actions.
...
Reddington was unapologetic, entirely business.
Wujing hadn't been happy about it.
Elizabeth was surprised by Reddington's reaction to Wujing's demand for her life.
She had expected him to throw her under the bus, if push came to shove.
Why risk his own life if he could buy it with hers?
But that was not what happened.
...
The air had seemed to crackle with the tension.
Raymond Reddington stepped between Wujing's guns and her...unarmed but ominous, threatening the spy-killer into agreement.
On the surface he appeared calm and collected, but Elizabeth thought she could sense an undercurrent of chilling anger.
...
It had been a raw moment.
Elizabeth broke the tense silence, her voice guarded as she acted her part...an impatient criminal, her job done, just hoping to evade the FBI.
Thankfully, the situation defused; they were all in the same boat, no need for a massacre.
But it had been close.
She could feel Reddington's tension, mirroring her own stress, as he grabbed her elbow roughly and held it as they left the basement escorted by Wujing and his men.
x.x.x.x.x
He was grooming her, no doubt about it.
Showering her with attention, keeping her off balance.
But grooming her for what?
Elizabeth had no idea.
He seemed to know all her secrets, and the ones he didn't...those he was forcing out of her in exchange for information the FBI desperately needed.
He was a cold blooded killer, unattached and indifferent; yet he needed her for some reason.
He was conflicted about that.
As hard as he was working to draw her in, to convince her that she was the one special exception, there was a catch.
There had to be.
And Elizabeth Keen could not figure it out, at least not yet.
Reddington was lies layered in deception, covered up by slights of hand.
This all had to be a part of something. Tied to some sort of trick.
The man was a genius, (if a criminal one at that), a man used to getting exactly what he wanted.
If not through his own charisma, then through his connections.
What he was doing here with the FBI, here working with her, was a mystery.
Ressler called him a psychopath.
Not strictly correct, but Keen agreed that he was some sort of monster.
But what kind exactly...Elizabeth didn't know.
...
The longer she spent with him, the muddier the water became.
x.x.x.x.x
Authors Note:
That's all for now! I hope you enjoyed reading it.
It turned out a bit ramble-y, I feel Elizabeth's thoughts on the matter would be scattered (especially as the events were unfolding), I did my best to format so the jumps were understandable.
Hopefully, it gave you Lizzie/Reddington feels, or at least Lizzie-feels.
Poor Lizzie! What a confusing, threatening, & uncomfortable situation to be in! The power balance between the two is way out of whack, and it has to be unsettling for a woman who is used to being independent and in control. (Horrible spot to be in, even if it does make a great read; thus the need for fiction!)