This megacrack fic is for Clara, who helped me conceive of and develop the "plot" (I use the term loosely) for this story. I own nothing. She owns nothing.

Summary: Red tricks Lizzie into accompanying him to a huge music festival, and then convinces her to try something new. The first chapter is just setting the scene and providing a framework of context for the events that follow. After that, however long this becomes, the story will quickly devolve into crack!Fic.

you don't know me, but I'm famous

you might even like me

given a chance

I'm nervous and I'm shaking

and I am toasted and I'm still baking

from this drug that gives this evening

such romance

Chapter One

"I'll never stop hating this elevator. Seriously, who chose the yellow paint?" Liz was having an awful day, and Red, brimming with delight, seemed to be taking every opportunity to make it worse.

"I'll talk to Harold about painting it for you. How about red? You just LOVE red, don't you, Lizzie?" He was practically singing the obnoxious comment. Only Red calls AD Cooper by his first name. He's the only one that calls her Lizzie, too.

In moments like this, she cannot believe how attracted she is to this man. If he ever knew... ugh. He'd probably toy with her relentlessly.

Oh wait. He already does.

"Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie. Why so cross, sweetheart?" He slowly took several steps forward, so he stood a few feet in front of her, and languidly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hips shifting as well. He pulled a small microfiber cloth from his pocket and cleaned the lenses of his sunglasses before putting them on.

Liz was staring at his ass, of course, lost in thought. She licked her suddenly-dry lips. What a day to forget her Burts Bees peppermint lip balm... Without warning, Red quickly turned his head to look over his shoulder at her.

Liz panicked and averted her eyes, but it was too late. He saw. He knew she was checking him out. The fact that she tried to hide it made it even worse. Red loudly sucked in a deep breath, pushing his shoulders back and puffing out his chest. His lips slowly curled into an unsettling, cheshire cat grin.

He said nothing, however, and when the elevator doors finally opened, he slowly ambled out, swinging his hips like a Victoria's Secret angel on the catwalk. Calling him "cocky" would be an understatement, but with an ass and a swagger like that, he had every right to be.

Liz wasn't in the mood for it. She briskly walked off in another direction, without even bothering to say goodbye. Her phone began to ring before she got to her car. Liz didn't have to look to know that it was Nick's Pizza, so she chose to ignore it. All she wanted was a little peace and quiet. An evening to herself. A bottle of wine, but not another. Only one! Why couldn't Red just. give. her. that?

But because it was Red, The Concierge of Relentless Fuckery, he kept on calling. After the fifth call, Liz realized that if she didn't answer, he'd just come over, let himself into her home, and refuse to leave until she listened to whatever he had to say. With the loudest of sighs, she relented, and answered the phone.

"What the hell, Reddington?" was the nicest greeting she could muster.

"LIZZIE! OH THANK GOODNESS YOU'RE OKAY! I thought something terrible must have happened. You usually pick up after three rings."

Ass.

Liz made a mental note to start answering her phone in a less predictable fashion.

"Can I help you with something, Red?"

"I can practically hear your eyes rolling," he replied, in a cloying, singsong tone.

She said nothing, hoping he would take the hint and spit it out.

"Coachella. We're leaving in two hours."

"No, we aren't."

"My people have located The Horseman's brother, Vishal. He's obsessed with Neko Case, and has been following her tour bus for several months now. Her next stop is Coachella. I'm more of a Jenny Lewis man, myself. You know, from Rilo Kiley? She's their lead vocalist, but she's done a bunch of solo work as well. Have you heard Acid Tongue? It's been stuck in my head for hours now. We'll have to listen to it on the plane. It will change your life, Lizzie."

He's trying to distract and bore her with excessive verbosity. It's one of his preferred go-to manipulation tactics, getting people to agree to do things against their own interests. He couches a request or demand with either real or made up anecdotes, and TA DAAA! Victory, for him.

Not this time, Reddington.

"I don't see why you need me. You have Dembe, and plenty of re-enforcements to call upon as needed."

Red adopted his firm, staccato, business voice. "That's not going to work."

"Sorry. It will have to, because I'm not going."

He softened, hoping she'd follow suit. "Lizzie, if you need some time alone, you can have it, on my plane. It's a nice, long flight. You can spend it sleeping, or reading, or even drinking that bottle of wine that you've been thinking about all day. Don't deny it. In fact, you can drink mine. Save yours for another night."

"Red..."

It was working. He could tell. Now, for the final blow... "I've already cleared it with Harold. He wants you there. Of course, I could request Meera's help. You see, Lizzie, Vishal is a notorious lady's man, and he always wants what he can't have. If I show up with a beautiful woman, it gives me an edge. He may be too busy flirting to properly guard his brother's interests. I'd rather bring you, but Meera's also very beautiful, and she's more experienced..."

It was a dirty trick, and Red knew it, but it wasn't his first time using a Blacklister's contacts to score a date with Lizzie.

"Well, if that's what Cooper wants..." Oh, to hell with Cooper. There's no way in hell she'd want Meera taking her place, especially if she had to pose as Red's girlfriend. She really IS beautiful. Even her accent is beautiful. To top it off, she's single, too.

Liz was still reeling from Tom's betrayal, and she wasn't ready to move on. Not yet. Even if she was, no way she could ever hope to foster a relationship with Raymond Reddington.

Her jealousy may have been cloaked in cognitive dissonance, but that didn't stop her from turning green from time to time.

"Splendid! Dembe and I will be there at 8."

She sighed. "Alright.. See you then."

"Yes. Oh, and Lizzie?"

"Hmm?"

"Trey's going to be there."

"Trey?"

"Anastasio. He's performing tomorrow. I know how much you loved Phish back in high school, but you've never seen them live, have you?"

Of course he knew about Phish. Sometimes it seemed like he knew everything, much to her annoyance, but Red wasn't entirely right this time, and Liz had no intention of clueing him in.

"No, I haven't." Easy peasy! "Sam thought I'd catch a contact high from the cloud of pot smoke at a Phish show, and then end up doing something I'd regret."

"Well, who knows what you'll do tomorrow? I can only assure you that you won't regret any of it."

Always those blanketed sexual comments. That's what that was, right?

"One more thing, Lizzie. We'll have to dress the part. Vishal doesn't know either of us. He's familiar with my work, but who isn't? We've never met, however, and we won't be telling him who we are, either. He'll almost certainly be under the influence of something, and that could be adventagous for us, but it doesn't mean we'll get away with any slip-ups. Tomorrow, you're a carefree concert-goer. No FBI black. No Chicos or Ann Taylor. Do you need me to bring the appropriate attire for you?"

Liz could only imagine how Red would want to dress her, but she knew how people dressed at Coachella. She'd describe it as hippie-meets-hipster-meets-1990s-garage-grunge. Fortunately, Liz already had the right duds. She'd have to dig into a rubbermaid storage bin that was on the top shelf of the closet in her guest room (formerly the nursery of her would-be adopted baby), but at least she had them. The clothes were vacuum-packed, so they'd be wrinkled. Oh well. She could worry about that later.

"No, don't. I've got it." The words came out a bit too quickly.

He knew it would rub her the wrong way, but he had to be certain. "Are you sure?"

"Red, how about this? I'll bring several outfits, and you can choose." She huffed. Weren't they about to hang up a minute ago? He always pulls this crap.

He laughed. "This is gonna be a gas!"

Lizzie couldn't help picturing the expression on his face as he said it. That grin was secretly one of her favorites. Cheeky and shamelessly alight.

Liz rolled her eyes at herself, annoyed for even having that thought, and hung up the phone.

Approximately two and a half hours later, it was wheels-up time. Liz found herself situated in the back of Red's jet, as far away from him as possible. Despite still being thoroughly annoyed, a tiny piece of Liz was secretly excited. The last time she'd gone to a concert, it was in the basement of a smelly dive bar. It was packed from wall-to-wall, brazenly violating several of the city's fire codes. That was years ago. The more she thought about it, the more she was looking forward to the next day. She decided to make the most out of the situation. Whatever Red says, as soon as they finish up with Vishal, they'll be staying to enjoy the show. She'd been under an unhealthy amount of stress ever since the day Red surrendered at J. Edgar Hoover. Allowing herself to have a good time would surely be good for her.

Hell, it might even be necessary.