Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Blacklist' or its characters. They cooperate willingly.
He was taking frequent, long sips from his drink, leaving himself no time to fully appreciate the exquisite whiskey Dembe had managed to source for him.
In truth, nothing exquisite could ever thrive on such quick, rough exploitation. Because these were sips meant to extinguish anger; to cure the bitter aftertaste of fear. He was utterly exhausted. Her recklessness was too taxing for him and he wanted to physically assault her for not appreciating her own life more.
He felt her arms embracing his neck from behind the sofa he'd been sitting on that entire afternoon and his anger grew.
"I was an idiot," she whispered and kissed his cheek, "I'm sorry."