I own nothing when it comes to the Blacklist. I'm just a fan, and no profit whatsoever is being made. This idea came to me for some strange reason I'm not sure. Well, partly while watching Pretty Woman. Liz is homeless and Red will try to help her get back on her feet.

I would love to know if you think it's worth continuing. I apologize if it isn't completely true to the characters, I'll try my best to keep them as they are despite the AU. Basically, it's still the same background for Liz with a few tweaks, which will be explained further on. As for my other story, I'm still writing it, of course. :)

Shelter From The Storm

Its particularly cold this time of the night, especially for someone who lives out on the streets on a daily basis.

The ground is slick and slippery with rain and Liz can feel the bite in the air permeating unpleasantly through the layers of clothes she is wearing, chilling her to the bone.

She huddles closer to the wall, wrapping her arms over herself, keeping her head tucked down, her chin resting on the holey knees of her trousers. This is the worst part of having nowhere else to go and no roof to sleep under. Being cold and unable to find adequate shelter is sometimes worse than the painful pangs of hunger that struck her constantly.

Deciding she can't take anymore of it, Liz stands, her entire body resisting against moving. She works out the stiffness from her limbs, giving her shoulders a shake as she looks for a store or restaurant that is still open tonight; She can't buy any food, as she has no money whatsoever, but the shelter and warmth would be good enough.

Her joints complain continuously as she forces herself to keep moving. She must have been sitting huddled for so long that her right leg has fallen asleep. She has to kick at the air with it for several minutes to get feeling back into it, and then she's off again on her search.

Just her luck, rain starts to drizzle from the sky, and Liz has to pull the hood on her jacket over her head for that extra bit of protection. She starts searching for a store or restaurant to enter with more desperation then. As she starts jogging through a deserted alleyway- this area she has grown to know particularly well, as someone who lives on the street- she catches the dollar notes on the ground that someone has dropped presumably by accident, and she picks them up with her scratched and bruised hands eagerly.

Six dollars, she counts, her heart souring, hands trembling. She's found six dollars. Luck must be on her side tonight.

Tonight it looks like she can afford a warm drink to heat her from the unbearably cold night they are having.

The only restaurant she finds is one that no doubt people loaded with money go to. As she pushes her way inside through the double doors desperately, the relief of the warm and brightly lit building is immediate and intense. Liz looks around the place as she starts approaching the counter, deciding she's way out of her league. The décor is modern and luxurious and considering the way people are dressed- business suits and dresses- Liz has an insecure moment as she approaches the counter, all the while clinging to the dollar notes she has found for dear life.

No doubt she sticks out like a sore thumb compared to everyone else; Her jeans are stained and torn at the knees. Her jacket, she knows, is in no better condition than the jeans but it does its job in retaining her body heat on those cold nights.

She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror behind the bar and her heart drops. It's been so long since she has looked at herself in a mirror and what she sees, she hardly recognizes the person staring back at her. Realizing she's still wearing her hood over her head, she throws it down quickly, still staring at the blue-eyed woman in the mirror that seems to be staring back at her in shock.

She's got smears of dirt on her face, and her cheekbones look sharper than they used to be. Dark circles under her eyes, and her medium brown hair stringy and matted, strands hanging unkempt and lifelessly around her face. She can't even remember the last time her hair had a decent wash. Her lips are chapped at the corners due to dehydration. It's probably from the lack of food and water, she decides. Both of them. She has gone without food for most days for so long. There's always a public drinking fountain or an old gas station nearby where she can obtain water and a bathroom but aside from that, even water can sometimes become a rarity. She can't believe how much she has let herself go, how much she has changed. She looks older than she actually is, at twenty-eight years old.

In her appearance shows the effects off too many nights sleeping out on the street, enduring extremely cold degrees and the malnutrition she has faced. She hardly looks like that woman Liz used to be; The one with a bright gleam in her eyes, the one that was always happy and wasn't battling to survive like this. She looks so different compared to that woman she used to be; The one that still had a home and a roof to live under, the one where food was easy to come by and money was easily made and carefully spent.

Now what does she have? Nothing. Her entire life so far has amounted to nothing. No home, no job, no family, no money, no food, nothing.

But at least she's alive. She's managed to survive somehow, and since being stuck out on the streets, she has grown to be incredibly streetwise. She knows which areas are safe, and which are to be avoided. She's learned to rely on herself. How to defend herself, even, though a depraved, slender five-foot-something woman can only do so much. At least she's still alive; That's one thing to be incredibly grateful for.

An older man brushes past her, probably to pay for his tab to leave, and she can't help noticing his attire. He's wearing a three-piece white suit with a matching fedora that he's holding by his leg. He seems like he has just walked out of a GQ magazine or some type of advertisement for high-end fashion menswear with perfectly tailored and pressed clothes and polished footwear. It's evident he doesn't have a care in the world when it comes to money and trying to get by. He's so far from what she is, and Liz can't help feeling slightly envious and hostile towards the man. He oozes some unmistakable sense of power and when he starts talking pleasantly to the man across the counter, he speaks in a voice that's immediately appealing to her.

"Excuse me for cutting in. I believe the young lady standing beside me is first." His voice is low and silky. It takes her a second to realize he is referring to her, and Liz's mouth goes dry as he stands back to let her go first, placing his hand gently on her back for the quickest, briefest moment.

She isn't used to people acknowledging her existence; It's a rarity for her. Usually people like to pretend she isn't there, that she's virtually non-existent, treat her like the dreg of society that she probably is.

His wallet is hanging carelessly in the back pocket of his trousers. Thick with money and tempting. Her fingers ache to snatch it out from his pocket, to make a run for it. It wouldn't be the first time she has stolen from a stranger before.

Liz used to think of herself as a good person; One that abides by the law. But that was only before she had to face the constant tribulations she does now. She's learned to be skilled in the art of pick-pocketing and, what's more, she hasn't yet gotten caught. Her eyes seek out any surveillance systems and cameras in the restaurant, and when she finds none, her mind is made up.

When she looks at the man again, his eyes meet hers from only centimeters away. "Thank you, that's so considerate of you," she murmurs, smiling in the most charming way she can muster.

She becomes self-consciously aware that she no doubt looks a mess, that dirt is still smeared on her face, but it seems to keep his attention on her. In all things considered, that's exactly what she needs; His attention focused solely on her unwashed face, and not on the fact that her arm has moved near him and, more importantly, that her hand and fingers are just barely a hairs length away from grabbing the wallet that's lazily sitting in his back pocket.

Her heart starts pounding and as her fingers successfully slip out the wallet without him noticing, she tucks the wallet into the pocket on her jacket stealthily before leaning back against the counter. Now she just has to make her safe getaway, and she scans through the menu quickly before a reasonable-enough excuse comes to her.

"Oh, what a shame. I don't have enough money for anything on here. I'll go somewhere else instead."

Careful not to look the man directly in the eye, she gives him a quick smile before turning and heading towards the door. Liz knows she's walking too quickly and in a way that is no doubt suspicious, but she can't help it. She's desperate not to get caught. She shoves one hand inside her pocket, making sure his wallet won't fall out or that she'll lose it, and as she opens the restaurant and steps back outside, she feels relief hit her and all the panic leave her body.

What a relief. The man never caught her. She can't wait to discover how much money he has in his wallet. She can't wait to buy herself an actual proper, warm meal to fill her belly. Guilt over stealing the man's wallet and money is the very last thing she's feeling; The relief and happiness over getting some money to scrape by overpowers any proper feelings of remorse she should have towards him, if any.

She walks hastily into the night, slipping the hood back on over her head, searching for a secluded area to check and see how much money she has managed to steal off the guy. Finding an empty area, she leans her shoulder against the wall, pulling the wallet out from her pocket. With eager, unsteady hands and fingers, she opens it and ignores the passport photo of identification for the man, going straight to the sleeve that holds his money instead. Her nose runs from the frost in the air and she wipes it carelessly on her sleeve and sniffles before starting to count the money out.

It's even better than she expects. She huffs quietly in astonished laughter to herself, a tight feeling building in her chest.

"Holy shit," she breathes. "What a score!"

Five hundred dollars. There's five hundred dollars in his wallet! Five hundred! Who would ever possibly carry that much money in their wallet at one single time? It's money she can usually only just dream of having. She wonders if she can easily gain access to his credit card, but then she decides maybe that would be going a bit too far.

There's no use getting greedy. Five hundred is more than enough, she decides.

First thing she wants to do, is get some food in her. And some warm clothes. Some warmer clothes without holes in them. And shoes! Shoes that aren't so badly fitted that they pinch her toes every time she walks and runs. The opportunities with having five hundred dollars in her possession is suddenly endless!

The rest of the evening she spends in a little restaurant, splurging for once in her life. She buys a mug of scorching hot chocolate and a delicious pastry cinnamon roll that she shreds off bits with her fingers and dunks it in the warm drink decadently. It's been too long. Too long without food, and she enjoys every minute of it, experiencing the warmth of the drink and the sufficient amount of bread filling her stomach. Then deciding she's still hungry, Liz buys another roll and crams it into her mouth greedily, eating as much as she can possibly get into her. Soon, that constant ache in her stomach dies down and she's left feeling unusually satisfied and full, for once. She clasps her hands over the mug, loving the way it warms up her fingers wonderfully. She's so content that she doesn't realize what's going on, until it happens.

A man enters the restaurant and stands in front of the doorway, blocking anyone from going out. He's wearing a tailored black suit, dark-skinned and bald, and he seems to be watching her far too attentively than she likes. Liz can't help but get an unpleasant feeling in her stomach. Is the man somehow here for her? Is it actually her he is waiting for and is watching? Or is it all just in her mind?

Her brows crease as she meets his gaze while licking her fingers uncouthly. He seems fairly threatening to her. Does he have connections with the man she had just stolen the wallet from? The man whose money she is using now? She can only hope to God that he isn't and that she's simply just being paranoid.

Oh, no. What if the man she stole the money from is some kind of serial killer? Is she going to get murdered, all because she stole the guy's wallet?

Only one way to find out, she supposes...

Getting to her feet, she slips the hood of her jacket back over her head and strides towards the door, maintaining eye contact with the man. His face seems to harden menacingly and it's obvious he isn't going to move out of her way. She tries to side-step him, and he steps completely in front of her, blocking her way out. A lump grows in her throat.

"Would you mind getting out of my way?" She pretends not to be anxious. As she attempts to get past the man again, he touches her this time. She's unprepared for it when he grabs her by her arm roughly. A stab of anger hits her. "What the hell do you think you're doing, touching a woman like this?"

She starts struggling again, trying to pull her arm free. But it's just no good. Before she knows what's happening, he has successfully pulled her back outside on the street. A cars waiting for her, one of those fancy Mercedes Benz. One of the tinted windows is scrolled halfway down in the backseat. That damn man she stole the wallet from stares at her through the window, his face impassive.

"I thought it would be nice to meet the girl who stole my wallet and all of my money," he says smugly.

Then he opens the door wide, shifts over so there's a seat for her to sit in, and she truly starts to panic. They're trying to force her into the car. Who knows what he'll do to her? Possibly murder her and then dump her body in a gutter downtown somewhere. Rape her? Well, he doesn't exactly look like the raping type. Then again, you never know, do you?

Not good. This isn't good at all.

She puts up much more of a fight then. Being on the street has toughened Liz in ways she never imagined possible; She drives her knee up, hard as possible, between the dark-skinned man's legs, getting him in the groin. He barely makes a grunt of pain before he slips his arms around her waist, pushing her towards where the man awaits lazily, in the backseat of the car.

"Let me go, right this instance! Just go to hell, the both of you!"

It's futile. The man succeeds in shoving her face-forward into the leather seat, despite all her efforts to get free. Resigning herself to her fate, she scrambles up and sits properly in the seat, folding her arms across her chest. The man slams the door closed on her and when she attempts to get back out by wrenching down on the door handle desperately, she realizes the child lock is already in place and it won't open. Fantastic. She's stuck in the backseat, with a possible maniac.

With a sigh of frustration, she focuses on the man sitting beside her in the backseat. He takes a comprehensive glance of her dirty, unwashed clothes, the scrapes and cuts on her fingers. He just looks. Doesn't touch. She has no idea what he intends to do to her, as far as punishment goes. Something tells her he isn't going to get the local law authorities involved, however. He doesn't seem the type of man.

"Well, thank you for paying for my dinner," Liz says tonelessly. "Not that you had any choice. Still, I enjoyed it all the same." Her smart tongue is the only defense she has right now. The other man gets in the front seat of the car, starts the ignition, and pulls back out onto the road. There is no potential escape route for her in sight, not yet any that she can see of, anyhow. "So, what happens now? Are you going to kill me and dump my body somewhere?"

The man makes a deep thoughtful noise in the base of his throat, his head tilting slightly. Liz doesn't think he has looked away from her once. She stares back at him, motionless, while attempting to work out a way to retreat in the back of her mind. "That all depends."

"Depends?" She lifts her brows at him, her voice drained, breathless. "On what?"

"On why you stole my wallet and just whom it is that you work for," he explains stiffly, his voice deep.

Liz's mind races at his words. Who she works for?

Oh, god, she can only wish she had a job and a steady income to survive on.

He smiles at her then- a faint upturn of his lips- and it makes her heart skip a beat. Not because he is handsome for his age, which she admits he is. But it's the way he smiles that gets to her the most; It's pitiful, apologetic. Like he feels sorry for her. Like she's a wounded animal that needs saving and fixing. If there's one way to piss her off quickly, its looking at her like she's a sad, hopeless cause, when she isn't. Liz believes she's stronger than that. And she's gotten this far.