"Where do you think you're going, Lizzie?"
With one hand almost on the door handle, interrupted from her exit, Agent Keen instead raised her hand to the bridge of her nose and rubbed in frustrated exhaustion. Turning around, she faced him, her bizarre workplace partner in crime solving- or just crime- she wasn't too certain anymore.
As she watched, he tilted his head and smiled; a harmless looking twist of the lips as he stared straight through her and chewed her bones.
"Home, Reddington. To Tom; to our house; with any luck, to a midnight snack and a nightcap. It's late."
"I see."
"Do you?"
This time as well as smiling, he laughed quietly and turned away from her, towards the long table they'd spent most of their evening gathered around. Shifting a few of the papers strewn there, Reddington carefully avoided his half empty wine glass. She had refused hers entirely, this is a job, not a social call, and it remained at her setting untouched.
"Of course I see, I'm one of the greatest criminal minds in this country. I see things other people wouldn't even dare to look for. There's very little I don't see or know about."
"Then why did you need me to help you go through all these documents tonight, looking for clues?"
Laughing again, and ever louder, he began piling loose sheets back into thin cardboard folders; profiles and ballistics reports and manuscripts from witnesses disappearing behind the blanket heading of Classified. When he didn't answer, she straightened her back and narrowed her eyes at his back, and even without turning to look at her he could feel her patience waning fast and her stare attempting to bore a hole in his ribs.
"You are a dedicated profiler, are you not, Lizzie?"
"Of course, that's-"
"Your job. You don't think that's why you're here?"
As if to make the point, he turned around and offered her the still full wine glass that had sat waiting patiently for her all night. She turned it down a second time, and with a sideways shrug he placed it behind him on the table, leaning back against the nearest dining chair with his arms folded across his chest.
"So you needed my expertise."
With a chuckle he looked towards the side of his shoe, crossing one ankle in front of the other without answering. This infuriating man- this criminal- thismurderer- who she kept finding herself coerced into cooperation with, always emanated a dangerous knowledge; like he had said just moments ago, he knew far more than it was safe for him to know. And yet persistently he always managed to avoid giving out anything at all, answering in a way that provided no information or answers what so ever.
"Do you know where this 'Number 92' is going to strike next?"
"Yes."
Her exasperation got the better of her and she flung her arms out in an arc in front of her, staring at him. "Then- what— If you knew that information already, then this whole evening was a waste."
"I wouldn't say that."
"A complete waste," she groaned in frustration, inspecting her watch and regretting the hours hunched in this upper floor hotel room rather than comfortable at home with people she- well- pretended she sort of trusted.
"I definitely wouldn't say that."
"What was the point of all this profiling and looking at files if you already knew the most important piece of information about this particular case?"
"You think the strike is the most important piece of information?"
"Are you saying it isn't? That knowing the location of the possible mass homicide of tens or hundreds of innocent citizens isn't the most important piece of information?"
"As I said, Lizzie, I know a lot of things."
"If you knew the location of the strike, all of this-" She gestured broadly to the table where most of the files had been shuffled away neatly into their folders again, "-could have waited. Was there anything you actually needed me here for, working this case for, tonight?"
His teeth appeared between the edges of his smile, sharp edges as he held her gaze, infallibly casual even in her most scathing of glares.
"Yes."
"Then what?"
"You're just such good company, Lizzie."
With some effort she contained the grunt of sheer annoyance that threatened to come out of her at his response, and instead dragged her palms across her eyes and down her cheeks slowly, exhaling as she did in a tried-and-true method of self-calming. After a moment, she dropped her hands to her side with an exasperated huff, and looked over at him, with the vague hope that maybe he'd just disappear and she could chalk this entire wild ride up to not enough sleep or too much caffeine.
Not so lucky. He hadn't moved, still leaning against the dining chair with his arms crossed, watching her silently; half lidded eyes and two thirds of a smile on his face.
"I'm going home, to my husband."
"Alright."
Without waiting, she hitched her bag a little higher up her shoulder, and turned the plated handle on the hotel door. As she stepped through the frame and went to close the door behind her, she caught his gaze by accident; he lifted a wine glass- her still full one- at her and smiled. Waste not want not, she supposed.
"See you tomorrow at work, Lizzie."
Biting her tongue on any possible retort, Elizabeth shut the door without response; but it was a bit too fast, the slam a bit too hard, and that was response enough.
Alone again, Reddington's smile fell immediately slack as he stared for a moment at the space where she had been, considering things that might have fallen just outside the range of his vast understanding. Pursing his lips and making a small pop of a noise, he took both of their wine glasses to the sink and emptied the remaining contents down the drain without a sound.