He lurked in the shadows. Always in the shadows. Lying in wait, for her. For years. He admired her from afar, keeping tabs through associates, occasionally including Sam. Through intricately established and hidden in plain sight employees, there was always someone close, blending in, listening in, reporting back to Reddington. Elizabeth was none the wiser.

Her small town upbringing hadn't prepared her for city living. Sam called every Sunday afternoon to hear about her week. Elizabeth would regale him with stories about her seminars, the museum she'd just visited or a contemporary restaurant she had visited recently with friends. It was a life he couldn't completely fathom. Aside from his time in the Navy, he had always been a country boy. During her third and fourth years at Columbia, she waited tables part time at a diner near Riverside Park. He was concerned for her safety, a beautiful young woman shouldn't walk alone after dark, he'd say. She scoffed at his concern but promised to get someone to walk her home from work if she could. Sam would hear about a mugging or burglary near the park on the news and call her frantically. She had suggested that he not to watch the news.

The intrusive alarm clock rang Monday morning after a full weekend of work and study. It became her routine to snooze a few times and opt for casual dress and a pony tail in lieu of waking early and putting thought into her wardrobe. Who did she have to impress? It was that thought that allowed her to justify becoming a little more lax in the way she prepared for the day, especially as a senior, her graduation day drawing ever near. Running particularly late one fall day caused her to break into a light sprint on her way to class. Elizabeth had always been a runner, but having the university fitness center so close had given her more time to develop her love of the sport. Gym. Work. Study. She knew her life wasn't incredibly interesting but it was also uncomplicated. Uncomplicated was working just fine.

Still running, she rounded the corner toward the building her Cognitive Behavior seminar was in when she smacked into someone, and losing her balance, fell. It happened so fast she hadn't even seen who it was, until he knelt down to offer her his hand. Shaking the shock off, she finally looked up into a pair of stormy sea green eyes fixed intently on hers. Her stomach flipped, reminding her that she was not dreaming and actually was still on the ground in a hallway, books strewn about. She looked around and worked fast to find words, movements, anything really so as not appear stunned.

"I'm sorry. I'm so late," she managed, trailing off as their eyes met again.

"No apology is necessary. It appears I in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or perhaps the right place at the right time?" he quipped, pushing his offered hand a little closer until she finally slipped her petite hand into his. He was strong, warm and mysterious. He stood, taking her hand with him and steadying her as she rose.

"I still can't believe I ran into you. I actually don't think I saw you coming," she admitted.

"I generally try to blend in," he joked. Who was he kidding? Nobody wore tailored three-piece suits anymore. Well, none of her professors did and that was the extent of her experience with adult men outside of Nebraska. He had a distinguished look about him, like wisdom and money. He certainly didn't blend in looking the way he did. She was suddenly aware of her state of dress and hair. Self-consciousness crept its way up her neck and onto her cheeks as she felt the intensity of his stare, strangely odd, oddly familiar.

She glanced down at the books once more, avoiding the awkwardness of her clear lack of any intelligible words. He stooped down to retrieve her belongings from the floor and handing them to her, their fingers connected briefly. She began to part her lips to express her appreciation but the electricity from his touch put her on pause once more. He had to break the silence, unwilling for this unexpected meeting to turn into something more official. Raymond Reddington was, if nothing else, a calculating planner. This accidental meeting was not part of his plans where she was concerned.

"Well, Elizabeth, it was a pleasure but I must be going and I imagine you have a class to be in?"

"Yes, I, wait, we didn't even exchange names," she said, her implied question hanging between them.

"Your student I.D.," he said motioning to her name and picture on a lanyard. He tipped his head down as if to bow to her, holding his fedora. "Until we meet again," he offered in place of a good-bye and turned on his heel to leave before she could protest. She eyed him until he disappeared from sight.

It's an interesting phenomenon that an hour can feel excruciatingly like days.

Elizabeth was the first to exit the class once it was over. Being the last in had an advantage on this occasion. Her eyes swept the halls, frantically in search of him. She was sure she had never seen him on campus before but she was equally as sure that she wanted to see him again. Fast. Defeated, she returned to her apartment for plan B. She quickly flipped open her laptop and went to the faculty section of the school's website, skimming over every male professor, adjunct or otherwise, looking for him. It was no use. None of them were as attractive or well dressed and none of them had eyes like his. Closing her own eyes, she felt her way back to the moment in the hallway and the embers blazing in his stare. A fire altogether separate ignited low in her belly. She swore she had never been looked at like that. A stranger had captured her in mere moments and left her wanting more. The two guys she had seen casually in the last few years were fairly immature when compared to her and if honest, were only in it with her for one thing. She gave it up a few times, longing to somehow feel a connection, feel pretty, valued, important – feel anything, but she lost interest in them once she caught on. Being single was preferable to her over being someone's conquest. The next time she did it, it would be for the long play.

Seeing him again was beginning to consume her mind and body. Sleep would evade her over the next few days. Food was only a necessity, not a desire. Never had she felt so hell-bent on anything. She took long walks in the evenings off campus, stopping in a cigar bar or two that catered to the wealthier, more discerning gentleman, just hoping to run into him again. She was desperate for their meet-cute, part two, with way more staring into each other's eyes and a lot less smacking into each other with unintended force. At least if anything ever came of it, they'd have an interesting story to tell of how they met. She'd leave out the part where she hunted him down like a lost puppy.

Gradually, discouragement, along with the piercing chill of winter set into her bones. It had been two months since the day she met him: the unnamed mystery man that knew her name, the man who had comfortably taken up residence in her dreams.

It was a bitter winter's day in January when she stopped by the campus post office before heading home. She grabbed her stack of mail and customarily thumbed through the junk mail and magazines without interest. The last piece was unique, ivory linen stock with her name inscribed in crimson. She fumbled to get it open, her breath catching in her throat in anticipation. Inside the envelope was a matching card with the following in the same crimson:

Ready to meet again? I'll be waiting, tomorrow at 8pm. The Lucerne, 79th & Amsterdam.