"This is your last chance to say something that makes sense before I haul your butt to the doctor."
"Really, Lizzie, people do their own stiches all the time."
"Not sane people!"
"Well, that's debatable."
"No, it's really not!"
Aram sits perched on a stool at his workstation, eyes flitting rapidly between Agent Keen and Mr. Reddington as they argue, feeling as though he's watching a particularly intense tennis match.
Agent Keen is very loud.
Mr. Reddington suffered a rather deep cut from an uncooperative suspect while attempting to assist Agent Keen in arresting him. Neither of them saw the knife until it was too late. They delivered the suspect back to the post office to be interrogated by Agents Navabi and Ressler, which is what they're doing now, while Liz is staying behind in the bullpen to yell at Mr. Reddington.
Aram thinks idly that, for some reason, Liz is the only person that can berate Mr. Reddington like this and not be threatened. Or shot. Or killed.
Liz had fussed over the cut, telling Mr. Reddington that he shouldn't have jumped in to help her, she was perfectly fine without his help.
Mr. Reddington had simply brushed off her anger and told her that he'd rather be safe than sorry. Strangely, this had only frustrated Liz more, and she snapped at Aram to stay out of it when he tried to suggest that Mr. Reddington could probably take care of himself.
Aram stopped talking after that.
Liz had insisted that Mr. Reddington get it taken care of as soon as possible, so he had nodded, retrieved the first aid kid from the wall, and proceeded to stitch up his own wound. Naturally, Liz had panicked and tried to snatch the needle from him before he got started but she wasn't fast enough.
Aram is glad he has a strong stomach.
So, here they sit, Mr. Reddington leaning over the table stitching up his own arm, Liz glaring daggers at him from close by, and Aram watching it all from the relative safety of his desk.
"It's perfectly normal, Lizzie. Why do you think they have this supplies in the first aid kit to begin with?" Mr. Reddington continues their argument calmly, not a tremor in his voice as he slowly sews.
"It's only normal if you use the anesthesia included in the kit, dumbass." Liz snaps, almost audibly grinding her teeth as she watches Red.
"Oh, I'd rather leave the painkillers for someone who really needs them, Lizzie." Red says sincerely, his statement rather at odds with the needle currently in his arm.
"That's it!" Liz barks, throwing her hands in the air. "This is your last chance to say something that makes sense before I haul your butt to the doctor."
"No need," Red chirps, straightening up suddenly. "All done!"
Liz seethes. "And you probably did a shit job, too. Let me see." She stomps over to glare at his arm which, as far as Aram can see, is clean and contains a row of small, neat stitches.
Liz sighs, evidently frustrated with Mr. Reddington's success, and grabs the first aid kit from him.
"Well, at least put a bandage on, idiot." She mutters. She grabs the gauze and medical tape from the kit and pulls a chair over to the table. She plops down and begins to unravel some gauze, mumbling insulting things under her breath all the while.
But Mr. Reddington simply sits there, chin propped on his good arm, and watches her work, his expression openly adoring. Aram frowns.
Liz, despite the scowl still firmly planted on her face, is very gentle with her bandaging. As she secures the gauze with medical tape, Aram sees her give Mr. Reddington's arm a tender stroke. Hm.
Aram watches as she looks up at Mr. Reddington, who doesn't bother to hide his strangely affectionate gaze. Instead of yelling more, which he expected, Aram watches as Agent Keen's scowl slowly melts into a loving look that matches Mr. Reddington's exactly.
Loving?
Oh.
Aram quickly jumps up and grabs his empty mug, hurrying off and mumbling something about needing a coffee.
He'll try his best to pretend he didn't see any of that. It's probably best.