First, I own nothing to do with the Blacklist clearly. I'm just enjoying having fun with the characters, as silly as it is.

Second, I want to thank you all so much. I was so shocked by the response, and it means a lot to me. I do hope you find some enjoyment in this one. Again, I apologize about grammar- not being a native English speaker. All mistakes are my own, but I hope it isn't too distracting from the story.

Chapter Two

"Why do you always wear hats?"

Liz chided herself internally over the verbal-diarrhea that suddenly plagued her. She had no idea what was wrong with her this morning.

Red didn't look in her direction as he adjusted the brim of the hat above his eyes. Then seemingly unsatisfied with it, he made a low grunting noise and tossed the hat on the unmade bed carelessly. "Well, that's an odd question, Lizzie. Why are you always stroking that scar on your wrist?"

She looked down and realized her fingers were doing exactly that, in circling the horrible red scar trailing her wrist. Liz paused uncertainly and flexed her fingers, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She thought she looked rather nauseous. It had nothing to do with drinking alcohol last night, that she was sure. Partly it was due to the unknown something that might have happened last night. Mostly she was frightened Tom would realize something about her was different and automatically know she had slept and laid close to another man in bed last night. What if he smelt it on her?

"I don't know." She shrugged. "I guess I like doing it."

"Then you have your answer to the hat question, Lizzie." He finally turned and met her eyes. "I wear hats because I like doing so."

"Okay, that's a fair enough reason, I guess."

She watched curiously as Red rummaged around in the drawer, pulling out a striped emerald-green tie. He pulled the collar of his shirt up, slipped the tie around his neck, and Liz found something oddly entrancing about watching the man dress himself. He was just so different from Tom- who hardly wore ties- although she felt instantly terrible comparing the two. They were entirely different men... entirely different species, almost.

Oh, God. What happened last night? She wondered desperately as she stared at the man preoccupied with dressing himself near her. Why can't I remember? Of all the things not to remember... this has to be one of them.

She tried to think back hard on the night's events, only coming up short. Weeping in Reddington's arms. Not her husband's arms, but Red's. Red saying her name, over and over, assuring her strongly that she would be okay, no matter what came out of her incredibly difficult situation with Tom. Liz finding unexpected comfort in his embrace. Never wanting to be released from his hold. And then... that was... it. She woke up in his hotel room bed, with half of her clothes off. She wasn't completely one-hundred percent certain he had slept beside her, but... the wrinkles in the sheets were evident enough.

And the intercourse remark. Oh, the intercourse.

Was that meant to be some hint? Surely she would have remembered, wouldn't she? After all, you don't just wake up the next morning completely forgetting having sex with someone, did you?

She stared at Red despairingly a moment longer, while he was sliding his arms through a black sleeveless vest, realizing his tie was all crooked. It was just wrong. All wrong. It shouldn't have bothered her so much, but it did.

"You can't go out in public looking like that," she muttered under her breath, the words falling off her tongue without her control. Jesus, why should she even care whether his tie was wrong or not? What was she, his wife or lover? But it was too late, and she couldn't take the words back, even if she tried. Red had heard them and was staring down at his choice of outfit in confusion. "Your tie is just all crooked," she explained, almost inaudibly, stepping closer towards him.

She hesitated, her hands hanging uselessly near him. She didn't want to come across as rude, but it was seriously annoying her for unknown reasons she couldn't begin to fathom. She glanced at his face nervously as he slipped in closer, and she caught the reassuring smile he gave her. It was all that she needed to just go ahead and get it done.

"I've just come to learn how fastidious you are about clothing," she huffed out, in defense for herself. "And it was seriously bugging me. I don't even know why."

She was surprised by how much taller Red seemed, when she wasn't wearing any shoes.

"Thank you, Lizzie," he said, his voice deep and soft. She caught herself staring at the muscles twitching in his neck as she slipped the end of the tie lower than the tail. Though it made her feel immature, she felt too nervous to look at anything above the neck.

"No problem," she said, trying to sound casual. "My father used to get me to do this for him all the time, so I'm used to it." She knew how much Red enjoyed her talking about her father. "There was a song that we even used to sing so I wouldn't forget all the steps."

"Sing it for me, Lizzie." She suspected he was making fun of her, but when she finally let her eyes lift to his face, she found him studying her features seriously.

"You know, I don't think I will. I can hardly sing, and it's really stu-"

Red interrupted her quietly, "I want to hear it."

He was putting her in a corner, and it made Liz suddenly feel weak. The man was probably used to getting his way, so she practically had no choice.

Clearing her throat gently and feeling her cheeks burn, Liz began with the song and all the steps she had memorized along with it.

"Gathering his senses about him, the rabbit bounded away with the fox snapping at his cotton tail. Once around the tree, the fox chased the rabbit." She wrapped the end of the tie around the tail, almost mechanically, "Twice around the tree the little rabbit fled with the quick gray fox close behind. Trying to shake the persistent fox, the rabbit scooted under a bush." She pushed the end of the tie between the loop, feeling like a school teacher singing to a little boy, "With a giant leap, the little rabbit cleared the top of a big round log and dove right into the safety of his cool, dark hole..."

Liz couldn't escape the feeling of wanting to dissolve through the carpet out of sight after she was done. With tingling ears, she straightened his tie and ran the palm of her hand down the lining of the silken, smooth fabric. She stood back slightly to evaluate her work and then, pleased, she helped flatten the collars of his shirt down with care.

"There we go," she breathed gently. "All better now."

She let her eyes roam up to his face, noticing that same unidentifiable expression there that gave hardly anything away. But there was something hidden there in his shining grey eyes for her.

"Sometimes I wondered if my father did it on purpose. He'd come out with his tie all crooked, and he'd say, 'Butterball, how's my tie looking?" And I'd be like, 'Dad, your tie looks terrible. You can't go outside looking like that!' So he'd always get me to fix it for him while repeating the story of the rabbit and the fox." Her voice shook, as it always tended to do, whenever she mentioned her father Sam. It wasn't something she could control. "I'll always remember us doing that. How ridiculous, huh?"

"I think it's a lovely story, Lizzie."

"Yeah, well..." She shrugged and brought her eyes away from him with some effort. "He's gone now. I suppose I better stop talking about him as if he's still around."

"Even though he is gone, I'm sure he's still around, looking down on you, Lizzie. I'm sure he's proud of the daughter he's raised."

That was an unsettling thought. While Liz knew he meant that in a caring way, she hoped he wasn't around and had looked down on her last night, while she did heaven knows what with Red in bed. God, if only she knew...

"Are you all right, Lizzie? You look so stricken. Is it because it's hard to talk about the memories of your father?"

Yes, no. Maybe. Mainly it's hard not knowing what we did last night. You know what happened, and I don't...

She realized that was how it had always been between the two of them. Red was always the one privy to things she didn't know, while Liz was left meandering hopelessly in the dark for answers. Why should she be so surprised that that was how it was now?

"Are you ever going to tell me why it is that I actually slept here last night? How did I come to get into your hotel room? What did we do last night? Or do I have to start getting a little rough to get all the answers out of you?" Liz had meant it as a full warning for him to start disclosing what she couldn't remember of last night, only she could tell he didn't see it that way.

Like the infuriating son of a bitch that he was, Red actually dared to tilt his head back and laugh softly. "Oh, I believe that ship already sailed last night, Lizzie. You were enjoyably rough on me last night."

Liz stared him down, unimpressed. "Meaning what, exactly?"

Oh God, he didn't mean foreplay in bed, did he?

A million things crossed in her head at once. Seething remarks, curse words. She opened her mouth, fired and ready, then closed it up again. Her hand blindly found her wrist and she massaged her scar firmly with the tips of her fingers. Ah, now this was why she stroked her scar habitually. When she was placed in high stress situations.

"Tell me how I'm supposed to explain this to my husband!"

Red shrugged and turned to collect his hat off the bed. "I have full confidence in you, Lizzie. I'm sure you'll think of something." Unconcernedly, he turned his eyes on her. "If adequate explanations fail to come to you, you can always bring up the dead fake brother into the conversation."

Red was getting off on this, and Liz could tell. His eyes were singing.

"You're unbelievable, do you know that?" Her voice pitched to a higher level without her control, echoing around the room. "Why is this such an enjoyable game to you?"

His eyes flew down to her fingers that were rubbing her scar furiously. She couldn't seem to stop the movement, damn it. "Will you just calm down, Lizzie?" He spoke gently, as if he was the responsible parent and she was the child. "You, of all people, should know by now that shouting gets you nowhere. And will you stop that?" He stared pointedly at her fingers. "You're going to rub yourself so hard that you're going to bleed, my dear."

The laugh that erupted from her mouth sounded embarrassingly like an enraged bark from a dog. "Yeah, and I'm sure you'd love that, wouldn't you? Me bleeding?"

It happened so quickly she wasn't even sure it was real. In one sudden movement Red was standing in front of her, and then in the next his hand was grasping her wrist and he was bending down to press his mouth against her scar. His lips were hot, and it was open-mouthed, and it wasn't exactly the most unpleasant feeling on Liz. Something like warm liquid spread throughout her entire body.

"The hell," she gasped, wrenching her hand free.

She felt her face drain of all color as she stared up at Red as he straightened up. His face was unreadable, aside from his eyes that gave away some inkling into what he was feeling. They were shining with something similar to regret; Embarrassment that he had lost control completely and done something so against his invisible leash of self-restraint when it came to being around her.

And it had pretty much confirmed her worst fears. They had done it last night. Or had they?

Someone cleared their throat awkwardly near the doorway to the bedroom and Liz yelped in fear. Dembe was standing there, appraising the pair of them nervously. He nodded to Liz silently before focusing his attention on Red.

"Ah, excuse the interruption, but you have somewhere you need to be in half an hour, Raymond, sir."

As if nothing had even happened between the pair of them, Red strode out of the room with Dembe trailing behind him uncertainly. Liz stared after them, before shaking her head furiously. How could a man be so... so... confusing? She grabbed her boots that were lying near the armchair and sat as she slid them on. When she found the two men standing around by the dining room table speaking in hushed voices, she cleared her throat loudly.

She made sure she kept her eyes on only Dembe, as she asked, as politely as she could, "Do you mind taking me home? I need to get home and change. I don't exactly want to turn up to work wearing the same clothes."

She watched Dembe as he looked at Red for counsel.

"Dembe won't mind taking you home, would you, my friend?"

She ignored Red as much as she could, but she knew fair well she wasn't deaf. She couldn't escape hearing that voice of his. He sounded completely composed.

"Of course not, Raymond, sir."

"Good. It's settled then."

Dembe looked her over expectantly. "Whenever you're ready, Ms. Keen."

"I'm ready now," Liz said firmly, anger still in her voice.

"Then it's bon voyage for now, my dear."

Ignoring Red, she pushed her way outside of the hotel room. Dembe followed her slowly, and when she turned to look at him, he was eyeing her warily like she was a stray and unpredictable animal.

"Did you have a good night, Ms. Liz?" He asked pleasantly, surprising her. Liz didn't think she had heard him speak so much before. Usually he kept quiet, lingering in the background.

"I would feel better if I knew what last night entailed..."

"Not to worry. You and Raymond seemed to have good fun last night. Raymond told me after that he hasn't slept like such a baby in over twenty years, because you exhausted him so. You must sleep with Raymond more often and make it a habit. Raymond seemed to enjoy spending the full night with you."

Liz sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. Oh, wonderful. Now Dembe was in on it too, with the cryptic insinuations of what went down last night in Red's hotel room?

Hope this wasn't a disappointment. :) Please let me know your thoughts!