I own nothing to do with the Blacklist. Just a huge fan and Lizzington shipper.

I want to thank you guys so much. I know this is probably the most ridiculous story (honestly, it's intended to be) but I hope, aside from that, it makes you laugh despite it all. I very much hope you enjoy this one! Thank you! Just a warning: Things get a little crazy.

Chapter Six

As Liz went through the motions to the group and explained the next target on Reddington's list, when she finally got some alone time in her office that she shared with her partner Ressler, she closed the door swiftly on herself and leaned against it with her body as she wiggled her phone out of her trouser pocket. She pressed the number on speed dial and waited impatiently for him to finally pick up.

She quickly glanced through the venetian blinds and out to where her boss Cooper and Ressler were standing around, engaging in heated conversation- probably discussing how to approach bringing any potential leads in that were connected to the Blacklister in question. Aram was searching through the database, and Liz was positive she could fit in a quick phone call before the time came to leave.

When Reddington answered, she stated briskly, talking over him while he made his usual pleasantries when she called, "Yeah, yeah, it's me."

"Sweetheart." Red laughed jovially, as if he was so pleased to hear from her, which didn't do any favors on her current mood. "Now isn't really a convenient time for me."

"Oh, please," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I don't give a rat's ass what's convenient of a time for you or what isn't. It's convenient for me. That's all that matters."

"What's this all about, Lizzie?" He had the gall to sound convincingly baffled, the bastard.

"Something came to me, after you dropped me off. Something about last night."

With the silence that came on Reddington's end, you could have almost heard a pin drop. But then he said, somewhat reluctantly, "What is it?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, her voice vibrating with anger. She looked around to make sure no one was approaching her office, and much to her relief, everyone was still talking outside. She went on furiously, "You know, I asked you whether I somehow had drugs last night, and you never said anything about it."

"What, Lizzie?" Red usually remained calm and composed, in most things, so Liz was surprised to hear his words were urgent. All this constant pestering from her was finally seeming to get to him, and he was finally feeling the strain. Apparently he was hiding more of what went on last night than he first appeared to be. There was something that had happened between them that obviously he was not looking forward to her knowing. "Tell me what you remember of last night. What part of it came to you? What is it?"

Liz bit down on the corner of her lip and tried to remain calm. She knew she was coming close to losing it. "Oh, God," she breathed, lifting her unused hand and pressing her palm into the center of her forehead. "I... I was wondering how I could have... possibly suggested the whole strip poker thing. Now I think I know why, and you lied to me. I was sitting there in the car right next to you!" Her attempts to stay calm backfired on her, and her voice rose. "You... you lied straight to my face!"

"Take a breath, Lizzie." Much to her dismay, his voice had a strangely calming effect on her. That didn't mean she didn't want to kill him, though. "Take a deep breath," he reminded her- something a supportive husband would do when his wife went into labour, she thought - and Liz did that, obeying, loud enough that he could hear her laboured breathing even all the way on his end of the line. "There, that's better. Now tell me what it is that you remember exactly?"

"God, something about... about brownies. Dembe made them. They were there and I... I ate two slices. Clearly there was something in them, some kind of, uh,... substance?"

"Uh-huh. Cannabis, most likely." Red's voice implied that it was no big deal. "Dembe is a big enthusiast on cannabis. It hardly surprises me, Lizzie."

"I... I've never tried cannabis before!" She lost it then, shouting into the phone while bunching her free hand into a tight fist and shaking it around.

"Well, now you have. Congratulations."

She saw Red then. And not of the Raymond Reddington kind.

"Red, we are so done," she said sharply, her go-to response. Sure, she had said it many times out of sheer anger while dealing with the man, but she was hoping it hadn't yet lost its effectiveness. "No, we are... we're beyond done." Her head was pounding and if she had been a chemical weapon, she would have blown up the entire area of the Post Office by now, turning everyone into smithereens. "We're over," she spluttered. "So over. Us. This thing between us- this relationship- we're just... we're done. Over."

"Ah. So you're breaking up with me?" Red said, after a moment.

"Yes," she clarified. Then backtracked. "I mean, wait. What?"

"Onto more pressing things, how is the case coming along?"

"Breaking up implies that we were in a relationship to begin with," she muttered, thoroughly confused. "Like we were dating. Steady lovers. I'm a married woman. I have a husband! So I don't... I don't see how that fits with-"

"The case," he interrupted her impatiently, his voice not so gentle. "What news of the case, Lizzie?"

It took her a moment to get her head straight. She was still stuck on the "breaking up" comment. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and to get back on track. "Aram is trying to track down a lead's location through his cell phone. We're trying to find someone that has connections with him. We're going to go after him now, if any comes through. Hopefully they will give us some answers, answers that will lead us to the actual whereabouts of-"

Her phone clicked suddenly and the connection was instantly cut between them. Dumbfounded, Liz pulled her phone back from her ear to peer down at the screen.

Reddington had dared to hang up on her.

What a son of a bitch.

The rest of the day was a surprisingly productive one. Thanks to Aram's skills, they managed to successfully track down a potential lead, who was a balding man in his late sixties. It wasn't easy detaining the man; When Ressler and her had pounded on his door, he did not answer. So Agent Donald Ressler had to kick the door in, and with their guns raised, they had found the lead innocently getting dressed after having showered in the bathroom.

When Liz had declared that they were with the F.B.I and that he was going to be handcuffed and brought in for questioning, the man had screamed and made a run for it through the back entrance of his place.

Liz was already past breaking point by then due to her trying phone conversation with Reddington, so she was acting on autopilot when she slipped her gun back into her holster and ran after him without a single seconds thought into her own personal safety.

The man had obviously been unarmed- she had seen it with her very own two eyes- so she thought nothing of racing after him. When she found him in his backyard, struggling to climb up the fence to evade capture, she wasted no time in darting over to him. She had seized him by his left arm roughly, brought him down from the fence, and she had wasted no time in tackling him on the grass and threatening to twist his arm back enough to dislocate his shoulder painfully if he didn't start cooperating with them anytime soon. Liz may have even envisioned herself saying that exact threat to Reddington while she did it- it had satisfied her in an unbelievable way- but it still proved effectual.

All in all, a good day's work done.

They had successfully brought the lead in for questioning on the whereabouts of Number 69 on Red's list, and, as an added bonus, Liz had gotten to let off some steam with chasing down and taking their first lead into custody. Unfortunately for them, as they held him in the room closed off solely for interrogation purposes, the man hardly seemed enthusiastic to answer their questions anytime soon.

Liz saw the way the man kept avoiding eye contact, and he was sweating profusely from his top-lip.

She sat across from him on the steel table with her partner Ressler, who was sprouting off constant, forceful questions in the hopes it would finally make the man crack and break and give them something useful to go with.

"I don't know," the man, whose name was Roger Altman, said for what seemed like the hundredth time. "I don't know anything!" He threw in a few fist pounds to the table to stress it home. "I don't know!"

Liz sat back in her chair and crossed her arms against her chest while Ressler sighed loudly in annoyance, watching Roger's reactions carefully. Since having graduated from Quantico and having learned how to read most people's body languages well, she gathered Roger was lying. He was covering for someone. Probably the criminal on Red's list that they were struggling to track down.

"You don't know?" Liz repeated, deciding to use a different tactic than the one that Don was using, which was aggressive. "Well, contrary to what you say, we have a reputable source that says that you do know."

"I don't know," Roger insisted again, and his face crumpled. "Why am I even here? I don't even know that! Who are you people?"

"Who are we?" Ressler spoke up in outrage. "We're on the F.B.I taskforce! We told you that, like, two hours ago when we took you in!"

Without warning, Roger broke down sobbing under the pressure. Liz noticed the way he rubbed his left arm tragically. "You could have fooled me," he whispered, peering down at his arm. "You hurt me! My arm hurts real badly! What kind of people do that? You say you are the F.B.I, but why you insist on hurting me like this?"

"Goddamn this," Ressler erupted. "Keen, I'm done with this. You feel like a cup of coffee? I'm gonna go grab some. It beats having to deal with this crap."

"Hold on a second," Liz said, getting to her feet. "I'll call him. See if he can give us any tips, then you can go grab your cup of coffee."

"Oh, anything but this, please," Ressler grumbled thankfully.

Roger was still sobbing when Liz slipped out of the interrogation room and called Red's number. When he answered, she cut him off hurriedly, "We got him in custody. Thing is, he isn't talking. He's more like... crying. Any suggestions?"

"God, you F.B.I Agents. It's a wonder how anything ever gets done without me here, guiding everyone along. Shall I come in and hold your hand, Lizzie? Talk you through it in person, since it's so impersonal over the phone?"

Come in and hold her hand? Was he flirting with her? Seriously!

"Just tell me," she demanded, ignoring him with effort while peeking back through the window into the room. Roger had a hand covering his face while he shook violently in his seat, obviously still emotional over his arm hurting. Liz realized that she was likely responsible for that, since she had twisted it back while taking him in, but at that moment she couldn't bring herself to care in the slightest, terrible and heartless as it was. "How do we get him to talk, Red?"

When Red gave her enough to deal with, she hung-up on him in the middle of his speech, hoping he'd understand how she felt when he had done it to her earlier in the morning. Suppressing a smile, she strode back into the room, and Roger glanced up at her approaching footsteps as she held the door open midway.

"I can go now?" He asked her hopefully.

"No, you can't." She turned her eyes on Ressler. "But he can. Go get yourself a coffee, Don. Enjoy. I'll deal with him for a few minutes, make him talk."

"Did Reddington say anything?" Ressler asked, getting to his feet with a quick stretch.

"He said enough," Liz simply said evasively, nodding. Once Ressler was gone, she turned and closed the door on her and the man gently. Walking over to the desk near the wall and collecting the photograph Reddington had presented her, she brought it over to the table and slid it between her and the man. "Now, tell me," she began, lowering her voice menacingly. "Do you recognize this man?" She tapped the picture loudly with her fingers.

"I... I don't know," Roger said.

"Well, I think you do," Liz hissed, resting her weight on the table with her knuckles. "And now, you're gonna give me real answers this time. Not any of this 'I don't know' crap. If you don't in the next five seconds, your arm is going to hurt even more than it does right now. Understand?"

"I... I don't understand."

"Wrong answer," Liz said, standing from the table. "I've had a lousy morning, and you're just only making it worse." She took off her jacket, flung it on the table against the wall, and advanced towards the man. "You see, the man who just walked out of this room, he was the good cop. You wanna know what kind of cop I am?" She got real close to Roger's face, feeling pleased as he gulped audibly. "I'm the bad cop, so you better give me an answer! Now's the time!"

When Roger simply gawked at her, she lunged into action. She grabbed his forearm in a tight embrace, wrenched it behind his back, and the moan he gave out was like music to her ears.

"See, I think now you understand," she said, her voice cold. Her fringe fell into her eyes as she used all of her body weight to pin him to the table while holding his arm back in a vice-like grip, and she blew it away with her mouth while bending down to put her mouth inches from his ear. The man was muttering softly in distress. "I'm starting the countdown, Roger. If you don't give me answers in the next five seconds, you're gonna know what having a dislocated shoulder truly feels like!"

"Wait, no," he started begging unevenly. "Please!"

"Five..." Liz started the countdown while bracing herself.

"I...I don't..."

"Four!"

"Why?" Roger sobbed. "Why?"

"Two..."

"I really don't know, I swear!"

"One!" Envisioning herself jamming another pen in Red's throat, she yanked back as far as his arm would allow, and the man cried out loudly as a pop sounded from his joint.

"Okay, okay," the man finally gave in, wailing pitifully. "Jesus Christ, I know that man! I know everything! I'll tell you all you need to know if you stop hurting my arm, please!"

"Good boy," she whispered in deep satisfaction, and then using the same force as before, she put his arm back into place.

All the while, across the window, Harold Cooper and Ressler were observing everything going on between the two. Cooper's eyes widened and Ressler choked on his coffee, surprised by Keen's behavior today. He coughed and spluttered loudly, and Cooper leaned over to thwack Ressler on the back until his coughing fit died down and he could breathe again. Elizabeth Keen was not a woman you wanted to cross when she was having a bad day. Ever.

"Christ," Don grumbled in shock, wiping the spittle off his chin quickly. "What the hell is with Keen today? Never knew she had it in her."

"Yes," Cooper agreed quietly, looking at his Profiler admiringly, who seemed to have finally had a breakthrough with the lead. "You and me, both."

Someone gave a slow clap of applause from somewhere behind where the two men were standing around, and Ressler nearly gagged on his mouthful of coffee again. Nearly.

"That's my girl," Reddington's voice suddenly came from behind them, his voice deep and quivering with pride. The two men turned in alarm and looked as Reddington entered, while removing his hat. He held his hat over where his heart would be positioned under his vest, and Don and Cooper exchanged a quizzical look. "Now, this," Reddington whispered wistfully, "This I wouldn't miss for all the world."

Hope you enjoyed this one and still are interested in me continuing? I know this story is probably super crazy. Should Liz handcuff Red in the next chapter and be forceful? If you have any ideas or suggestions, feel free to let me know. Also hoping my english and grammar isn't terrible. Thank you for reading! :)

P.S, In response to reviewer:

Guest

"er...You do know that red is actually lizzy's father and you are pairing father and daughter together."

It hasn't been confirmed whether they are dad/daughter (Red said no, he isn't/His wife didn't even show she recognized Liz and said their daughter went off on her own) and I don't believe it's that simple. If they do end up being f/d, I've certainly supported the idea of weirder couples. This is all just for personal fun- hence the ridiculous situation. :) I don't know where the showrunners are taking it, but for the sake of this story and the themes; playing strip poker when she stayed over, etc, Liz and Red are definetely not related.