Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with the Blacklist.

Thank you all so much for taking the time to review and read the story. It means a lot to me! Hope you enjoy this chapter! As usual, I'd love to know your thoughts!

Chapter Five

When Elizabeth woke up the next morning, she spent a good few minutes getting properly dressed and ready for her day at work. Then she went across the hallway to her father's room, knocked loudly so he knew she was coming in, and she opened the door to peer nervously at where her father lay, in bed. She found he was already fully awake and alert, and he shifted slightly against the pillows so he could watch her. It unnerved Liz to see how quickly her father seemed to be aging; Sam was still young in her eyes, a man just only fifty-eight years old and already, his body was failing him.

Since he spent most of his days in bed and rarely shaved or gave a rat's tail about his appearance, he looked a decade older than what he really was, she thought worriedly, as she observed him. He had grey stubble around his chin and his skin was jaundiced. He looked like a man in his nineties rather than a man in his late fifties, and it was horrifying that she couldn't do anything to make him better.

Entering his room, she caught a whiff of a terrible smell floating around and she dashed over towards the windowsill and battled to open the window to let some fresh air in. The window was stiff and it took some serious elbow grease to finally wrench it open, but she heard the relieved sigh her father gave out once clean air breezed in.

"I have to be getting to work in a minute, Daddy," she told him softly. "Are you going to be getting out of bed at all today?" Really, she knew it wasn't Sam's fault, and if he had any say in it, he'd be out and about most of the day, walking around and getting things done. But his body wasn't complying with his wishes and so the bed was the only place he could stand to be in.

"I'll try, sweetie pie."

"Well, you should." She turned to look at him sympathetically and their eyes met and held for a long minute. So many times she had wished he would magically wake up the next morning and feel better, but she had been wishing it for too long and it never came true, so she tried not to bother with it anymore. "Is there anything I can do for you before I go? Do you need some food or water?"

Suddenly her father looked anguished at her question and she knew it was because he didn't like her waiting on him. "If I need something, I'll go very well get it myself. I don't want you worrying too much about me, all right? You don't need to baby me, Liz. If anything, I'm your old man and I should be babying you. You are my baby, after all." When she couldn't help but smile at his words, he laughed; The laugh sounding more like a dogs bark than anything. "Speaking of babies... when are you going to get married?" Her father would always ask her that constantly lately. Not that she minded.

But she got the feeling Sam expected to be dying soon, and once he did, he wanted her to have some kind of life to fall back on and not just one that involved taking care of him night and day in between the hours of work.

"When someone asks me," she said, with a smile.

"Has someone asked you yet?"

"Of course not, Daddy. But I did meet someone," she admitted cautiously. She didn't want to tell Sam too much, or to give away too much. Especially considering the man she had met and found herself dying to be with was the very same man everyone under the sun was looking for. "He was real... nice. He took me out for a drink last night. That was why I was so late home the way I was."

"Has he asked you to marry him?"

She laughed out loud at the question, feeling a warm gush of heat spread across her face. Imagine that; Getting married to a wanted fugitive and living life constantly on the run from lawmen. How ridiculous. How... exciting. "He's not the marrying kind, Daddy."

Sam squinted up at her in confusion. "How do you know he isn't? He said that outright?"

"I just do, and I know he isn't."

Her father sighed loudly and sat up carefully against the bedframe, his bones cracking. "You know I don't expect you to hang around looking after your old man for the rest of your life. I want you to be happy."

"Who says I'm not happy? I am happy."

"But you fuss around for me too much," he said seriously, regret shining in his grey eyes. "Let's face it, sweetie pie; Sooner or later, I'm not gonna be around anymore and I want you to start thinking of yourself for a change. You wanna know what will truly make this old man happy?"

She swallowed against a dry lump in her throat. "What?"

"To see my baby girl have a life of her own. I wanna see you meet a man, get married, and have a life for yourself. From this point forward, I don't want you coddling your old man anymore. I want you to get out there and live, and do something that'll make you happy for once. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I can take care of myself, and you know I can."

"But I'm happy," she said defensively. "And why wouldn't I help take care of you? You're my father, I'm happy to take care of you, you're allowed to bother me and make me take care of you." She stared down at him seriously. "After all, I'm just repaying you for all the times you did it for me, as a little girl and all throughout my childhood. Why wouldn't I take care of you and make for certain that you're going to be fine while I'm gone at work working?"

"I just don't want you to do it so much anymore, okay?"

She shrugged, raising her eyebrows at him challengingly, "Then tough. You don't like it, then that's too bad."

"You're young. You go do something for yourself for a change and have fun. As I said, I'll be perfectly fine here. You know I always am."

"That's enough talk on this, Daddy," she warned him. "I don't care what you say. I'm your daughter and, of course, I'm going to be looking after you. No matter what you say, it won't change anything. I have to go." She bent down to kiss him on his cheek and Sam moved his head out of the way, looking out the open window instead and ignoring her. She was used to this; Whenever she said or did something her father didn't agree with, he'd always play this card with her. "Do you want me to close the window before I leave? Does it feel too cold?"

Despite him ignoring her, her father could never last too long. His resolve broke at a mere question. "Please don't, honey. I need the fresh air. Feels nice on my skin." He closed his eyes for a moment. When he reopened his eyes, he finally looked up at her. His game of avoidance was finished. "Don't bother coming home too early, okay? You go out, have some fun with this fella you were just telling me about. Get him to marry you, okay?"

If only her father knew the type of man she was really hinting to...

"I'm going now. You sure there isn't anything I can do for you?"

"Turn on the radio for me, will you? I want to listen." Obediently she switched on the knob on the radio for him, cranking up the volume a fraction higher. They were currently talking about the FBI's plans on making a war on crime, which Hoover set into motion. She heard the tinny voice on the radio talk about Raymond Reddington, about how he was Number One, and she felt her heart jump in her chest. "Good on 'em, I'll say," her father said, strong on the matter. "The banks have it coming to them. It's what they deserve."

Liz regarded her father with some surprise. "Don't let any cops hear you say that, Daddy," she muttered wryly. She never pegged her father to be supportive over what the criminals were doing. "How can you possibly say that? We're supposed to think what their doing is wrong."

"Well, it's about time somebody fought back. At the banks, I mean. You remember that dear old lady next door?"

"I do. What happened to her? Last I heard, she isn't living in her apartment anymore."

"Well, you have the banks to thank for that," he grumbled grudgingly. "Poor thing couldn't pay out her loan that she got from the bank. They took everything, put her out on the street. It's about time somebody was brave enough to fight back for once." Her father was evidently opinionated on the matter. It was clearly something he felt strong about. A fire was there in his eyes; a determined glint to them that she hadn't seen in quite some time. "I always knew he'd do it," he went on quietly. "I could tell he was going to be somebody big. I always knew he had it in him. It was just a matter of when..."

"Who?" Liz was confused. She had no idea who he was talking about. "Who's this?"

Was he talking about Reddington, or was it just all in her head? Did her father somehow know him? Liz figured she was being paranoid if... slightly obsessive. After her dream last night, which was something she wasn't too proud about, she knew she was in deep over her head. She wanted the man, despite everything. Regardless of rhyme or reason, she wanted him. Apparently nothing could change that.

Unfortunately she never got her answer. With a grunt, Sam waved her away. "You better get going before you get too late, honey," he said dismissively, licking his parched lips. "Don't be coming home too early tonight. You have fun for once, all right?"

XXX

She was almost hoping her dream would come true.

That Raymond Reddington would storm into her boring place of employment, fire shots all around the room like a madman, and that he'd whisk her away with him. It didn't stop her from constantly glancing around the room or looking for him wishfully. She rolled her eyes at herself for being the way she was, as she hung up a man's tweed coat. This was clearly not normal and she was being so... so pathetic. It was definitely not like her to be so hung up over a man, especially not one of his caliber.

She thought back to her father's words this morning. Her father found it all rather heroic and was supportive on what various criminals were doing, in taking the banks money. So did that justify how she was feeling? If her father was commending Raymond Reddington for what he was unlawfully doing, did that make it excusable for her to be head over heels for the man? It certainly didn't make her feel so badly and as if something was wrong with her, when Sam himself was deeming it all right of them.

When she well and truly finished work, she considered heading straight home. But then again, her father did tell her to stay out late tonight. He wanted her to have some fun, to have a good night out for once. She knew where Raymond Reddington was staying- if he was even still at that same hotel, that is. She deliberated going to where he was. Heaven knows she was excited by the idea of seeing him again. But would he himself want or mind that, if she did return to his hotel room out of her own volition? Or would he consider her a pest and a nuisance?

Maybe she could make up some excuse as to see him again? A believable one. But there were no valid excuses she could come up with inside her head. She decided she'd just have to only tell him the truth, that she wanted to see him again plain and simple, and hopefully he wouldn't find it imposing when she did.

After last night when he showed her the way to where he was staying, she found she knew the way from heartbeat now. It took her barely ten minutes to find herself standing outside the tan bricked, three-story building of the hotel he was staying at. As she pushed through the doors and approached the clerk around the desk, she was about to ask for Raymond Reddington but, luckily, she caught herself just in time and asked for a Mr. Gibbons instead- the fake name he had currently booked the room under.

To her relief, he was clearly still staying at the same hotel room, which the man behind the desk confirmed and told her the directions. He recognized her as that same woman from last night, so he had no hesitation in telling her which room Red was staying in. Second floor. Room 16.

Liz was still wondering about a passable-enough excuse when she climbed up the flight of stairs, taking two steps at a time in her heels. It occurred to her that she was hurrying, as if she was a desperate woman, so she deliberately made herself slow down and take several deep breaths in. What was wrong with her? How could she ever let herself become this affected by a man?

On the second floor, she started walking down the narrow hallway, glancing at the fancy signs on the doors. And then, there it was, Room 16. In a shallow moment, she made sure her hair was smooth and neat, that her clothing was still neatly in place and wrinkle-free, before she raised her knuckles and knocked hesitantly against the wood several times. She stepped back quickly, filling her lungs with oxygen, feeling her heart thumping in anticipation. She heard someone move towards the door and as it opened, she felt her heart sink. A man was in there- he shoved his face through the crack to look her over- but it wasn't Raymond Reddington.

No, this man had a disturbing air about him. Hair slicked back and greasy with brylcreem, cold grey eyes, moustache. He appeared about the same age as Reddington, but she had never seen him before ever in her entire life. Yet with the dramatic softening of his expression and the way he looked her over carefully, she got the impression he knew her. Well, knew of her at least.

"Ah, so this is the infamous Lizzie girl?" he said in a low voice with amusement glistening in his grey eyes at her, and Liz caught a certain lilt to his voice. He was from somewhere other than Chicago. Some other part of the world, maybe. "Raymond speaks a lot about you, on and on, about... fate. He's so obsessed with you. He go on and on about you, all the time. He got it bad."

Red obsessed with her? How can that possibly be? They have only just practically met after all, haven't they?

He leaned his shoulder against the door lazily, causing it to spill open, and Liz swallowed when she watched him lift a cigarette to his mouth and take a puff of it, his eyes staring into hers all the while. She noticed he had no left hand. There was just a sleeve with no hand there. Leaving the cigarette dangling in his mouth, he extended his only hand out towards her. "Milos."

Trying to appear unaffected, she forced a smile on her lips and accepted the proffered hand, giving it a quick shake. "Uh, it's... nice to meet you. And you already know my name, it seems."

His hand tightened over hers and for an unnerving moment, he wouldn't let hers go free, until he realized a long train of ash was building at the tip of his cigarette that needed to be quickly disposed of. He gave out a short laugh and at last let her hand go, removing the cigarette from his mouth quickly and flicking the ash on the floor at his feet.

He looked her over one last time, particularly her legs in the wrap skirt she was wearing, before he made a deep grunting noise and shrugged. "I let you go talk to Raymond in privacy," he said, his cigarette moving against his lips with the words, and stepping back he waved with his one hand for her to go into the room. "The girl is here, Raymond," he called into the room, taking a long drag of the cigarette again. "You say your proper goodbyes before we leave, huh?"

She kept her eyes trained on the peculiar man as he waltzed leisurely down the narrow hallway, bringing trains of smoke trailing along with him. She was curious, if yet disturbed, on the story of how he come to have no left hand. Something told her she probably would be better off not knowing. She had no idea why Red would want to associate with such an intimidating man like him, then again, she had to remind herself of just who Raymond Reddington was. He was a criminal on the run from the law. It shouldn't have been such a surprise that he associated with such a seedy character.

She hesitated before taking a step into his hotel room, looking around nervously. She was almost expecting another man to appear, but as far as she could see, the room was empty, which relieved her to no end. She heard the faucet running in the bathroom and someone was washing their hands, she gathered.

She wasn't sure who that someone was, until Red stepped out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on a hand cloth. She felt suddenly speechless as she stared at him, and he stared back, with a strange look she couldn't identify. She could tell, along with that focused and intent look, that he was pleased she had made the decision to return to his room. She just wasn't completely sure why.

"You've returned."

"Yeah. I guess I have."

He looked even better than she remembered. Her dream of him hadn't done him any sort of justice. He was wearing a white dress shirt and light grey trousers that were held up by suspenders around his shoulders.

"And I see you just met Milos," he began conversationally, and he disappeared off into the bathroom again for a quick moment. When he returned back to her, his hands were empty of the cloth and he was rubbing them together. The shirtsleeves were folded up to his elbows. "What did you think of him? Had I known you would be returning, I would have prevented you from all of that. Did you see how Milos only has one hand?"

"It was kind of hard not to," she whispered, her voice terribly breathless.

"Yes. The man is a fool." She noticed his hands moved as he talked enthusiastically on the subject. "Attempted to fake his death by sawing his hand off and leaving it there as the only last physical evidence of his existence when he escaped from prison. Next morning, they caught sight of him out and about and the entire hand-thing was utterly unnecessary. The fool foiled his own ploy in faking his death by being seen out and about in broad daylight. He likes to ham up the story from time to time, however, in making the story far worse than it truly was."

"Right." The man, Milos, his words, came back to her. She couldn't make sense of them at all. "We just had a very strange conversation. Apparently you're obsessed with me?"

There was a heartbeat's worth of awkwardness- on her part, anyway- before he simply said, "Yes."

Her brows furrowed as she watched him get something. She wasn't sure whether to take him at face-value or not on that, because, how could he possibly come to be obsessed with her? She was a nobody and they hadn't once met before, had they? How on earth could somebody be obsessed with her?

Her eyes focused on what he was holding carefully in between his hands. It was a package, and he sat it on the top of the bed before he himself sat, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs, his eyes fixated on nothing else but her. She had no idea what she was doing, but when he reached over and patted the empty space on the mattress near him, she was thankful to have something to do. She sat nervously, twisting her leg on top of the other, folding her hands over her kneecap. Even then, she saw out of the corner of her eye that he was silently watching her.

"I have something for you," he said meaningfully through the silence, his voice soft.

"You do? You have something for me?"

"Yes." As if to make it more clear on her, he pushed the package towards her near the side of her leg. Well, this was unexpected, to say the least.

"What's this?" she asked, looking over at him in surprise.

"It's just a small gift," he said, shrugging dismissively. "I saw them and it made me think of you."

Leaning over across the bed, he picked up the wrapped package and handed it to her carefully. Whatever was inside, it felt light. She picked at the string around the package, noticing how he shifted slightly on the bed so he could watch, both hands on each knee. She could feel his gaze on her, no doubt waiting to see her reaction to the gift.

"You shouldn't have done this." She turned and looked at him suspiciously. "Why would you?"

"Does a man have to have a reason to buy a woman a gift?"

"I don't think this is a good thing, you buying me a gift. I don't even know you and you don't even know me."

"Oh, just open it, Lizzie. And I know you more than you think."

Since he seemed eager for her to open it and see what he had brought her, she picked the string completely apart and opened the box up.

Inside there were three dresses, made of luxurious silk and satin, one red with a fur trim. She held the red one up and felt tears gather in her eyes. The dresses were absolutely beautiful and finely made. They definitely were above and beyond what she could afford. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and she sat the dress carefully back inside the tissue paper, then lifted her hands up to wipe around her face quickly. She inhaled in an unsteady breath, scolding herself for seeming weak. Last thing she wanted to do was get emotional in front of him.

"Don't you like them, Lizzie?" His voice was quiet, and when she turned to look at him again, he was observing her concernedly with his head tilted to the side. "I wasn't sure what size you were, but I can always get them altered if need be."

"I appreciate that you did it, the gesture with the gift," she said slowly, covering the package back over carefully. "But I can't accept these, Red. They're the most beautiful dresses I've ever seen in my entire life, and no man has ever brought me a gift before, but I just..." She moved to place the package back on the bed in the space between them. "I just can't accept these."

His reaction was strange to her lack of acceptance of the gifts. Clearly he hadn't expected it from her. He sighed loudly through his nostrils and she watched him nod a couple of times as he worked his mouth, his forehead scrunched.

"You can't or you won't?"

"I can't. I won't." A weary laugh escaped her mouth. "Just imagine what my father would think, if I returned home with all of these fancy and expensive dresses. How could I even possibly begin to explain to him why I have them without mentioning you?"

"So tell him," he said casually, and he reached over to give her knee a quick pat. "Tell Sam that Raymond Reddington brought you those. I am sure he'll make an allowance then."

She was still overwhelmed by the beauty of the dresses and the generous gesture of him buying her, a stranger he hardly knew, a gift, that his words didn't sink in until a moment later. Sam. He called her father Sam. He knew her fathers name. She couldn't remember telling him last night, no less mentioning her father's name. She definitely hadn't. So how did he know? How?

She felt an odd prickling sensation dance across her skin, as she thought it all through. Did her father somehow know Raymond Reddington? If so, how could he possibly? Never once did she think her father would be friends with a wanted criminal. It seemed far too... impossible, somehow.

"Sam?" She whispered after a moment, turning to face him. His expression was utterly unreadable. It gave nothing away, frustrating of all. "You know that my father's name is Sam? I never told you that, at least not that I remember. Do you two know each other?"

As if an invisible hand had come along and swiped that blank expression off his face, she noticed he appeared instantly somehow uncomfortable by the question. His forehead creased as he focused on her again, always with that unnervingly intense look; The one he had given her all last night at the restaurant he had taken her out to and, afterwards, when watching her holding his gun.

He cleared his throat gently and she heard his audible swallow. "I know Sam, yes," he admitted, his voice low, somehow rumbly and vulnerable. "Well, I knew him, many years ago. Before all of this." He gestured towards himself and then around the room, before clasping his hands tightly together in his lap again. "We were old friends. I haven't had the chance to talk to him in years, being as constantly on the move as I am to different locations. And it wouldn't be safe. The last thing I would want to do, in all of the world, is somehow bring the cops to you or to your father, assimilating any kind of connection."

She realized how awkward it was. She had been going delirious with wanting this man, and yet, as it turned out, he was good pals with her father. She desired her father's friend. It was bizarre.

"You said your father was sick and that was why you work, as you do? Because your father is sick and you couldn't afford anything otherwise. Just how sick is he?"

She felt confused then. And foolish. And maybe a little played. Was this the sole reason he appeared interested in her in the first place? Because he wanted to use her to get information off her into the state of his old friend's wellbeing, since he could not very well just go and see him himself?

"I... I'm not sure. But he stays in bed all day. It's as far as I know." There was an odd sensation as if the floor was proverbially opening up on her and swallowing her whole. How could she have been so foolish? "I'm sorry I came back here. I... I don't know what I'm doing."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," he remarked, something there in his tone, hidden among all the lightness and frivolity in it. "I think you know exactly what you are doing here. And why. After all, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it, Lizzie?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're exactly like your father. Like how I remembered him."

"You don't even know me, so don't presume to know me."

"Perhaps you're right." He was eyeing her speculatively, amusement and some type of fondness glistening in his eyes. "Your father and I, when we were boys, we once went over into the neighbors yard at Sam's house when he was a boy and we would steal chickens. I'd have two struggling chickens under both arms, while your father would have two struggling chickens under his arms. And there was nothing more thrilling, nothing more... addictive than how it felt to do what we did, in stealing the neighbors chickens."

Liz had no idea whether he was making up some story or not, but it hardly sounded like anything her father would do. Still, Red's tale sounded completely sincere, like he truly was a man reflecting on the joys of his childhood with his friend.

"Afterwards, your father said to me that it was the funniest thing he had ever done in his entire life, in stealing that neighbors chickens. And that neighbor, he saw us and he was running after us, but we managed to lose him." He gave out a deep, amused grunting noise from in the base of his throat, his eyes wet and faraway. "And last night, when you held my gun, I saw it in your eyes. The thrill, how... addictive it felt, to hold that gun in your hands. Exactly just like how Sam felt when stealing the chickens and eluding the neighbors wrath and punishment. That was how I knew, last night, that you were Sam Milhoan's girl, under no uncertain terms."

"So you and my father were friends as children?" she asked slowly.

He nodded, a fond smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "Yes. Your father and I were old childhood friends. And then I saw you, the night before at the club, and I had no idea at the time. It's bizarre, just how small the world can sometimes be, isn't it, Lizzie? You were that... same girl...and now, look at you! Working as a coat-check girl and having overcome so much!" He sighed loudly and shook his head, as if he couldn't believe it. "Sam's daughter. And you're beautiful, and you're bored, and you are wanting more from life. You want that same thrill that Sam felt over the chickens."

How it was possible for him to read her and look into her mind that well, she had no idea. But he was absolutely right. Of course, he was.

"And me..." He gave her a closed-lipped, somewhat rueful smile, as he reached over and took one of her hands in his. She felt her heart pick up a notch as he turned her hand over with his fingers and she realized what he was doing and why, when he peered down contemplatively at the scar on her wrist. Her stomach flopped and danced. "I'm going to be your metaphorical chicken, Lizzie." He started brushing his thumb gently over the burn on her wrist, and along with his words, his passionate words, there was nothing quite as seductive as all of this. "Before I die, I promise you above all else, that that is what I am going to be for you."

Since he was already near her, in her personal space, she reached up with her free hand and ran it up along his shoulder, feeling the expensive texture and fabric of the shirt he was wearing.

Then she slid her hand behind the back of his neck, held it there, and she edged slightly closer on the bed, until she felt his warm breath on her face. Their faces were close, she could hear her breathing automatically change, and she heard his do so as well. As like last night, she looked at his lips, and she felt temped as all hell to kiss him, she ached deeply with wanting to know what his lips felt like on her, how they tasted. Before she knew it, his lips were, he was kissing her while his arms went around her back, and she pushed into him, deepening the kiss.

And oh boy, did it feel good to her.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this one.

Feel free to let me know your thoughts or any ideas you have. I have tried to keep the characters as close to the show as possible, despite the AU and difference in time, but I may have failed with it all. :) Thank you! Sorry if it's bad *runs and hides in bush*