Thank you all for your continued interest in this story. I appreciate all your comments and kudos so much.

As always my gratitude to Jammequin for encouraging me to keep writing and to my wonderful beta heatherpeters. Love you.

*** I do not own the Blacklist or any of its characters. ***

It was 5:50pm and Liz was pacing in front of the door with the "custodian" sign. The International Relations Building was empty by now, everyone had already left for the day, there were no evening classes and she felt like she was the only one around. She wondered what Reddington had planned for her and why she had to wear a dress.

How presumptuous of him to ask me to wear a dress, she thought. Part of her wanted to show up in jeans and a tank top just to defy him, but another part of her was intrigued and wanted to play along. So, when she stood before her closet that afternoon, she opted for a black short sleeved dress., wore her hair down and black heels. She applied a splash of makeup to round out her ensemble.

Being alone in the International Building, she felt tense. She had no idea what was going to happen, if he was going to take her somewhere or if he was just going to give her some files and be on his way, and that she dressed up for nothing. Her mind told her that he was a notorious criminal, so she asked Samar to keep her phone near in case she needed to call and be rescued. It was exciting and scary at the same time.

At precisely 6pm, she knocked on the door and waited. She saw him when he opened the door. He stood there and looked at her somewhat startled. "Wow," he said, "you look stunning." She watched him as he took her in and she noticed his head tillted just a bit while he was chewing on the inside of his cheek. Her stomach tightened.

Reddington was wearing a three piece suit, white shirt with tan stripes and a blue silk tie. She smelled musky cologne, then watched him grab his matching grey fedora.

He closed the door. "Miss Milhoan you could have just knocked on the door." He put his hat on, adjusted the brim, placed his hand on her back and led towards the hallway. "Shall we?" he said.

"Where are we…..?"

Five minutes later he opened the backseat door of a new black Mercedes parked in front of the building and guided her inside. He entered on the opposite side, put his hat on his lap and told the driver to get going.

"Where are we going?" Liz asked again, as she noticed the car was heading uptown.

"Miss Milhoan," Reddington said, "I think we should talk about the details of our working agreement. I want you to know I have absolutely no intention of taking advantage of you in any way, on the contrary, I am here to help you. Please understand I want more than anything to help you. It's the reason why I'm here. Help you find answers in where you came from and what you want to become. Everything we discuss between the two of us will remain between the two of us. And I promise you I will never lie to you. You can take my word for that."

Elizabeth swallowed and looked straight ahead. Her mind was running at 100 miles an hour, but she couldn't get a word out. "A working agreement," she thought.

The car took them to the Upper West Side and stopped in front of a small restaurant named "Saint Laurent."

Liz looked at Reddington. "Before we do this, let me be clear. I'm not here to socialize. I have no interest in having dinner with you, nor do we have the time. I just want to know how to get this thesis started and how you can help me with that."

Reddington nodded his head and said while looking at his Rolex watch, "I agree with you completely. But it is a restaurant, and it is dinnertime." He got out of the car, walked around and opened her door to let her out. "So, what kind of restaurant is this?" she asked as she walked towards the door. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he replied and followed her.

"Bonsoir. ça va?" he told the coat clerk as he handed him his fedora. Reddinton guided Elizabeth towards their table while whispering to her, "Anyone asks, you're my girlfriend from Ann Arbor."

"Absolutely not," she replied while trying to hide her smile. "Fine. You can be my daughter."

"Bonsoir." The waitress said.

"What would you like to drink?" Reddington asked Elizabeth.

"I'll have wine. Chardonnay?" she asked the waitress.

"S'il vous plaít, pour madame, un cocktail de I'aviation."

Minutes later the waitress arrived with their drinks, a scotch for Reddington and a cocktail glass with blue liquid in it. "Ahh." Red sighed.

Liz looked at the waitress and said "Oh, this isn't what I ordered."

"Mercí." He spoke to the waitress. "To the future." Red said as he raised his glass. "It's called an Aviation cocktail."

"Uh–huh?" Liz hummed when she took a sip.

"It's from the twenties." he said. "Tastes like spring, doesn't it?" He looked at her with his piercing green eyes and smiled.

"Tell me why you want to join the FBI, Elizabeth." Reddington asked her in a deep voice.

She looked at him with a questionable look and answered, "Because I want to catch criminals like you."

"That sounds fascinating. Now tell me why you really want to join the FBI. What made you decide on that career idea?" He asked her again while looking deep into her eyes.

Liz felt her stomach tighten up again and started to feel a bit uncomfortable. "Remember, everything we discuss will remain between the two of us."

"When I was younger, my father and I used to watch a lot of movies together. His favorite movie was Silence of the Lambs and we must have seen it together over a dozen times. I was always fascinated with Clarice Starling and how she managed to understand the complexity of Hannibal Lecter. As I grew older, I learned to understand the relationship between the two. I have always found it so romantic in a strange way, and I couldn't help myself become obsessed in a way. During the years, I realized that I wanted to be like Clarice, and become a strong and heroic woman. It may sound silly, but she is my role model."

"There is nothing silly about that story, it's very honest. Thank you."

"Thank you for what?" Elizabeth asked.

"For being honest with me. In my life, I don't encounter that frequently."

"So you want to become a profiler like Clarice Starling? The profiling. I'm fascinated. How close to the truth do you think you can really get?" Reddington lowered his voice then took another sip of his scotch. "Why don't you give it a try now. Tell me my profile."

"Why would I do that?" Elizabeth whispered in answer.

"I'm sure you've read plenty of reports on me. You've heard news stories about me. You've read the newspapers. I so want to know how you see things."

Elizabeth look straight at him and took a deep breath. "You're a loner. You keep your distance. You travel freely through foreign lands. You're rootless. You're very comfortable here with your glass of Scotch, but you're just as comfortable sleeping in a cave with rebels or sharing dinner in some hole-in-the-wall noodle shop. Your closest friends are strangers. You understand that tight bonds can make you vulnerable, so you're careful not to have any. And that's why you're so conflicted about me. You need me. And you hate that about yourself, because it makes you vulnerable."

The whole time Liz was speaking, Reddington kept looking a her without blinking once. She took a sip of her cocktail when she was finished.

"Now can we please talk about my thesis? Which so-called blacklister do you propose I write my thesis about?" she asked him.

Reddington called over the waitress again and said "S'il vous plait, apportez–nous une bouteille quatre vingt deux Chateau Latour."

"Are you gonna keep trying to impress me with your knowledge of French wine, or are you gonna answer my question?" Liz sighed and asked him annoyed.

"I want you to write your thesis on me, Elizabeth. As you may have guessed, I am number one on the Blacklist."

TBC