Disclaimer: Not mine.
Chapter Four
Red had survived two hours and thirty minutes in the club, downed three sodas and had been talked into two dances. All and all, it had been a successful evening because he hadn't made a fool of himself – not even once.
Keen had been ecstatic about his performance, commenting on how sweet and attentive he had been to her and how gently and carefully he had maneuvered them on the dance floor.
It had cut him in half, those words.
He had driven Keen to her safe house and then taken a cab home and now he was both dreading and masochistically looking forward to their meeting at 9 o'clock. Her bodyguards would be there, and Fowler's pet CIA agent had reported in an hour could finally start.
He was sitting in the office Harry had assigned him and watched his colleague disinterestedly; Ressler was playing with his notepad and pencil, frowning. It was almost 9 and Keen was nowhere in sight which had to grant on Donald's nerves. He so hated tardiness.
On his desk, Red's phone buzzed and both men looked at it. The pencil snapped when Ressler gripped it too tightly. Red gave him a warning look and picked it up. Nick's Pizza.
"Yes?"
"Hello Raymi. How are you?" It sounded like she was driving.
"Good morning, Mrs. Keen, I'm quite well, thank you. Agent Ressler wants to know where you are." Red grinned at Donald who sprang from his seat and stepped close enough to hear her answer.
"On my way, honey. Is our CIA tour guide ready, or do we need to wait for him?"
"He's here." He gazed at Ressler pointedly, not appreciating the way the agent was invading his personal space.
"Ok. Tell Donald to stop eavesdropping…" Red chuckled and Ressler huffed and took a step back, crossing his arms. The look on his face was priceless.
"What are you wearing today?" Keen whispered seductively and Red closed his eyes briefly and line of questions would probably lead to phone sex.
"A suit."
"Hmm. What color?"
"Is it so important that you need to know right now?" His voice sounded a little gruff and Red cleared his throat. It was way too early for her usual games."There's no need to play these roles on the phone without an audience."
"I hope that the color is a dark one, Red." The line went silent and he released a deep sigh.
"Is she coming?" Ressler gave him a dubious look, obviously worried.
"It appears so. Let's inform Agent Cooper." Red scowled at the young man and rose from his seat. He had discovered a pattern – Keen called him Red only when she was exasperated or annoyed with him.
They had gathered in the large room with all those flat screens for the briefing and waited. Red dubbed it the 'War Room' because his colleagues had grim faces and tense postures whenever they passed through it, which he found rather amusing. He couldn't remember being that stressed out by being in an actual war room.
Harry was going through an enormous pile of paperwork and he looked utterly bored. Ressler was pacing around and checking his watch. The CIA agent was calmly leaning against a desk, successfully blending with the background. How he did it was a mystery; he was a tall and extremely muscular man with dark eyes, chocolate colored skin, shaven hair and almost no eyebrows.
Red was observing them with interest – he didn't want to mull over the curt tone Keen had used on the phone. She really had sounded annoyed and Red didn't wish to make her angry at him. Quite pathetic, really.
It was quarter past nine when Keen breezed in. Today she was wearing a deep red dress, sinfully close-fitting, and a shade darker coat. She was carrying a parcel under her left arm, her purse clutched in the other hand. Her expression was neutral, almost disinterested while she took in the men in front of her.
"Good morning, gentlemen." She waltzed towards them and stopped in front of the only man who she hadn't met in person. "You must be the CIA."
"Dembe Zuma." He slowly straightened and they shook hands, assessing each other.
"Hmm, it's so nice to finally see you face to face. You don't look like their standard stock." Keen gave him a small smile suspiciously bordering on friendly and moved to shed her coat.
Her dress should be illegal. Red clasped his hands together and swallowed, suppressing the instinct to leap forward and take her coat, to touch her in passing – seemingly accidentally, of course.
"May I?" Zuma raised his big hands and helped her out of the coat. Then he grinned. "That's why I was transferred here."
Red observed their interaction with curiosity – Zuma hadn't said much in their presence until now and Keen behaved almost like a professional. It looked like these two just hit it off and Red suddenly wished to have this easy-going relation with Keen himself. His knuckles turned white momentarily before he relaxed his hands.
In that moment, Keen moved towards him, looking him over briefly. Without even a hint of a smile she nodded to herself once and gave him the box with a brusque,"Here."
"Keen." Harry closed his files, stood up and motioned for her to come closer to the screens. "We're waiting."
"Patience, Agent Cooper." She stepped away from Red, her sweet perfume lingering in the air, and opened her purse. "Oh, by the way, could you inform the security to let my people in? They should be arriving just about… now."
Red was holding the parcel with a perplexed expression and watched her march to one of their computers, unsure what to do with that box. He was not a guard dog to keep it for her.
"You gave location of this black site to individuals without the required clearance?" Cooper sounded frustrated.
"They are my people, you should trust me on this. Harold, please?" Keen didn't give a damn.
Harry heaved a long-suffering sigh and did as she had asked while Keen plugged a flash drive in. He had apparently come to the conclusion that arguing with her was pointless – as any sensible and married man would know, arguing with a strong-minded woman always was.
Red was glad that he wasn't the only one who was bossed around.
When Cooper was done speaking, Keen showed them a picture of their officially first target; a man in his late thirties, blond and handsome with crystal blue eyes.
Red's expression darkened and he put down the box; he knew that man and Harry's sharp intake of breath indicated that he remembered Lieutenant Moore quite well, too.
"To those who haven't had the dubious honor yet, let me introduce you Vincent Moore, a former lieutenant of our esteemed naval forces, nowadays a very successful arms dealer."
"Now that's a face I didn't need to see again." Red commented and frowned. He had taken it rather personally when the young man under his command had proved to be a liar and a traitor.
"I believe he would be delighted to meet you again, though." Keen flashed him a brief mocking smile and nodded to the picture. "You know, he would love to see how the mighty have fallen."
"I don't quite follow, Mrs. Keen." Red tilted his head to the side.
She moved to stand right in front of him. Red instinctively held his breath – smelling her shampoo would have been pure torture – but otherwise remained still. Keen watched him for a second and then reached around him for the parcel and opened it. She pulled out a dark blue fedora roughly corresponding with the color of his suit, and a red tie. The tie and the band of the hat were exactly the same shade of red as her dress.
That had been the reason why she had asked about the color of his suit. Red wanted to slap himself, but was too preoccupied by Keen's closeness. What would she do now?
"I am meeting dear Vincent for lunch today," Keen put the hat on Red's head while he stood there transfixed, "and I promised to bring along my supplier…" her nibble fingers undid his blue tie and pulled it off, "who happens to be an unnamed admiral with access to…" and replaced it with her red one, "discarded equipment."
Her eyes were sparkling and Red knew that he had been forgiven. She adjusted the tie and smoothed his jacket.
"We match now, like a proper couple." She gave him his old tie, took a step back and smiled broadly – not knowing how painfully her words pierced him. "Now, look at you, Raymi, you clean up nicely. I love the vest."
He cleared his throat and glanced around. Zuma looked amused, Ressler was giving him a pitying look and Harry was glancing towards the entrance. He felt his ears turning red and he swallowed, but before he could say anything, Keen's attention was caught by someone else.
"I see you are seducing poor defenseless naval officers, now. Shame on you, Liz." A pleasantly accented voice said. Red turned around in search for its owner.
The woman who had spoken was small, lithe and attractive with her exotic features and a wicked smile. She looked at Red appreciatively and nodded. "The hat is hot."
"Of course it is. I chose it!" Keen exclaimed and they enthusiastically embraced like old friends, kissing each other's cheeks. "Meera, it's been far too long!"
"Very true. Good morning." She gave them a small grin and waited for Keen to introduce her. Her stance was relaxed, but Red noticed than despite her nice pants suit suitable for a business woman, she wore flat shoes instead of high heels and he believed that she could spring into action easily. There was something lethal about her.
"This is Meera Malik, my dearest friend. You better watch out, Donald, she loves handsome blondes and decorated agents especially." Keen said, but didn't bother to introduce others to her – Malik looked like she knew them already if her previous words had been any indication.
Ressler shuffled his feet and scowled at them, looking both exasperated and smugly pleased at the same time. Harry's face was carefully impassive while he nodded to Malik and Red wondered if he knew her. Zuma crossed his arms and frowned.
"Of course, some of you already heard of Meera, am I right?" Keen continued and both women wickedly smiled again. Red started to feel slightly uncomfortable face to face with so much roguish – and female –playfulness. It put him on edge.
"Meera here had an opportunity to work for the CIA, but I managed to persuade her to work for me instead."
"I, on the other hand, didn't need much in the way of persuasion!"
Keen's other bodyguard finally made his way in. Red immediately registered one fact – the bodyguard was a male. He passed Red and stood with his back partly turned to him, unaware of Red's thorough observation. He was taller and much slimmer than Red, with thick black hair and neatly trimmed goatee. He was handsome and moved with a deadly grace. Red didn't like him instantly.
"Aram!"
He opened his arms and Keen flew towards him. They embraced and he lifted her up easily, his jacket sliding of and showing a pair of guns in his shoulder holsters. Their show of affection made Red grit his teeth – and then he choked, his eyes widening.
The two of them shamelessly proceeded to kiss passionately – Keen's feet were still dangling in the air, her hands resting on his shoulders while he was holding her round the waist tightly.
Was he trying to eat Keen's face? Red felt sick and turned away, refusing to meet anyone's eye, while his colleagues exchanged shocked glances. He crumpled the tie in his fist and suppressed the urge to strangle this Aram with it.
It took them only a moment – which resembled an eternity to Red – and Keen was on her feet and putting some distance between their faces. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were burning.
How Red wished she would look like that at him … not at that… that boy! He didn't want her mischievous sparks, Red wanted her all-consuming fire.
"I missed you." She told Aram, not paying attention to her surroundings.
Red tightened the tie between his hands, unconsciously forming a perfect strangling tool, and stared straight ahead. He certainly didn't like the intimate undertone in Keen's voice.
"Oh, I missed you, too, Liz." Red hated the intimate undertone in his much, much more.
Keen's bodyguard put his arm around her – and she let him, fumed Red – and they turned to the rest of the visibly embarrassed occupants of the room.
"This is Aram Mojtabai." Keen said simply as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. If he and Malik were the least offensive candidates from her list, Red didn't want to know who had been the others. Keen didn't offer any other information about Mojtabai, and she continued with her briefing about Moore.
While she was speaking mostly to Red about their cover story, her attention was focused on the screens and papers that Malik had readily passed her. It was a good thing, too, because Red was listening only partly. Half of his brain focused on their mission, true, but the other half was furiously focused on Keen.
Wasn't she married, for God's sake? Red shook his head inwardly and scowled. Faithfulness was not her thing, that much she had said to him before, so he shouldn't be surprised – and he shouldn't feel betrayed either. She was not his wife, nor his lover – not even his friend. She was his colleague, informant, and his partner. It would do him good to remember that.
Red's problem lied in the fact that he had acted like her lover the previous night. He had touched Keen in the same way Mojtabai was touching her right now, he had mapped the curves of her body and this knowledge had burnt itself in his memory. It had been a pretense… for her. For Red, it had been very much real and he was incredibly ashamed for his burning desire to touch her again, to feel her again.
He wanted to do it right now; to march to Keen and shake her world, to sweep her off her feet. However, he had a feeling that was the last thing Keen wanted from him.
Red scowled and turned his attention to Mojtabai. While Malik stood in some distance from her boss, he was moving with Keen in perfect sync. When she took a step towards the screens, Mojtabai moved, when she stepped back, he was copying her – as if he was pulled by some kind of magnetic force between them.
Red hated it; he hated the sight of it, he hated his hands on her, he hated his eyes on her, he hated the secretive smile he was giving her, the way how good he looked beside her… To put it simply, Raymond Reddington hated Aram Mojtabai and everything connected to him; Elizabeth Keen most of all.
What had she done to him?
Edited once again by wonderful artemisfae. Thank you!
