Coffee Time
Reddington calls a meeting, he brings coffee.
General unsteadiness ensues as Lizzie tries to figure out what the point of the meeting is.
Ch. 4, Raymond Reddington
The walk would have been pleasant under normal circumstances.
The air was cool, the sky was clear and bright with small wisps of clouds drifting through it.
The sun hung low over the horizon, seemingly reluctant to set, shining amber light through the changing canopy of leaves overhead.
It was a beautiful evening.
...
The pleasant scenery was almost enough to lift Elizabeth Keen's darkened mood.
Almost.
...
She should have been on the metro, riding home alongside the other commuters.
Heading home to her husband.
Instead, here she was.
Walking through the park.
Trying to school her emotions before she reached the man sitting at the small table ten yards from her.
...
Raymond Reddington.
The infuriating, criminal mastermind-turned-informer who had the FBI dancing like puppets on a string.
He was unpredictable.
He was dangerous.
And he had a habit of demanding meetings at the most inconvenient and unwanted of times.
...
Elizabeth came to a stop a few paces away from him, appraising the man in front of her.
"I brought coffee." he announced at her arrival.
Waving Dembe forward, Reddington did not turn to greet her further.
"No, that's not necess-" Elizabeth began, but her protests died as Dembe stepped forward and handed her the brown cardboard cup, steam escaping though the holes in the lid and rising up into the crisp evening air.
Great.
Elizabeth frowned as she managed a small "Thank you." to Dembe...no need to be rude to him.
He wasn't the one who had called her out here after a long day of work.
A long normal day of work.
Profiling.
Doing her actual job.
...
It had been a refreshing change of pace.
No Reddington mucking things up, dangling easy answers just out of their reach and watching them scurry about trying to find them on their own.
Just a nice, quiet day at the office.
Elizabeth had left the Post Office feeling relaxed, happy almost.
It had been too good to last.
...
"Sit, please," Reddington suggested, gesturing with his own cup towards the chair opposite his. "It's a beautiful evening, isn't it?"
Elizabeth Keen sat.
She sat down at the table in the park.
Holding the coffee she did not want.
Waiting to talk to a man she would have preferred to see behind bars, not after work-hours.
...
Elizabeth ignored his pleasantries with sullen silence.
She was not there to socialize, she was there to work. To get the job done.
To get whatever information he had for the FBI, and get home.
She shifted the coffee cup between her hands, glancing towards Reddington, -dapper as always, in his designer suits- before looking out across the park as he was.
...
The view was pretty, the sunlight soaring in over the tree-line, casting shadows here and there as it illuminated the faces of the passersby.
Employees just off work, looking out of place amidst the nature with their suits and briefcases, scurrying on their way towards the metro station and home.
Couples strolling together slowly, carefree and happy, a few families lingering in the green space with children reluctant to leave.
And in the middle of it all sat Raymond "Red" Reddington, concierge of crime, lounging back his the cast iron chair as easy as could be, sipping his coffee and watching it all.
...
He made no move to speak, the silence stretching on.
It was beginning to unnerve Elizabeth.
I should have been halfway home by now. A voice in the back of her mind whined, sparking Elizabeth's ire. Right.
Reddington was the one who called her here, who insisted they meet now, claimed it couldn't wait.
Now he was happy to stare off across the park in silence.
It ought to be infuriating, not intimidating. Right.
Elizabeth Keen was not in a patient mood.
She just needed to remember that, she needed to keep her guard up.
Don't let Reddington get to you.
...
Elizabeth broke the silence first.
"I thought you were out of the country."
"Change of plans."
...
Of course. That explained it completely.
Elizabeth twisted the coffee cup in her hands, feeling the warmth of it, the soft familiar feel of a cardboard to-go cup.
Resisting the urge to fidget as she waited for Reddington to continue.
The cup was brown, no mark or logo on it.
She wondered where Reddington had gotten it from.
The coffee was still piping hot, lending warmth to her hands in the cool evening air.
It was probably from some obscure little store...or perhaps Dembe was a coffee expert as well as a security guard.
Anyway. Elizabeth drew herself back into the moment, checking her nerves and concentrating on the situation.
...
She focused on the steam rising from the cup and waited for Reddington to continue. To elaborate.
To get to the point of why he called her to the park.
...
"You should try the coffee. It's from this great little shop I found years ago,"
Elizabeth congratulated herself for guessing correctly.
"-the owner has a nasty temper, never forgets a face, but he makes a mean cup of coffee."
...
A beat of a pause there, and Elizabeth looked up to find Reddington watching her.
She tried to ignore the nervous twinge in heart, holding his gaze, fighting her nerves and staying indifferent.
...
Working as Reddington's intermediary was her job.
She could do her job.
She was a professional.
Even if being alone with him like this, having him stare at her like that, made her skin crawl.
She would not be intimidated.
At least he was talking, hopefully they would get to the point soon, then she could leave.
"Much better than that starbucks-swill people are so fond of now."
That made Elizabeth give a huff of mixed amusement and irritation. Typical.
It was just like Reddington to never miss the opportunity for a dig at someone else's (read: her) expense.
...
Setting her cup down on the table top Elizabeth met his eyes once more.
Reddington was unreadable behind his usual mask of good humor, a general amusement towards the world.
All of it was a lie...good manners, designer suits, a smile always at the ready; all a part of his carefully crafted disguise.
There was a reason for calling her out here.
Elizabeth just needed to get him on task, wait him out.
He enjoyed being difficult.
Pushing and prodding her, testing to see where the cracks in her armor were.
He seemed to know them all well enough already.
So why call her?
What did Reddington have for the FBI?
Why the change of plans, why come back to the country early?
Why any of this- no, focus Elizabeth, one thing at a time.
...
"I'm here, Reddington." she stated plainly, searching his eyes for a hint of how to play things, "You called me. What do you want?"
"Has anyone told you, Lizzie, you have a real talent as a conversationalist?"
He smiled at her demanding tone, -a cheeky smile- amused with himself; before taking a sip of his coffee.
Elizabeth shifted in place in annoyance, picking up her coffee again and taking a sip in irritation.
...
All right. Fine.
She'd play his game. Coffee with criminals.
It did not mean she was going to enjoy it.
"I didn't come here to have a friendly chat over coffee."
Even if the coffee was surprisingly good...she would never admit that to him.
"We could have an unfriendly one, but this is much more pleasant, isn't it?"
She took another sip of the coffee, savoring the taste despite herself, and looked back across the park.
He seemed pleased, and the two sat in silence for another few moments.
Elizabeth, stewing in her head, debating how long to wait before trying to wrangle the information -whatever it was- out of him again; Reddington, looking perfectly content with his legs crossed and his arm leaning across the table holding his coffee.
...
With a quick look towards her and away again, Reddington finally began to speak.
Elizabeth leaned slightly towards him in order to hear.
"The FBI is going-"
The sound of a phone ringing behind them interrupted the ambient noise of the park, startling Elizabeth, her eyes sliding behind their table towards Dembe as he answered the call.
Reddington ignored it completely, continuing talking, unperturbed,
"-to receive a tip, about a-"
Dembe handed him the phone and Reddington accepted it with his free hand, holding the cell to his ear and listening- lapsing into silence, his sentence hanging in the air unfinished, still failing to acknowledge the interruption.
Straightening in her chair, Elizabeth watched him raptly.
Reddington ranged from flaunting his criminal activities in the FBI's face to utter secrecy about his larger plans.
Silence could be as revealing as chatter.
His eyes were fixed on something unseen before him. A slight frown flickered across his features.
"Thank you, I appreciate the update."
The conversation (if you could call it that) was apparently finished, and Reddington handed the phone back to Dembe.
Elizabeth waited for an explanation...
...Or for Reddington to at least continue his previous line of conversation.
Anything, really.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair, picked up his cup of coffee; and, looking out across the park, took a long, slow sip.
...
Any second now. Elizabeth coached herself; half of her preaching patience, the other half channeling Ressler and demanding a response now.
The result was Elizabeth fidgeting uncertainly in her chair, fighting her inner conflict as she glanced between Reddington and the horizon.
The entire internal debate took only moments, but quiet time spent in Raymond Reddington's company passed like an eternity.
Right, action time.
...
"You were saying?" Elizabeth prompted, squaring herself towards him, ready to do battle if necessary.
Whatever lead he had, the FBI needed it.
No matter how much Reddington unsettled her or how odd he acted, if he wanted to play forgetful, she could nag.
He called this meeting.
A flash of decision passed over Reddington's face in the moment before he turned to face her.
His eyes flicked over Elizabeth's features, evaluating her, his gaze shallow.
Cursory.
Something had changed with that phone call.
The atmosphere between them was different now.
Reddington smiled at her then, the wry condescending smile he churned out on occasion, usually directed towards AD Cooper or Agent Ressler.
"Plans have changed."
...
"They changed?"
His smile switched at her skeptical, impatient tone, loosening a smidgen.
Becoming a tiny bit more genuine...if that word could be applied to the man.
"The world never stops spinning, Lizzie, do try to keep up."
Reddington stood up without warning, buttoning his suit coat with one hand before reaching for his fedora.
"We'll have to meet another time."
...
He handed his cup to Dembe, and Elizabeth rose indignantly from her seat.
"Wait a second, you called me, what were you going to tell us? Something about a tip-"
"Lizzie, darling, as much as I love our conversations," The fedora was on his head now and he was turning to leave.
"This takes precedence. The FBI can wait."
"What was the phone call, Reddington?"
"That's my business, Lizzie, I promise it's nothing to concern yourself with. " He paused, turning to face her once more, his eyes raking over her lazily, appraising her before Reddington shot her one final smile.
"It was lovely seeing you like this. We'll be sure to talk more next time."
...
Elizabeth was left standing by the small cast iron table, spluttering but helpless to stop him as Reddington and Dembe strolled across the grassy lawn of the park towards a waiting sedan, just visible beyond the trees at the edge of the park.
When had that arrived?
...
Elizabeth was left feeling angry, vaguely scandalized by Reddington's wandering eyes, and most of all, silly.
She felt silly standing alone in a park for no goddamn reason, with nothing to show for her wasted evening.
Elizabeth had no idea why Reddington had called her in the first place, apparently there was nothing worth saying.
Or if there had been, Reddington had changed his mind.
Had she done something wrong?
Read the situation innacurately?
Had "plans" (whatever Reddington meant by that) actually changed?
Or had Reddington set out to waste her time?
...
Mission accomplished. Elizabeth griped internally, throwing her cup of coffee into a trash bin as she stomped her way back through the park.
The entire evening had been a waste of her time.
...
Now instead of a relaxing evening at home, Elizabeth Keen was facing reheated leftovers for supper, timid questions about her amount of overtime work from Tom; and, no doubt, a grilling by Agent Ressler in the morning about her lack of results after meeting with Reddington.
The day had started out with such potential...and now Elizabeth's mood was as dark as the evening gathering around her.
And all I got was a stupid cup of coffee.
Elizabeth mused, tracing the scar on her wrist with the opposite hand.
Even if it had been a particularly good brew...
x.x.x
x.x.x
Author's note:
Done! Ha!
This chapter was murder to write out because...Reddington. Also (mainly), I wasn't sure how to end it for a while. But I like it now. This bit fits in somewhere before E.6, I'm trying to stay in cannon, but I don't know how long I'll manage.
Did you enjoy Reddington's little dig at Elizabeth & Ressler's coffee choices?
Is he jealous, or just a snob?
Next up will probably be a little something with the FBI (and friends) doing some undercover work. Or another scenario in the Post Office.
I haven't decided.
Thank you so much for reading! And a special thank you to everyone who has left reviews! I appreciate each and every one of them!