He strolls out of the exercise room, leaving her behind. He puts an inordinate amount of effort into maintaining his customary insouciance until he's out of her sightline. And he makes it, without rushing, somehow — makes it to the washroom and locks himself in.
Then, only then, he lets out all his breath and falls against the door, closing his eyes, and focusing on regulating his heartbeat. He's been having such fun this morning, knocking her off kilter, pushing her buttons, defying her expectations. So much fun that he let his guard down, which is a mistake that he cannot afford.
Sparring with her had been… incandescent. She has a lot to learn, which he expected, but… the fluid strength of her limbs, the fierce concentration on her face, the way the thoughts flicker behind her eyes as she plans and moves. He couldn't help his reaction; he was honestly helpless. Beyond the close contact, the lines of her body reaching, her flushed face — when she pulled him down with her, to her, it felt, for a moment, entirely too real.
Kissing her, though sweet and satisfying in a number of ways, was probably a mistake. But maybe, hopefully, not irretrievable. She'll be even more unbalanced than before — just take advantage, he tells himself coolly. Take the high road — she hates that.
But first, and absolutely necessarily, a shower. A cold, cold shower.
Okay, Liz, she says to herself, up you get, and then we'll find out just what kind of game he thinks he's playing here. She hops to her feet, and hears the shower come on across the great room. Given a slight reprieve, she takes the time to stretch out her arms and legs — it hadn't been a long session, but it was an intense one, Red proving even harder to predict than she would have guessed.
But she can't settle, cool off, her limbs are shaky and feel odd, there's a burning heat inside her and her mind won't quiet. What did he think he was doing, anyway? As if it's not bad enough that he beat her so fast, as if she's never fought before, never spent a single day in the field. He has to try and wind her up, too? Tease and toy and act like he sees her as more than a responsibility? Like he wants something…
That's not the point, she reminds herself firmly. Not in the least. He was wrong, wrong and he needs to know it. Working up a good, healthy mad isn't difficult — in fact, it's a welcome relief from the confused, embarrassed tumble her thoughts have become. And it's much easier to pretend that the heat inside her is caused by anger than… anything else.
She takes off to her room to change, and to plan for their next confrontation.
When she comes back out into the main room, he's already there, in a clean t-shirt and the Abominable Jeans, stretched out on the couch reading. His feet are still bare. Why isn't he at least wearing socks? And why is she paying so much attention to his feet? On the plus side, now she's even angrier.
He looks up as she stalks over to him, and has the nerve to smile at her.
"What the hell, Red?!" she lays right in, intent on staying as angry as she can. "Just what do you think…"
"Oh, Lizzie," he interrupts. (Are his eyes actually twinkling? She thinks she might be losing ground. And sanity.) "Are you this angry just because I kissed you? I couldn't help it, sweetheart — there you were, all flushed and mussed up like an angry kitten. You were so adorably annoyed, it was either kiss you or pinch your cheeks… I thought I'd made the better choice."
She wants to retort, needs to, if she's going to get anywhere here, but she can't. Is choking on horror and embarrassment and… no, NOT disappointment, anger. Anger is safe and good and she's right, she's in the right…
He grins at her, when she can't answer, winks, and picks up his book again.
"You don't mind, do you, Lizzie? I'm just getting to the best part."
And he buries himself in the pages (I've won this round, too, he thinks smugly), leaving her gaping again, the wind taken out of her sails, wondering just how she got so completely off course and how she'll ever recoup this time.
She swallows her anger, the flush that can't possibly be regret, and goes into the other room — maybe she'll just find a book herself, and tune out for an hour. Nothing appeals to her, though, or maybe it's the way her insides still won't settle down.
She ends up in the storage area, tending to their small collection of plants — her garden, as she's come to think of it. She's never even thought about gardening before, has never had the time or inclination. But this small corner has fast become her favourite spot, solitary and peaceful. And it feels good to contribute something, no matter how small, to their existence here.
It doesn't take long now for her thoughts to begin to settle, for her to become somewhat calmer, more rational. She thinks she can begin to reevaluate her position in this game they seem to be playing — whether they are redefining the boundaries of their relationship, or just seeing who can annoy the other the most.
It's so like him to turn the tables so completely, she thinks ruefully. If her questions and her teasing comments have been bothering him, of course he can't just give back or tell her to shut up. No, he has to up the competition, to dominate the game. And she knows she just makes it easy for him — he can count on the way her emotions always get the better of her.
So, she thinks, the best way to stay ahead is to stay calm — remember he is trying to rouse you, to get a reaction, all you have to do is not react.
Red probably does have a lot he can teach her — about this kind of life, about strength of all kinds and defending herself, about outsmarting an enemy without losing yourself in it. After working with him for nearly two years, she may finally have to decide what she really wants from him. Does she want truth, or safety? Answers? Or peace? Memories? Or Reddington? Red is… a conundrum that will take much more than a quiet hour with the plants to solve. It may be that she will have to put aside her need for answers to her past in order to gain the keys to her future.
And really, if he wants to try and distract her from their many problems by showing her how good he can look in a pair of jeans, is that really so bad?
A/N: I've tried, but I'm giving in to my mind — next time, we're switching to M, because there's a scene lurking that I don't think I can do without, and it contains smut. Some. So, you know, if you want to keep up, follow, or adjust your filters. And thanks, thanks, thanks for reading!