Guys...I AM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT! I'm trying to flesh this out, get a little bit of each person so it has some structure to it. I know this chapter is short, but it was a struggle for me, but now i'm rolling in the direction where i wanted to go. Thank you for your patience!

Plus, thank you all for the reviews, love them!


7. Names and Coffee

When Liz woke up the next morning she looked like a Gothic Joker from a Batman movie. Lipstick was smeared on her face and the mascara that had coated her lashes had now smudged out into large rings around her eyes. Her mouth tasted stale from the alcohol and gelato and she grimaced when she realized she hadn't brushed her teeth.

She was actually a little disappointed to have woken up in her own bed. Red had asked if she wanted to use the guest room again, but she instead at coming back here. She had woken up sore and squinted to the floor where the dress sat in a pile of navy, lace, and rhinestones. Lizzie let out a huff and flopped back down on the pillows, thinking it was probably for the best that she had come back here. But god…she remembered that other bed being so comfortable….

Forcing herself to stand up from the comfort from her bed, Lizzie walked slowly to her closet, pulling on a white t-shirt and some running shorts. Once her face was clean and her hair brushed, the woman made her way downstairs to brew some coffee. Cooper had given her the day off because he had come to realize that Red's special "appearances" often ran late into the night.

The little Keurig hummed happily at Lizzie when she put in her favorite flavor and set her mug down to catch the steaming trickle of coffee. Padding over to the granite topped island and powered on her cell. She was surprised that there were no missed calls or texts from Ressler or anyone else from the Bureau. Good, all the better for it.

Once her coffee finished brewing, she cradled it in her hands and made her way back upstairs. The skinny jeans she pulled on were a dark, worn denim, the sweater cream and burgundy. She pulled her hair up in a loose bun, put on some simple eye shadow and mascara, and decided to finish her coffee back in the kitchen.

Liz swirled her fingers along the surface of the smooth countertop as she wondered what she should do that day. The fridge was getting a little empty…grocery shopping was going to be a must at least sometime this week. She mulled it over in her head…laze around the rest of the morning or get things done?

Rolling her eyes against her own restlessness and finished her coffee before rinsing out her mug in the sink. Slipping on her favorite worn leather boots and jacket, she fished her phone out of her pocket. Noticing that she had one missed call, Liz couldn't help but roll her eyes, hoping desperately that it wasn't Ressler or Cooper.

Nick's Pizza

. Even better, Lizzie thought, sighing as she returned the call.

"How are you this morning?" Reddington's voice was bright as he answered. There was a dull thumping in the background.

"Where are you?" Lizzie asked, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she tried to place the noise.

"There's a band in Georgetown, right by the river. I'm at the Riverside Grille, having some breakfast. You should come down, they're really quite good."

"I have to go grocery shopping," Lizzie dissuaded as she stepped out of her town home and into the crisp late morning.

"Oh, Lizzie that's absolutely enchanting."

She heard the crispy crunch as Reddington took a bite of toast.

"Didn't anyone tell you not to eat over the phone?"

"I feel like we're comfortable enough with each other," came the smooth reply.

Lizzie didn't think that warranted an answer.

"But, in all seriousness, the reason why I'm calling on you this morning is to let you know I've found something you might like to see," Reddington said after clearing his mouth of crumbs.

"Like what?" Liz watched the other pedestrians as she waited to cross the intersection. The supermarket was only a few more blocks down the street.

"How soon can you get to the storage locker?"

Her heals clicked dully against the crosswalk. "Give me an hour?"

"Need a ride?"

He hid his eagerness well, but the profiler in Elizabeth Keen heard it well and loud.

"Only if you're insisting."

Reddington's milky chuckle didn't lose its power through the phone. "Then Dembe and I will see you in an hour."

Once her fridge was restocked, Lizzie decided to enjoy the brisk lateness of the morning and sit on her front stoop and wait for Reddington's dark car. Lizzie let her mind wander, her phone in her hands and her eyes narrowed against the little breeze that played against her face. The night before kept working its way into her head. She had seen something flash behind Raymond's usually clear eyes.

The fingers around her phone twitched and Liz allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment. She thought of how blatantly she had touched him, pressed her palm against face, searched his eyes with her own. Memory on his hands on her waist made her exhale loudly as she sat by herself on the stoop. That night she had felt electrified, felt the crackles that shot from where she touched him and vice versa. There was chemistry there, some dark thing that bubbled beneath the surface…but she didn't believe it as genuine.

You're only getting wrapped up in the excitement, Elizabeth, the woman told herself, the excitement of him and the anger from Tom. Stop playing with something so dangerous.


"Cappuccino for Tom?"

The girl behind the counter was cute, a little rough around the edges, modern punk adapted by femininity in her wine-dyed hair and small gauges that peaked into view when she tossed her head.

"Thanks," Tom answered, taking the cup and watching the way her eyes hovered on his behind her dark framed glasses. She smiled, her lips painted the same color as her hair, and looked away shyly before she hurried off to the espresso machine.

Tom Keen smiled to himself, but no one noticed the way it dripped with self-smugness, sticky with arrogance.

The booth where he sat was quiet, tucked away with a warm lamp overhead and the smell of coffee surrounding him. Settling down and sipping his coffee, Tom reached into his shoulder bag and pulled out a sleek laptop. He tapped his foot to a song in his head as it booted up. He idly tapped his fingers on the cardboard of his cup and spun it in his hands. Small, neat handwriting caught his attention in the bottom left corner, underneath his name.

It was a phone number…with a girl's name. Holli, followed by the cute scrawl of a winking face.

Glancing up past the dark frames of his glasses, Tom studied the red-haired girl. His eyes traveled up her body, she looked young, maybe twenty, and thin, her body curving to her hips pleasantly and her chest not too small. Tom flicked his eyes back to his computer screen, imagining that she smelled like coffee and shampoo.

Swallowing another hot mouthful of his drink, Tom pulled up a map, the streets of D.C. labeled out in the grid that stretched along the city. A red dot radiated from somewhere near the riverside. Tom smirked.

So he likes to stay in Georgetown….

He wondered where Elizabeth was. With her stubbornness and hatred of the unknown would betray her soon enough. No matter what Reddington was doing, Elizabeth Keen was never too far behind.

Tom smirked when he thought of her in that way, Elizabeth Keen. A name that had meant nothing to him, made up on the spot as part of his false life, yet it had meant so much to Lizzie. Ever since their first few dates, Tom knew she was hell-bent on adapting that last name as her own, unknowingly pining after a piece of fiction.

The dot was moving.

Tom Keen leaned back and watched Reddington travel up a few streets and stop at an intersection, no doubt waiting for a red light. It had been far too easy to hack into the FBI's GPS system. Reddington had been re-injected with an epidermal tracker in order to keep tabs on him. The signal was transported back to a satellite, then easily accessed through the FBI's computer system. All it took was a few bribes and some people on the inside. Then, with ease, a copy of the transmission was sent directly to Tom Keen's laptop.

He could follow Raymond Reddington as easily as a wolf follows a deer.

Growing bored with where the dot was traveling, Tom Keen finished up his drink and pulled out his phone. Message from Marcus Schmidt.

Knapp wants you back at the loft. Bring computer.

Tom rolled his eyes and finished up his drink before he closed the laptop and slipped it back in the computer bag. He regretted the moment he had gotten involved with Alexander Knapp and his smuggling ring. Originally it had been for some side money, but now the man had grown needy and greedy, such as all men usually do. The moment Knapp had found out that Tom Keen was good for other tasks outside of regular drug and weapons running, he wanted him at his side like the most loyal of guard dogs. Sure, the thought of it pandered to Tom's ego a little, but sometimes it was just a big nuisance.

Before he left, Tom approached the barista counter. The redhead caught his eye and he tossed his head, wordlessly inviting her closer.

"What time do you get off?" he asked, his confidence intoxicating as he leaned on her counter and gave her a smile. Holli liked the way his glasses made his eyes look slightly larger than normal. He seemed non-threatening. A bookworm, maybe he was in the corner working on a short story or some poems.

"I get off at 6:30," Holli said, averting her eyes in just the right way to feed Tom's confidence.

"I'll be sure to make it back here," Tom assured, giving her a quick wink before he turned and walked away. He looked down at his phone before he left, making sure to save the number that was on his cup into the contacts.