Author's Note: Google the Clumber Spaniel. I dare you.

Often, more so than she liked to admit, she would observe him with such keen interest, one could easily assume she was investigating the life of a newly discovered wild animal.

And such assumptions would not be entirely incorrect. After all, he was so peculiar and rare; his entire being triggered her fascination daily. Sometimes hourly. It felt as though a single lifetime would not suffice in her quest to unveiling his many secrets. She had to try regardless. He had become her favorite pastime and the most complicated riddle she'd ever had to solve.

Often, more so than she realized, he'd catch her staring at him. She didn't have the slightest knowledge of how her genuine awe soothed him; she loved him a great deal, he'd discovered, and she wanted to learn him. He had come to cautiously accept this new, serene reality where she loved him almost as much as he loved her. He would always be the one to love more. Her young, innocent heart was still unprepared to experience the intensity of a love so all-consuming.

At first, she was bashful after getting caught staring. She feared the awestruck gazing she was indulging in was silly and a hair too childish. How ignorant she was. Little did she know his 55-year-old heart could barely keep up with the happiness she was granting him with her hunger to always know more.

It didn't take her long to discard the silly shame that was preventing her from fully immersing herself in their new happy reality. Because she'd always been a quick study, they went over his general life history fairly quickly. Of course, the brief overview of his life begged even, more, questions. And what bold questions they were. She was peeling each layer with increasing ease.

When they were not conversing, she liked to simply observe him. Her thorough examination of his enigmatic persona had its stages, after all. She'd learned he was more comfortable sleeping on his right side and he loved to be the little spoon. He also loved when she scratched his head, much like a luxurious Clumber Spaniel – regal, rare and lazy.

He'd started moaning more often when they had sex, she noted, and especially when he climaxed. His pleasure used to be silent before. He was becoming more vocal, it would seem. He relished in listening to classical music, jazz and rock and his entire body was quick to adjust to the rhythm of any given musical piece. It made sense, of course; he was a good dancer.

After weeks of decadent observation, it was safe for her to finally conclude he was a true grump in the morning. He liked nestling further into whatever pillowed his head for the night; be it her belly or her chest, or an actual pillow, if all else failed. Grumpiness aside, he was an admirer of morning sex. Such precious moments helped her discover the delightful ways in which the sunlight altered the color of his chest hair. It made his eyelashes striking in their angelic paleness. Light could be deceiving sometimes.

*****

That morning Elizabeth was watching Reddington as he shaved. His performance was immaculate and blood-free; it appeared to be an organic act of self-maintenance. In spite of their time together, she'd never observed his morning routine before. Upon looking at him, she quickly realized she shouldn't have waited so long. He was at so much ease. His boxers hung low on his hips, revealing his belly. He was barefoot; his legs were lean, strong and manly. The scarring on his back was something she barely ever noticed. She liked it that way. She liked how she was capable of overcoming their shared past and how that gave way to something new and free of flaws and anguish.

"Staring again, Lizzie?" came his muffled question. He was tackling a particularly tricky area around his chin.

"What can I say? Some things can't be helped," she answered and was quick to approach him. She inspected their reflections in the mirror and truly loved what she saw. She waited for him to rinse his razor to kissed his shoulder. He was about to tap the razor against the sink and resume his work when she embraced him from behind and positioned her hands on each of his nipples.

"Keep rinsing," she smiled against the skin of his back.

"And I thought I'd worn you out last night. If I knew you were eager for more, I would've woken you up half an hour earlier," he told her softly and with cheer. His head was seeking her, turning towards her but she remained well hidden behind his broad back.

"Something's been on my mind for awhile, you know," she began and let go of him so he could finish shaving. She was about to cross yet another boundary, but her curiosity wouldn't be merciful enough to leave her alone. When she had to know, she simply had to know.

"Oh, yeah?" he managed upon finalizing his grooming activities. "Are you planning on letting the cat out of the bag anytime soon or do I have enough time to rinse?" he leaned over the sink and looked at her with smiling eyes.

"Funny," she muttered and squinted her eyes at him. "Okay, here it is. I've noticed you're very… neat you know, down there. And it has me wondering, you know? Like, how do you maintain it," she managed in spite of her burning cheeks. When she finally looked at him, she noticed he was genuinely surprised by her now customary forwardness. But there was something about the way he kept smiling at her; he was not going to dismiss her question.

"Well, it was certainly easier back in the day when I had a doting girlfriend to provide some help," he began and moved towards her. His hands were on her hips and they were swift and sure when they caused for her front to collide with his.

"Ah, yes. Doting girlfriends are hard to find these days," she followed his humorous lead and got a hold of his face. She kissed his nose, then his mouth. "Don't get distracted. Answer my question," she pressed because she knew him and she knew herself. Distracting her was no feat at all. She could never protest against his ministrations and sexual advances. Not that she'd ever tried.

"I trim, Lizzie. On my own. It is hard work, I'll have you know. You can watch next time if you'd like," he told her and raised his brows the same way he always did when he was suggesting something of grand mischief.

"How about we raise the stakes?" she asked then, "Would you let me do it for you?" a kiss on his chest was always a good way to speed things along in her desired direction, she hoped.

"I would," he answered.

A promise was made.