A/N: This little blurb actually comes from my memory of a summer vacation with my parents and husband in the Carolinas, shooting pool in our rental house with 1960s beach music playing in the background. As always, I own nothing but that memory. Also, a proper shout out to the Lizzington group on FB for their encouragement! Ya'll are awesome.

Sway

It was raining steadily, and steam rose from the sidewalks in the afternoon heat. Reddington was "borrowing" a safe house from a recently indicted hedge fund manager, a quaint row house in exclusive Georgetown. Dembe opened the door before she got to the top step and ushered her in with a quiet smile. She closed her umbrella and slid it into the coat tree in the foyer.

"Where is he, Dembe?"

"Raymond is in the basement."

Lizzie smiled her thanks and Dembe led her through the kitchen to the open door of the basement staircase. She could hear music, very faintly, and a clacking sound that confused her as she proceeded down the steps slowly.

The basement had been converted to a rec room at some point in the not too distant past. A large flat-screen television and stereo on one side of the room and a gorgeous pool table on the other side, but they faded into the background around the man shooting pool with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to his elbows. Lizzie's breath caught as she watched him line up his shot, hands sure on the cue, shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, trousers hugging parts of his body that made her blush and look away quickly.

His tie and vest were thrown over a chair off to the side and his collar was wide open. Lizzie almost swallowed her tongue as he straightened and took a swallow from the beer that stood sweating on the table. She had never seen him this…undone, at least, not without being shot or beaten to a pulp first. He set the beer carefully on the table and smiled at the stairway and the frozen Lizzie standing halfway down.

"Lizzie! Come on in. What an insufferable day it's been, you must be absolutely melting."

A wry smile tipped Lizzie's mouth up at the corners; trust Red to get it half right. She was definitely melting. She managed the last few steps without tripping over her feet and called it a win. "And your shoes get so hot, you wish your tired feet were fireproof…" he had the stereo on and the Drifters vintage beach tune spilled from the speakers. The green felt surface of the table was still scattered with colorful cue balls and she casually rolled one with her fingertip as she leaned her hip against the table.

Red stood with his cue in one hand and his beer in the other. He looked relaxed, even confident. She hadn't seen him like this in a long time and she realized how much she missed it.

"What can I do for you, Lizzie? Having trouble with the case?" He nodded at the file folder she held, and she glanced down at it like she hardly remembered it was in her hand.

"Oh, yes. We found some documents in Yemenov's office but we don't know what they are or what they mean. We were hoping you could give us some insight." She could not stop staring at him. He had been gone for almost a month after the shooting, only to pop back up, healthy and even with a little suntan. She still didn't know where he had been.

Reddington placed his cue in the wall rack and took the files from Lizzie. He offered her a chair at the table before taking his own. His lips pressed together and thinned as he scanned the pages in the file. Yemenov was a nasty character, an arms dealer, but the documents seemed to indicate he was just the small fish in this pond. Now they needed to switch bait to catch the big ones still swimming.

He was still contemplating the difficulties involved when Lizzie broke into his thoughts.

"I always loved this music." Red looked up to see Lizzie was relaxed in her chair, tapping her toe to the rhythm of the Platter's Twilight Time. Her eyes closed as she enjoyed the beach music of the sixties.

"I once spent a weekend in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, in the high summer. It was so hot you could bake cookies on the pavement, but the ocean breeze was so refreshing. I met a beautiful southern belle there who taught me how to shag. And, before you say anything, Lizzie, the shag was a dance, quite famous in coastal Carolina." He leaned back in his chair, took another drink of his beer while his unfocused eyes slid over Lizzie. That half-smile she loved quirked his mouth just so, and she wished she could just kiss him, just once.

He stacked the papers back in the file and stood. Lizzie remained seated; waiting for whatever intel Reddington offered. He picked up a small remote and pressed a button and the strains of Mel Carter's "Hold Me Thrill Me Kiss Me" slid like honey into the room. Red stood in front of her, hand out, a challenge in his eyes.

"Come on Lizzie, give it a try." Unwilling to back away from a dare, Lizzie took his hand.

She had danced with him before, at the Syrian embassy, but that had been a proper waltz, with hands in respectable places, and distance between bodies. This was different. He pulled her close, his arm around her back, her hand in his rested on his heart. She heard him humming along as they swayed in the shadows of the basement, his deep baritone echoing Mel's tenor vocals. Lizzie sighed and laid her head on his shoulder as the song trailed off into silence. Red stilled, released her hands and began to step away from her. Lizzie's skin missed him before he was two steps away. She grabbed the remote and hit the button and the song began to play again. Red turned back and she smiled at him, held out her hand.

"Again."