A/N Reddington asks Liz to make a decision that will change the course of their relationship. Stupid amounts of sexual tension. Comfort, a lil smut. Disclaimed, as always, and, as always, I love reviews :-)

The day after her birthday Liz woke with a hangover which, although unpleasant, wasn't nearly as bad as she had expected. She supposed it was true what she'd heard, that fine wines don't give you much of a hangover. Or in this case a mixture of fine red wine and fine champagne she thought, groaning inwardly. As she showered away the excesses of the previous day an uncomfortable thought began to form in her mind, becoming more and more poignant as she pulled on elegant underwear, pants and a sweater from the luxurious selection he had purchased for her: yesterday, she had forgotten. She had forgotten who she was, and perhaps more dangerously, she had forgotten who he was.

Being trapped here on her birthday should have been a miserable experience, but it had been, she realized with some alarm, one of the loveliest birthdays she'd had as an adult. Yesterday he had seduced her – not sexually exactly, although he had a way of making her feel naked around him – but mentally and emotionally. She chastised herself bitterly for having succumbed to it. She knew who he was, and she'd seen a warehouse full of bodies that he'd dropped without so much as a second glance. She had to hold on to that if she was going to survive.

When she met Reddington downstairs later on, she accepted the aspirin and juice he offered graciously, and was pleasant and polite to him, all the while shoring up her defenses. She wouldn't let him in again.

He knew within minutes of talking with her the next day that something had changed. Despite her hangover her temperament had sweetened considerably. She seemed to consider her words carefully and her responses, whilst friendly, were distant. He understood immediately that she was attempting to reestablish the boundaries between them that he had so successfully eroded the previous day; he even admired her for it. But he wasn't going to allow it, oh no he chuckled inwardly.

For him, her birthday had been a revelation; he was feeling something he hadn't thought himself capable of, something he didn't dare to name – something that had no place in his miserable, brutal existence. He wasn't going to let it go.

He waited patiently until evening came, observing her growing confidence that her attempts to keep him at arm's length had been successful, biding his time until the perfect moment presented itself to gently work at her defenses. He needed her to need him, and he knew exactly where to press to get her to open up.

He found her in the library deep in thought, staring out over the grounds as dusk fell. Approaching her with feline stealth, he was almost behind her before she saw his reflection in the window and jumped.

"You crept up on me!" She scolded.

"I don't creep" he responded calmly, turning on a stained glass tiffany desk lamp and illuminating the room in warm light. "You were quite preoccupied. Are you alright?" he asked softly.

She smiled a little too fast. "Fine thanks. Really."

He sighed, working his jaw slightly as if considering whether to express his thoughts. He allowed the suspense to mount, and observed her growing increasingly tense in his presence.

"Elizabeth, in order for me to settle a matter of some importance it has unfortunately become necessary for me to have a discussion with you regarding your association with the Lorcas. I'm aware that this may be difficult for you, and I'll try to make it as painless as possible."

She folded her arms defensively. "What do you need to know?"

He nodded gently in appreciation of her consent to be questioned. "I asked you at the warehouse what it was that you had done to anger them. I believe I know but I'd like you to confirm it. It was you" he said softly.

"What was me?" She said cautiously.

He smiled and laughed softly at her attempt to play innocent. "My operation at the warehouse was planned to coincide with the arrest of Hector Lorca. His departure left them vulnerable. It was a gift for me – Hector was exceptionally careful, protected himself and never left any witnesses - but I was curious to know how the FBI suddenly became so efficient. Your profile led to his arrest, didn't it Lizzie" he said gently. "I need to know."

Liz paused for a moment and then nodded.

"I'm proud of you" he said quietly. "Although with a gift like that you are going to make enemies. That's something you can't afford."

She shrugged guardedly. "Can anyone? And how did you know that it was my profile that got him arrested? I could've been there for any number of reasons."

Reddington's expression softened. He hated hurting her, but aside from his need to prevent her from undoing the progress they had made, he was painfully aware that his holding her captive had prevented her from discussing her ordeal at the hands of the Lorcas with a professional or even a friend. He needed her to know that she could talk to him. That he understood, perhaps better than anyone, the cruelty of which human beings are capable. Despite the fact that she'd rejected his sympathy when she arrived, he knew she needed it. Things had changed between them, and he was confident that she would yield.

"I suspected that it was you who implicated Hector early on when you said that you were taken for revenge" he began slowly. "That, combined with seeing some of your injuries for myself… It was personal for them. I'm afraid I can read bruises like others read books. They leave unique patterns – mosaics that leave a print on the mind long after the body has healed. Lizzie I'm so sorry. For your suffering."

As he spoke, Liz was alarmed to find tears prick her eyes. His tone was low and soothing, but most of all he sounded as though he cared deeply – as though she were the most precious thing in the world - and she couldn't deal with that. Why is it always like that, she thought. It's easy to hold the tears in as long as no one shows concern. But he was concerned, and he'd found a way to make her crumble. Swallowing a hard lump she turned away from him back to the window, her breath shuddering.

"How long does the mind take to heal" she asked quietly. "How long till it's gone?"

He sighed and stepped closer until she could feel the warmth from his body behind her, and hear his voice soft in her ear.

"Terror, humiliation – even pain – these things all exist in the mind as long as we give them a home there. Fear will make you as brittle and breakable as a porcelain doll, and spread into the darkest corners. It will take up residency with every dark secret or concern that you have if you let it."

She closed her eyes when she felt his large hands come to rest on her shoulders, warm and comforting and gentle. She didn't flinch as he began to work his fingers slowly on her shoulders.

"You need to learn to bend, Lizzie" he continued, his voice low and soothing. "Adapt."

She sighed as he brought his fingers slowly up her neck to her temples, moving in little circles with a light pressure as he murmured in her ear.

"There's a thread that runs through every one of us that others cannot touch. When you truly grasp that thread – when you achieve complete control over your mind and body - a violent act committed against you can feel like the gentle touch of a friend…" As he spoke he worked his fingers between her neck and shoulders, applying firmer pressure until she felt the tension ebb away and a strange, pleasurable sensation creep over her. "…or a lover" he finished in honey tones.

She shuddered involuntarily and leaned back slightly into him, whereupon the pressure of his hands increased a little, his thumbs drawing gentle circles on her neck. He massaged her carotid, the hypnotic rhythm of his fingers slowing her heart rate fractionally until she began to feel sleepy and her head fell back against his shoulder. She felt drunk again, mesmerized by his voice and the warmth of his body.

His hands on her skin were textured, the pressure of his thumbs offset by the gentle caress of his fingers on her neck, stroking and exploring. She imagined those hands working from their current location at her throat down the rest of her body, sending slivers of excitement coursing through her. She thought of parting her legs for him as his talented fingers reached her stomach and continued down to where she most wanted to be touched.

He'd stopped speaking and she became keenly aware of her breasts aching, slickness between her legs and her proximity to him. It terrified her. She was a prisoner - she didn't want this, she couldn't want this. How was he able to make her feel this way?

Letting out a small sound of protest she lurched forward out of his grip and spun round to face him, her face flushed and her breathing erratic. "What are you doing?" she said, panicked. "Whatever it is you're doing, just stop!"

He stared at her impassively, his head canted to the side in that infuriatingly nonchalant gesture of his with which she had become familiar. "God, don't look at me like that!" she continued desperately.

He nodded slowly, and his voice when he spoke was calm and quiet. "Could it be that you're angry because you're aroused…and that frightens you."

The color in her cheeks deepened with crippling embarrassment. "What? No!" She tried desperately to think of something else to say and failed, overwhelmed by his intense gaze and the feel of her heart speeding up in her chest.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of" he continued softly. "It's a perfectly natural reaction to the situation in which you find yourself."

"How can you say that? You kidnapped me!" she choked.

"I rescued you", he responded smoothly, "from dire circumstances and almost certain death, and brought you to a place of safety. It would be understandable if you developed a certain…attachment to your rescuer. I'm sure with your training that you're familiar with the phenomenon" he finished, matter-of-factly.

"If anything this is captor-bonding!" she shot back heatedly. "You're keeping me prisoner and I'm developing an attachment in order to please you – to protect myself from you."

Reddington frowned quizzically. "Captor-bonding" he repeated. "You think you've developed Stockholm syndrome, Lizzie? Well well." He began to smile wryly and a horrible feeling of insecurity gnawed at her stomach. Their fights, the flirting, her birthday they'd spent together…Now they were laying their cards on the table and he held them all.

"As I understand it, Stockholm syndrome requires a credible threat from the captor from which the victim is attempting to protect themselves. Do you feel threatened, Elizabeth?" he continued softly. "Have I given you any reason to believe I would hurt you? Have I not, in fact, gone to great lengths to explain to you that you have nothing to fear from me?"

"That doesn't change what's happening here" she responded, biting her lip with the effort of sticking to her point in the heat of his gaze.

He nodded stiffly. "Oh I'm sure that would suit you very well, wouldn't it? Poor young FBI agent kidnapped by a diabolical crime lord, brainwashed and forced to participate in all sorts of wicked activities. It absolves you of any responsibility; you don't have to face the fact that not everything is so black and white, that people aren't just good or evil. There's just one problem with your theory, Agent Scott – I'm not forcing you to do anything while you're here. Rest. Recover. That's all I ask. The worst that will happen to you is that when you are released the FBI will give you some time off and a mandated therapy session where you can talk about just how much the big bad criminal didn't hurt you."

As he spoke his tone became increasingly sharp, his eyes were glittering and his chest heaved under the layers of elegant wool-silk. She watched, dizzy as the buttons on his vest moved in time with his breathing.

She licked her lips nervously. "What are you saying? That there's nothing between us – that this is in my head? You're just waiting until you can get rid of me?" Her stomach knotted at the thought; disturbed as she was by the idea that she desired him, the thought that he may not return her feelings made her feel so ashamed. What was wrong with her?

His expression softened then, and he stepped forward, gently tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. "No Elizabeth, that's not it at all. I think you know what I want" he said quietly. "But we both need to be clear that if you invite me into your bed, it will be your choice to do so, made freely and with the understanding that there will be no penalty should you wish our relationship to remain platonic."

Liz swallowed. He was offering her the choice and she knew she should decline, that she should keep as far away from him as possible until he released her. The alternative would be unthinkable – her job with the FBI, the emotional fall-out, not to mention the fact that for all his refinement he was obviously an extremely dangerous man. He stood so close now, enough that she could feel the warmth of his body again and his breath on her hair.

"And if I… accept…" she whispered hesitantly, her heart racing uncomfortably. "If I say yes…"

He leaned in fractionally until his lips brushed lightly against her ear. "If you accept" he began in low tones, his voice like molten rock, "I will make you come, over, and over, and over until there is nothing left but pleasure….until you understand that there are no sides Lizzie, only players, and this is a game I play very, very well. I will make you forget that anyone ever hurt you, Elizabeth."

His words poured into her ear like a litany of pure lust, intensifying the sweet spirals of desire coiling through her until her knees trembled.

"Yes" she whispered, her voice ragged. "Mmmm yes. Please Red."

He stepped back and studied her face intently. She stared back at him with all the conviction she could muster, blinking a little. He seemed satisfied.

"Go upstairs to your room Elizabeth" he said a little hoarsely. "Strip to your underwear and wait for me on the bed."

She looked up at him in shock, her face burning at his directness. "Now?"

He raised a hand gently, cupping her cheek. "Are you having second thoughts already? If you are, then it would be wise to stop this now."

She felt a strange panic grip her at the thought that she might miss her chance, that she might alienate him. "No! I… now is fine" she finished quietly.

He nodded. "Good. Go upstairs Lizzie. I'll be with you shortly."

He watched as she turned and left the room. As soon as she had gone he exhaled loudly and balled his hands into fists. It was one thing to fantasize about her, but this was something else. Even as he'd recognized his attraction to her - even as he'd purposefully cultivated an attraction in her - he'd never really thought that it would come to this.

Last night should have been the end of it, really. He'd spent a wonderful day with her, learnt so much about her, been graced with her true self, vibrant and fierce and soft. He didn't deserve so much. But he was greedy, like a man who has plucked a flower from its bed and is bruising it with repeated attentions. He'd plied her with alcohol and stripped away her inhibitions, perhaps just to know that the option was there… but when the time had come she'd gone to bed safe and alone. There was precious little in his world to take pride in, so few values still held dear, but that was one.

Of course, this was different. She was making the choice freely. She wasn't obliged, or intoxicated. It was her decision, he'd made that clear. His palms began to sweat and he thought briefly of Sam, drunk, worried and pining for his daughter. He pushed the thought from his mind and headed for the stairs.

TBC