Deep shadows stretched out across the linoleum floor. A single desk lamp shone through the gloom, illuminating Aram's desk. He shuffled papers around, clicked keys on his laptop, scribbled down the occasional note with his favorite pen.
It was running out of ink.
He was running out of steam.
This was his third night in a row working a 14 (give a few quarters) hour shift. He'd been staring at his screen so long that he couldn't distinguish the letters from numbers anymore. There was a little throbbing twinge in his left temple that wouldn't go away.
Sighing, he snapped his laptop shut and ran stiff fingers through his dark hair.
It was past time to pack up and call it quits. He was bad at stopping points. That one was on of the reasons his employers liked him so much. It was also one of the reasons he didn't have a social life.
He stuffed papers, pens, and loose paperclips into his satchel bag at random not caring what got crumpled. He would reorganize after some sleep and maybe a meal or two. It was when he flicked off his desk lamp that he noticed a faint light peeking out from under the door to Resler and Keen's office. It struck him as odd.
While the Post Office was a 24-hour operation, not many people worked around the clock. Resler certainly didn't stay past 10:00pm if he could help it.
Hmm. Maybe his co-worker had made an exception.
Recently, Resler'd been complaining more and more about his gigantic workload. That didn't track. What exactly did he have on his plate? Some misdemeanor forms to fill out? One or two case briefs to look over—maybe. It was plausible, but Resler actually staying—not so much.
Aram was actually swamped. He had so much to do that it was like, really really, not fair. He tried not to get irritated with his co-workers but sometimes irritation was inevitable. Considering how much they managed to get away with, it got under his skin how much they complained.
Name one time he, Aram, was allowed to slack off. Take an extra mental health day. Not hand in a complete report or write-up. Cooper was stricter with him because he was quote, 'more responsible and capable'.
Yeah. Sure. He might as well get not the favorite tattooed across his forehead.
Elizabeth was handed all of her case materials straight from the big Red man himself. Resler was absent more and more often with medical notes excusing him. And Agent Navabi—gorgeous Navabi—actually, he couldn't find any fault with Navabi. Did she have flaws?
And he couldn't really find fault with Liz either.
She had her plate full.
And… if he was being fair—which he didn't really feel like being—Resler had it hard too.
It didn't matter. None of it. It was easier not to be annoyed. It was easier to keep his head down and keep his hand up with a loaded folder of information.
Signing, Aram made his way past the illuminated office. Shaking his head, he shrugged both the satchel and laptop bag over his shoulder. He adjusted the straps to fit comfortably on top of each other.
Aram knocked lightly at the door.
No response.
He knocked again, firmer.
Nothing.
He tried the knob and it was unlocked. With the intention of just turning the light off and locking up for the night, he opened the door. No ulterior motive. None. No curiosity either.
Elizabeth Keen was fast asleep at her desk. Folders and papers and photographs were strewn across the dark tabletop. She was face down, head resting on her arms.
He crept forward into the still office. As he approached her desk, he hesitated and took note of her slumped form. Her lips were parted lightly and her soft lashes feathered against her cheeks.
She looked younger in sleep. She was less worn and ragged. She didn't have to deal with all the death and violence that Reddington brought to her on the daily in this state. Aram was briefly reminded of the bright and alert woman who had first shown up at the Post Office months and months ago.
That woman was hard to find these days. When was the last time he'd seen her laugh? She always looked so worn down.
He swallowed but his throat was dry. This all felt so voyeuristic. Like he was intruding on a secret he wasn't supposed to know.
Aram straightened and wiped his sweaty palms off on his dark dress pants.
"Hey, hey Liz." He whispered.
Then he kicked himself—metaphorically.
"Elizabeth." He said, in a louder voice.
She twitched ever so slightly.
"Agent Keen." He stepped forward and tapped her lightly on the arm.
She jerked awake, frozen in place.
Aram jumped too. He yelped, clutching at his heart.
"Sorry." She mumbled. "Sorry."
His pulse beat a frantic tap dance in his throat. "You scared me!"
She lifted her head from the desk, bleary-eyed. "Sorry, sorry. What do you need?" Her voice was muffled by the sweatshirt tugged up over her chin.
He swallowed, suddenly breathless, wordless.
She squinted at him.
"You fell asleep." He offered, lamely.
"Ah." She stretched, arms high above her head, bending her neck one way and then the other.
"Not been sleeping well?" He asked nervously, strangling his tie.
"I mean sure, you could say that." And she yawned. "What time is it?" She knuckled her eyes, peering across the room to read the wall clock.
"Uh, half past 1:00."
"Kinda late to be at work isn't it?"
"Um, you're one to talk." He gestured vaguely toward the desktop she'd just been sleeping on.
And she'd looked so peaceful too. That was a rarity. Now, awake, the deep frown creases had returned to her pale forehead.
She shrugged. She tried and failed to appear nonchalant. "Yeah. Well. I'm not clocked in."
"Having a rough week?"
"Sure Aram. You could say that." She pushed dark hair from her face, closing her eyes and taking a steadying breath.
He mumbled something, something, about something. And that he hoped she felt better.
She nodded absently.
He pressed his knuckles into the smooth tabletop and mentally kicked himself for sounding dumb.
"I know you're having it hard." And the words just slipped out. Unbidden and embarrassing. "The whole thing with To—your husband. And with Mr. Reddington and with everything. You've been different recently, sad."
She looked even more tired.
He hurried on, trying to smooth over his words. "And—and if—if there's anything I can do, well, well just tell me. I wish there was something I could do." He fiddled with the strap of his laptop carrier. "Wish, um, that I could fix it."
She sighed a bit wistfully and he caught the smallest glimpse of her smile. "Gotta take it one day at a time."
"Yeah, I suppose."
She flipped hair over her shoulder. "Can't do much else." She extended her hands in resignation.
"I can't make any promises but it's going to get better." He placed a tentative hand on her shoulder.
She tensed for the barest second. Then her hand slipped over his where it rested against her shoulder and she squeezed. "Yeah, Aram. I think it will."
The light in her eyes was strangely bright.
He swallowed again, throat just as dry, and squeezed her shoulder back.
If his research and briefs could make her life even just a tiny bit less difficult, maybe his workload wasn't so bad. Who needed a social life anyway? He didn't seem to be doing too bad without one.
His ears flushed red and he nodded quickly. Then he realized that his hand was still resting on her shoulder and he blanched. He pulled away and wiped his sweaty palm on his slacks, praying that he hadn't left any moisture behind on her shoulder.
"Next time you're here so late, let me know. We can always order, uh, pizza? Is that what you like? Or maybe you're into Chinese food. Or—"
She grimaced at the mention of Chinese food.
"Okay. Pizza it is. Deal?"
She rubbed her eyes, yawning. "Sure, Aram. It's a deal."
A/N:
upon my blacklist rewatch, I realized I kinda ship this