Chapter Text
Elizabeth Keen liked easy, slow, predictable mornings. Wake after two slaps of the snooze button on her alarm. Start the coffee before her shower; feed the betta fish as she waited for the microwave to beep. Pull on whatever bland federal agent blouse and suit she had laid out the night before. Put up hair in a simple style and apply basic makeup. Strap on comfortable heels that can park under a conference room table or race out of an exploding building, whichever would be necessary that day. Clip badge to waistband and holster weapon on her way to the car. Just like all of the other federal workers getting ready for their daily grinds, she reminded herself. Nothing special here. Except that she had to keep her cell phone within easy reach at all times as she passed through her morning routines. Because she was the only federal employee living at the beck and call of the man her employer had labeled the fourth worst criminal in the world. Raymond Reddington, whom she had honestly never heard of until the day she took an unexpected helicopter ride to meet a smiling man in chains. Every morning, weekends included, at some point her phone would beep with the special tone she had assigned to Nick's Pizza, and she had learned to never risk missing that call. Sometimes the calls were frustrating, sometimes amusing, and sometimes they were apocalyptic. Twice since the morning calls had started she had let the call go through to voice mail. The first time she missed a call, fifteen minutes later Red had marched in through her front door, helped himself to the last of the coffee and dropped pointed comments about the messy state of her kitchen and her tardiness. The second time she missed the call, ten minutes later the price of gold on the commodities market dropped eighty five percent before suddenly rebounding to triple its earlier price.
Today's call was a rambling story reminiscing about a long ago weekend spent drinking in Lithuania with the KGB agent turned president of Russia. She listened with half an ear, more focused on searching for the lid of her to-go cup of coffee. She had never really organized the kitchen of her new apartment. After their return from Europe two months ago, she had leased it over the phone on a Thursday and dropped off her few possessions that weekend. Ever since she had lived out of boxes and suitcases, sometimes taking an hour out of her rare and precious free time to hang curtains, or unpack some decorative items to try to give the place some kind of homey feeling.
Red was still chatting as she locked the apartment door behind her. Her neighbor across the hall was leaving at the same time. He smiled brightly when he saw her and said hello. She motioned to the phone and shrugged as she mouthed good morning. Mark had asked her out to dinner once; she had accepted, but an hour before dinner Red called with a warning about a chemical bomb in a Philadelphia police station, and she didn't even have a good, non-classified excuse to give Mark when she called to cancel the date.
The apartment building featured a heated, secured parking garage, one of Red's many stringent requirements for her apartment selection. Her Mercedes stood out in the sea of simple mid range sedans. Red had bought it for her within her first few weeks on the job, after too many mornings of delayed meetings because her husband had taken their only car and she was stuck with public transit. Tom had never believed her story that it was a loaner from her employer; in several of their later, more bitter fights he had insinuated that it was a gift from a boyfriend. Then when she found out the truth about the duplicitous jerk, she realized that he had probably known all along it was from Reddington. She was ashamed of how much she enjoyed thinking how badly that must have chapped his pathological lying ass.
The call finished up with the notice that he wouldn't return to DC for several more days. Liz was genuinely sorry for that; she liked the days he was in town better. Daily he would insist she needed to tag along for some chore or meeting, guaranteed to be either fun or at least oddly intriguing. Without Red livening things up, she guessed today would be a lot of catching up on paperwork or some other low level stuff. Though maybe she and Elenna could finally have that shopping lunch they've been talking about for some time now. Lizzie made a mental note to catch her when she arrived at the office; Special Agent Elenna Davidson had joined the team while Lizzie had been off in Europe with Red hunting down leads to Berlin. Agent Davidson had been serving on the current Reddington task force, which the FBI had kept formally operational. When she had gotten a little too close to success on several occasions, she was transferred to the Post Office. She was an excellent agent and highly respected by all of her colleagues, but when she had the chance to step away from the job, Elenna was a lot of fun as well.
Lizzie pulled into her usual parking space and reached the huge yellow elevator at the same time as her other team mate, Agent Ressler. He greeted her expressionlessly as she punched the button for the floor for their shared office. "How's your other half?" he asked, motioning to her phone.
"Out of town until Thursday. Keeping up appearances," she answered. She had adjusted to the digs at her 'special relationship' with their prize informant. She understood why Ressler had been so bitter than she had been chosen by Red for this role. Ressler had lost years of his life to chasing the man across the globe only to have his target literally walk in the front door and kneel down in surrender to another person. Don still didn't know why she had been chosen as his only contact, but at least he didn't take out his resentment on her anymore. After all, being Reddington's favorite hadn't gotten her any extra perks at work, it was quite the opposite. She had had to prove herself over and over before her coworkers could accept her as a talented agent in her own right. Now she had reached the point where everyone still took the easy jabs at her, but with affection, as one of the team.
The morning continued in its perfectly normal way. The stack of paperwork on her desk shrank noticeably. She didn't know it was Aram's birthday until she approached the computer lab on an errand and saw his desk was covered with balloons and streamers. Sheepishly he acknowledged her best wishes, offered her one of his birthday cupcakes and chatted amiably about the task she had brought for him. A happy coincidence brought Agent Davidson to his desk at the same time. The tall redhead plunked down on the corner of his desk, gleefully accepting a cupcake, and agreed to make use of slow paced afternoon with a late lunch and to visit some of their favorite shops. "Tell the Bad Boy to take some more time off," said Elenna, using her favorite nickname for Red. "We can all use a little vacay."
Half of the workday was done, and Liz was pleased. No bloodshed, no emergencies, and lots of things crossed off of her to-do list. Someone else, also feeling the pleasant sense of tranquility in the air, started up the idea of taking Aram out for drinks after work to celebrate his birthday. Liz signed on quickly with Ressler and Elenna joining in as well. Even Cooper agreed to stop by for one round. The Post Office was about to have its first office party in its illicit history. This little touch of rare and precious normality brought an extra oomph to everyone's step.
Liz was finishing up a few tasks before her afternoon escape with her friend when her phone rang with that tone. "Hi, Red," she greeted.
"Where are you?" he demanded.
"At work?" she replied. "Post office?"
"I know you're here at the office," his voice was irritated. "But this is a rather large facility with lots of little hiding places that frankly I don't feel comfortable visiting. Where are you?"
"You're here?" Lizzie's voice climbed higher in her surprise. "I thought you were gone for the week."
"Change of plans, sweetheart. I'll wait for you here in the conference room. Better tell Harold I'm here. And the rest of the Scooby gang, we have some work to do." She hung up and sighed. No party for Aram. Nor would she be relaxing in front of her TV tonight, reveling in new shoes and a chance to finish unpacking the kitchen gear. She recognized his tone of voice as the harbinger of another stressful night.
By the time she passed the word on to all members of the team, she was the last to arrive in the conference room. Pairs of eyes turned to glower at her, as it it was her fault he had decided to change his plans and come in to ruin their fun. "Good afternoon, Agent Keen," Red greeted her from the head of the table. Today he was in his light grey suit, wearing a tie she had picked out for him in London during their travels over the summer. His hat rested on the conference table, inches away from a brightly wrapped box. "I apologize for the late notice," he continued, gazing at each participant in turn. "These darn terrorists have no respect for your agendas nor mine. Harold, I'll be meeting tonight with a man who is interested in buying dismaying amounts of enriched uranium. He's so insistent that he receive this material within forty-eight hours that he's willing to double my already embarrassingly high rush delivery fee."
"Where are you meeting?" Cooper stayed on task as the others turned to each other and sighed.
"Mrs. Chatham is hosting a fundraiser tonight." Olivia Chatham was the last non-partisan hostess in Washington society. She had a knack for finding new interesting people with new interesting underfunded ideas and tossing them in among the movers, shakers, and big time money makers that always populated her parties. Invitations were limited and security intense; it was rumored that it was easier to break into a White House party than a Chatham. Cooper wondered how their contact had managed his invitation to such a high level event. Red grinned in his way reserved when he was amused by their remaining dabs of innocence. "This will be my fifth Chatham party. She's a very congenial hostess who takes just a little cut of every deal, and you are not to investigate Ms. Chatham any further, Harold and ruin a convenient setup. Lizzie, you're my plus one. I also have secured invitations for Mr. and Mrs. Breitfarb. I suggest Agents Davidson and Ressler join us inside the party. My friend may have other contacts in attendance you'll need to supervise while I'm busy. I may need some technical research quickly; I suggest that Aram be part of the team in the van."
"Happy birthday to you," someone commiserated with him softly.
Red smiled brightly at this. "Yes, happy birthday, Aram. This is for you," he offered the brightly wrapped present he had brought with him.
Aram's expression was both incredulous and pleased. "Thank you," he offered his benefactor.
"I'm assuming some of you will have to acquire evening wear," Cooper cut in. For a Chatham party, they couldn't do their normal delivery arrangement with the formal shop at the local mall.
Red shook his head. "Agent Ressler, I've already arranged a fitting for you this afternoon with an excellent tailor. Not my usual man, but I've been quite happy with Monsieur Garard's work in the past. Agent Davidson...."
"I can find my own big girl dress, thank you very much," she replied dryly.
"Lizzie?"
"I'll wear the blue one from Milan," she sighed. During their travels, his love for fine clothing had been extended to dressing her as well. He had hounded her, pleading, whining and bribing, until she relented and agreed on his purchasing for her a series of couture designs. He had prophesied that they would come in handy someday and today was his told-you-so. She wondered silently with some bemusement how many federal agents kept designer gowns in their office. She had taken over a smaller storage room down in the lowest floor to store all of the clothes she had worn on her variety of undercover duties over the previous year.
"I'll have Dembe drop off some background info on tonight's featured criminals for your perusal. I'm staying at the Jefferson for the next few days. Lizzie, you have a three o'clock appointment at the spa; you should drop your dress off at the suite before your appointment. We'll have time for a dinner in the restaurant downstairs before the party begins." She nodded, and caught the quick flashes of jealousy that spread around the conference table.
The meeting ended silently with each person drifting off to complete their new batch of afternoon chores. She half-expected Red to wait for her, but he only nodded at her briefly before picking up his hat and making his escape to the elevator and his waiting car. He still didn't like staying in the office any longer than necessary. It was one of the many things they did not discuss, but she knew from their time together traveling he still had nightmares about the incursion. So did she; it was one of several events in her life that had made her dread going to sleep at night. Too often now she found herself huddled under a blanket on the couch, only drifting off from sheer exhaustion or some nights a sleeping pill or large serving of wine. They had both slept better during their travels, alone in their own beds but comforted by the thought of the other one close by.
She joined the knot of colleagues gathered by the elevator, chatting as they waited for the slow, cumbersome car to arrive. The conversation stopped abruptly as she arrived. She smiled and offered a flip comment on the busy night ahead.
"Yeah, you'll have it so rough sitting in the spa all afternoon," snapped one of the tech guys, who was looking forward to hours locked in the overheated van with a bunch of nonsocial geeks. Ressler fixed him with a sharp look as Liz blushed slightly.
"I'm sorry we'll have to reschedule our outing," she said to Elenna.
She shrugged. "I'm going to use taxpayer money to buy a pair of Malono Blainiks," she replied lightly. "And now I have an excuse to buy that awesome dress on display down at Isabeau's."
"Why we have a budget deficit," Ressler mumbled as they entered the elevator car. "I don't know why I can't wear my old tux. It was good enough for undercover work before."
"Because I'm sure you wore that same tux to your high school prom," Elenna countered. "Props to Bad Boy for replacing that sucker."
Liz silently agreed. "Red has an account set up for me at Isabeau's. Just give them my name and let him foot the bill." She told Elenna, who accepted this with a gracious, silent nod.
Ressler snorted. "Have fun spending his money. Just don't think about where it came from." Lizzie didn't have an answer for that. They spent the rest of the ride on details for the evening, trading who would take charge of what logistics involved in setting up an operation in a new location so quickly. Usually they had a couple days to set up these kinds of jobs, but thanks to Reddington the entire team had become experienced with flying by the seat of their pants, and what would have been called impossible a year ago was nearly routine now.
Lizzie grabbed her dress and one of her pairs of heels from the storage room and nearly flew out of the blacksite facility. She estimated that she had just enough time to make a stop at Panera before she would need to arrive at the Jefferson to be enveloped in its clouds of decadence. She nabbed the last empty table, chewed on her panini, and frowned while remembering her conversation with her partners in the elevator. She didn't need to be a profiler to know what Ressler and Davidson had both left unsaid. Red never flaunted his wealth in general, only when he was spending his money on her. It was embarrassing to be singled out like this from the rest of her co-workers. It was also uncomfortable when she heard the whispers in the office that he was getting something for his money in return. She couldn't blame them; she would have thought the same thing about another woman in her situation. She had finally realized that his sense of affection for her acted like a microscope; she filled his whole viewing screen, every detail sharp and fascinating, and everyone else around her faded to just a fuzzy dull background, unworthy of notice. But that didn't make her job any easier.