A/N: I loved the fact that Keen is apparently good at stealing things and coin-tricks and when someone *cough*Lawson227*cough* suggested Ressler would be intrigued by this, I just couldn't help myself and wrote a story. This is a bit of a divergence for me since I rarely write something humorous and silly but hopefully it still works. (And is actually humorous)

The first time it happens, Ressler's too busy to really realize what he's heard. He just makes it in time to bump into the Syrian, making him spill his coffee and give Keen the perfect opportunity to put back his keycard. It's only later, as the conversation replays in his head, that he realizes Keen had swiped the SIM card from Madeline Pratt's phone because she'd palmed the phone first. Without anyone noticing, his partner, FBI agent Elizabeth Keen had palmed a phone, taken out the SIM card and put the phone back together.

The idea stays in his head for a long time, all through the case, through wondering if she really has some sort of a thieving past. He watches her silently, thinking about Red's words, thinking about her non-answer regarding her possible criminal record, considering the possibility that she had an indiscriminate - and interesting - youth.

So later, when the case is over, when he's dismissed Audrey – I'm sorry, work caught up with me – and Keen has shared enough about her marital discord with Tom – whom he would still happily rough up – he can't help himself.

"How do you know how to palm a phone, Keen?"

Her eyes widen a bit at the question but her expression remains perfectly neutral. "What do you mean?"

"You just happen to know how to palm a phone and extract a SIM card? That seems...odd."

She smirks. "There are many things you can learn at Quantico."

"You don't learn that at Quantico."

"Well, then, let's just say I have my ways."

It doesn't satisfy his curiosity at all.

"The door's locked."

Ressler grunts in frustration as the door which could lead them so much closer to closing this last case, refuses to budge. He is not in the mood to be kicking in any doors and there's really not much evidence he wants to leave behind of them being here.

Keen steps closer and surveys the lock. "All doors can be opened."

And takes out what looks like a small bobby pin, drops down eye-level with the lock and pushes the pin in.

"What are you doing?" He's really bewildered because it surely can't be about what he's seeing in front of him.

She raises her head a bit, the look on her face both amused and irritated. "The door's locked, we need to get through it – this is the solution because we don't want to be breaking it down."

"So instead we're breaking in? This is a felony, Keen. You can't do that." He absolutely can't understand what's going on and entertains the notion that he's stepped into some sort of a twilight zone where FBI agents breaking and entering is acceptable because that would make more sense than Keen actually picking a lock.

The lock makes a small clicking sound and Keen pushes on the handle, opening the door with a victorious flourish.

"Look at that, we don't have to keep having this conversation because no one's breaking and entering anymore."

And she enters the room, leaving him behind like Ressler hadn't just witnessed Keen nonchalantly pick a lock like a pro.

They are going to have to talk about this.

"Grogan always has the key with him, sewn into a small opening in the lining of his pants' pocket. It will be tricky to retrieve it without him knowing."

This latest case is proving to be more difficult with every new piece of information they gather and Ressler is not happy at all. Not only have they already had to stage three separate undercover operations to even glimpse Jeffrey Grogan – arms dealer extraordinaire – but now they somehow have to approach him and get under his skin fast enough to retrieve the key to his safety deposit box because he's not even their real target.

"Okay, so what's the plan? Obviously we can't just take the key or even steal it off of him without him noticing. We need a diversion, so he would take his pants off."

He sees the smirk on Red's face and raises his hand in warning. "Don't even think about making a joke right now."

He cocks his head at him, scrutinizing with that annoyingly penetrative and smug gaze of his and opens his mouth anyway. "I was just going to suggest that maybe Lizzie would be so kind to lend us her expertise."

"What expertise? Pick-pocketing? How the hell does she know how to do that?" She's not in the room but Ressler's not too keen on waiting for her to show up to find out. She probably wouldn't tell him anyway.

But he's apparently forgotten that aside from Keen, Red is also pretty determined not to say anything more than he absolutely has to.

"Oh, I'm sure you'd be quite fascinated by those stories, Donald, but alas, we don't have the time to reminiscence right now. Ah, Lizzie, we were just talking about you."

And before Ressler has the chance to interrupt, to intervene, or say anything at all for that matter, Red grabs the slightly bewildered Keen by the elbow and steers her away.

"What the hell was that?" He turns to Cooper who's witnessed the whole exchange but not a single muscle has moved in his face.

"I believe that was a solution, Agent Ressler. Get on it."

He hates not knowing.

Where the hell am I? It's dark and dingy and the room smells vaguely of urine and sweat and other bodily fluids as he slowly regains his consciousness and forces his eyes to open. Flashes of memories rush in his head but it's all blurry and unfocused.

He tries to move and his hand brushes against something soft and warm. No, that can't be right. It's someone soft and warm. Someone, like another human being, someone like his partner.

"Keen?"

She makes a humming noise and then groans slightly, opening her eyes and pushing to sit up.

"What? Ressler? What's going on?"

He feels a bit more focused now as the flashes start to slow down and order up. There is a blacklister they're after and they were just...doing something very important. Probably. He narrows down on that last thought.

"I think we were following a lead on the Doctor."

She nods as if in slow motion. "Right. And we went to check out the last known residence of his possible associate. And then..."

She makes a disgruntled noise, probably because her memory is just as hazy as his.

"And then we woke up here. So we were drugged, possibly."

"Yeah."

He stands up first and helps her up, then proceeds to the door which is unlocked and he's grateful that whoever drugged them didn't have the foresight to actually lock the door. But that seems to be the end of their good fortune because there's absolutely nothing around them. It's all fields and a road in the distance, no buildings, nothing to tell where they actually are.

"Do you have your phone?" He has already checked for his and though he quite certainly knows the answer, still holds on to one shred of hope.

Keen pats herself down and slowly shakes her head. "Nope. No phone, no badge, no gun, no keys."

In the hazy light of the evening his gaze flitters over her, checking for injuries but they both seem unharmed, just a bit drugged and groggy and without any clue as to where they are. He turns back to look at the non-descript empty house they emerged from, hoping to see something, anything to help them figure out what to do.

"Ressler!"

She's moved without telling him but when he sees her lean over a car, he's relieved. "Is it working?"

"We'll have to find out."

And just like that, she breaks the window – no alarm –, opens the door and slides in to disappear under the dashboard. He gets an idea of what she's doing but doesn't quite believe it until he sees it.

"Are you...?" And indeed, she's taken off the paneling – it's an older model – and is currently fixing two wires together, intently focused on the task.

"You can hot-wire a car."

He doesn't even ask anymore.

She gives him one of her mischievous smiles which always seem to fill her up with light and nods. "Yep."

As long as they get out of wherever they are, he doesn't even care how.

"Are you ever going to tell me?"

She hums in question but doesn't verbally respond, not even bothering to raise her head from its place on his chest.

He plays with the strands of her hair, watching as the now short dark hair catches light. He liked her long hair but the new short haircut, indicative of just how much she's changed, gives her a certain edge, a fiercesome quality, an air of finally being free.

"The swiping things, the pick-pocketing, the lock-picking, the hot-wiring...you never did tell me whether you have ever had a criminal record, Agent Keen, or were you just never caught?"

He can feel her laugh quietly against him and when she turns her head to look at him, the sparkle in her eyes tells him just how amusing this is for her.

"Really? We're in bed together for the first time and that's what you're going with? I have to say, your pillow-talk needs some work."

His gaze doesn't waiver and he doesn't respond; as much as he wants to solve this puzzle that she is, he also knows by now to let her fill the silence.

"Besides, I haven't had the chance to show you all of my tricks yet. I'm also amazing at counting cards and not getting caught."

He slides his hand into her hair, fully enjoying the way she slightly shifts into his touch and his heart grows about two sizes at the knowledge that he's the cause for the happiness radiating from her. But it doesn't get him sidetracked from his line of questioning.

"So you haven't been caught."

She smiles a little. "No. But I'm not a criminal either. My dad, Sam, taught me how to count cards. He was also very much into magic, so I know many card tricks and others."

She slides her hand behind his ear in a caress but pulls it back suddenly and there's a nickel between her fingers. He lets out a surprised laugh.

"Where could you possibly have kept that?"

She smiles and with a sleight of hand, makes the coin disappear. But this trick he knows, so he merely turns her hand around and takes the coin.

"The magic is in the eye of the beholder." Her rueful smile lights his whole being and he wants nothing more than to cease any and all conversation but the questions still nag at him, so he doesn't just leave it be.

"And the...less savory tricks up your sleeve?"

"You just won't give up, will you?"

"I always get what I want. Even if it takes me years." His words carry more meaning than he intended to, and she hears it, smiling as she presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"I'm glad."

"But you didn't answer my question."

She sighes but acquiesces. "When I was in foster care, I met all kinds of kids. Some of them had never had a home and needed to do anything to survive. They knew stuff and they taught me as well. I adapted."

He goes still at her admission, not expecting such gravity from something which started off as a silly thing he couldn't understand. The reminder that her past, her childhood was fraught with pain, is something that he will never quite be at ease with, will always want to erase from her memories.

"Hey." He doesn't realize he's frowning until he feels her fingers smooth the lines out. "It's okay, I don't mind talking about it with you."

"I didn't mean to push."

She smiles serenely and shakes her head. "It wasn't all bad. Like I said, some of the kids were very good to me and I learned a lot. Besides, in the end, I had Sam."

He wants to say And now you have me but maybe that's too much, too soon, so instead he kisses her and hopes he'll never quite solve the puzzle that she is.

A/N: Yeah, the end escaped me a bit. Let's just say that Tom's not in the picture but not delve into the exact reasoning behind it. It's definitely a few years into the future. But do let me know what you thought!