a/n: On a mission to finish all of my unfinished fics. I figured updating Painted Pink was a good place to start. I've had half of this chapter written for months, and I lost the book I had written it in. I tend to lose things. If you've ever read this before, you'll probably have to skim back over it, and for that I apologize.

I own nothing.

Reviews are life. If I haven't reviewed yours, it means I haven't read it yet, but I will. RL should stop interfering with my fangirling.

Elizabeth woke with a dull pounding in her head, hugging her pillow like a life preserver. Afraid to move for fear of falling on the floor, she snuggled into it, amazed at how comfortable it was. Her pillow at home certainly didn't feel like this. It was like embracing a person, all soft and firm at the same time, and it even smelled good. Really good.

It smelled like... Red. Red!

Elizabeth pushed herself up and off the bed, eyeing it accusingly. There was no one there. It was just a pillow. Thank God.

Basking in the utter relief that she hadn't done anything stupid the night before, Elizabeth made her way to the bathroom to take care of her bursting bladder. She was amazed that she wasn't up all night with it. Maybe she was finally catching up on that much needed rest.

After taking care of business, she washed her hands and examined herself in the mirror above the sink. She looked like shit.

Oh well.

At least she had been with it enough to take her makeup off. She pulled her hair back into a very messy bun and smoothed down her shirt, crinkling her nose at the wrinkled linen. She was already back to her bedroom before it hit her that she didn't own a linen shirt. Mortified, she let out an undignified shriek.

"Something the matter, Lizzie?"

How long had he been standing in the doorway, watching her? Red certainly didn't look any worse for the wear, sporting a clean-shaven face and dressed casually in slacks and a button-down shirt. It wasn't fair.

Elizabeth tugged at the shirt she was wearing, even though it came down far enough to cover her panties.

"What did..."

"That shirt looks amazing on you," Red interrupted, grinning like he was the wolf and she was Little Red. "Feel free to raid my closet anytime."

Hyperventilating wasn't something that Elizabeth was especially prone to, but she had to will herself not to do it anyway. Why was she wearing his shirt? Her thoughts ran wild as she attempted to piece together what happened. Had she had sex with Raymond Reddington?

Strike one: she was wearing Red's shirt.

Strike two: her bed smelled like Red. Intoxicatingly like Red.

Strike three: she was standing there like an idiot in a shirt and panties and Red didn't seem phased. In fact, he was looking at her like he already knew what she looked like under her shirt and panties...

She was so screwed. Literally, screwed.

"Breakfast will be ready in ten." Red leaned casually against the doorway, looking for all the world like he hadn't consumed just as much alcohol as she had the night before...maybe even more. "You may not be interested in food right now, but Aspirin and coffee will do you good. I have both."

Elizabeth cringed as he walked away. Food. How could he even think of food? Her stomach turned and she took a deep breath. Clothes. She needed clothes. Closing the bedroom door, even though she was fairly sure that neither Red nor Dembe had any plans to peek in on her, she began her search for suitable cothing.

As if she knew what passed for suitable anymore.

Since the only clothing she had bothered to pick up was sundresses, Elizabeth figured that would have to do. Choosing a blue, knee-length dress that -she was vain enough to notice- matched her eyes perfectly, she swept the loose strands of hair out of her face and braved the trip to the kitchen.

The smell of bacon sizzling in the pan usually set Elizabeth's stomach to growling, but on this particular morning, it was not a welcome aroma. She moaned pitifully as her stomach lurched.

"Since I know that your natural inclination will be to blame me," Red insisted from the small breakfast table, "I'm going to go ahead and cut you off at the pass. The margaritas at the restaurant were your idea; the margaritas at the house were your idea; and the almost lethal amount of tequila in the margaritas was most certainly your idea. Just to set the record straight."

Elizabeth winced as she sank down into the chair across from Red. "Well my natural instinct says you're a liar; but, lucky for you, my memory of last night seems to be in hiding. Taking your word for it seems to be my only option."

Red eyed her sharply. "You don't remember last night?"

"Nope. Complete blur." Elizabeth took the Aspirin laid out for her on the table and washed it down with coffee. Her stomach did not appreciate it.

"Oh." The sharpness in Red's eyes faded and was replaced with something Elizabeth recognized immediately.

Mischief.

"That's a damn shame. We had one of our best talks yet! You're very chatty when you drink, Lizzie."

He was screwing with her.

"Oh really?" Elizabeth played with the handle of her coffee mug, refusing to meet his eyes again. "And what did we chat about?"

Red shrugged. "This and that. It actually got very personal. Anyway, I'm sure you don't feel like dragging all that out again this morning. I know I don't."

Elizabeth let Red's remarks slide. He was only messing with her anyway. The last thing she would ever do was let Raymond Reddington poke around in her personal life.

"I don't think the Aspirin is working," she lied, standing up from her chair. "I think I'm going back to bed."

She turned around and walked away, hoping for a clean break.

Fat chance.

"Has anyone ever told you that you snore?"

Elizabeth kept walking.

"Not like a chainsaw or any other annoying contraption."

She was too smart to fall for this.

"Actually, it's more like little sighs."

Good to know.

"Have you filed the divorce papers?"

Red's timing was impeccable, as always.

Elizabeth stood in front of the door, her fingers frozen to the handle. Memories of the night before flooded back to her, one memory in particular sticking out like a sore thumb.

She had told Red about Tom.

Taking a deep breath, she said the only thing she could think of to say.

"Let's go swimming today."