Liz hated these little meetings and, for the record, she had hated them well before Samar Movabi came to the task force. It was torture huddling around Aram's desk every Monday, reviewing weekend security footage from the Post Office. She had no idea why they all had to be there. It's not like Samar was going to be of any help anyway; she'd only been there for a few weeks – she wasn't going to be able to tell a security-cleared truck driver from a Pizza Hut delivery guy. Mentally, Liz slapped herself on the wrist: Stop it, Liz. She's been nothing but kind to you. She saved your life, remember?

But, annoyingly, Samar had also been nothing but kind to Red - although you could more accurately call that kindness "flirtation". Some days it was more noticeable than others but today it was especially noticeable. Liz had gathered from Samar and Red's semi-whispered conversation, occurring just to the left of her, that they had gone to dinner together on Saturday.

Red had taken Liz to The Occidental before, it's not like it was some big deal that had to be discussed while everyone else was trying to work. They'd gone for her birthday last month. She silently made a bet with herself that Red hadn't even bothered to learn Samar's birthday yet. You don't have to know someone's birthday to have seen them naked, you know – the little voice in her head whispered. She clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth painfully, trying in vain to focus on the task at hand.

She was brought back into focus when she felt Aram's hand cover hers, holding it still on the stainless steel countertop that served as his desk. He did it quietly, looking up at her and raising his eyebrow. He clearly didn't want anyone to notice that she had been tapping her finger on the countertop impatiently, bless his heart. She mouthed an apology and, without skipping a beat, Aram continued with his overview of the security footage.

Liz breathed deeply, calming herself only slightly as the low whispering from her periphery continued.

"I make a much better béarnaise, I can assure you," Red said in that trademark growl. "The key is finding European sourced butter. The next time I happen upon some, we can enjoy a steak in a more… casual setting," Red's lips were very near to Samar's ear. Liz could see his breath disturb a tendril of her ink-black curls.

Liz rolled her eyes, listening as Samar acknowledged his offer with a hushed but giddy acceptance. She's a Mossad agent. Like someone who eats Kosher can even have béarnaise on her steak – it's fucking dairy. And meat. Idiot. She was surprised at the hostile tone her inner monologue had taken on. Maybe she needed coffee.

She knew she couldn't take much more of this. They were leaning in close to each other, subtly mirroring each other's movements, their shoulders touching. Liz had to look away when Samar reached up to lift a hair off Red's suit jacket, smiling as she did. His head tilted toward her slightly, smiling at her like a dog getting its belly rubbed.

Resorting to desperation, Liz pulled her phone out of her pocket and pretended that she was getting a phone call, excusing herself. The door clanged shut behind her as she took a deep breath, clearing her head as best she could. She tried in vain to tamp down her realization that it was jealousy that caused her to seek refuge in the cold concrete of the hallway. Come on Liz, it's Red. He's like this with every woman he meets; hell, he mouth kissed the last female associate he got in contact with and she was nearing 70.

But the Occidental Grill? Seriously? That was special occasion dining. She remembered the time he took her there and how clear it had been upon entering the dining room that he was trying to impress her. He had pulled out her chair and took her coat, but maddeningly did not touch her otherwise… but his eyes wandered to her lips so many times during dinner that she started to wonder if the red wine was staining her teeth. He used that tone with her, the one he used now with Samar, and she remembered how it had made her feel a little breathless at times. She remembered how he had complimented her dress and it made her cheeks flush. Just that morning, before work, her fingers had grazed past the fabric of that little black dress and it brought back enough of that memory to make her blush again.

After a few deep breaths and a couple of meditative focus techniques, she returned to find that the meeting had concluded in her absence.

"Did I miss anything?" she asked Aram, as she passed by his desk on the way to her office.

"Uh, no. I didn't miss anything either, by the way… I know what that was about."

"What what was about?"

"The nervous tapping, the phone call… everyone you know is here." Before Liz could object, he pressed on. "What is it? Are you not a fan of the new girl?"

"It's not that I'm not a fan, she just reminds me of this girl I didn't like in one of my college seminars."

"I know how that goes," he said, clearly not convinced but taking her cue to change the subject. "Agent Ressler reminds me of a kid who stuck gum in my hair in second grade."

Liz laughed. "Are you sure it wasn't him? It doesn't exactly seem out of character."

After some parting pleasantries, Liz walked toward her office feeling a bit unsettled. She should have known that she couldn't fool Aram, he was just too much the gentleman to pry. But if Aram had noticed, she could bet that Red had noticed… that is, on the off chance that he had spared a moment to look her way.

The door to her office was open just slightly and she knew what would be waiting for her on the other side… or more accurately whom. She steeled herself, taking a deep breath and pushing confidently through the door.

"Good morning, Red. How was your weekend?" she said, not taking the time to look at him as she sat at her desk, immediately fumbling with her mouse to wake up the monitor. From the corner of her eye she could see him sitting with his legs crossed, his hat in his lap.

"Enjoyable," he said with what she was sure she sensed as a growl. His tone was suggestive, she was sure of it. It had to have been. "How was your weekend?"

"It was fine."

Her answer had been too short, too clipped. She winced a bit, knowing that she had shown enough of her hand to tip him off.

"Are you sure? You seem a bit on edge this morning. There was a fascinating article in Sunday's edition of the Times about the benefits of switching to decaf coffee, I can find you a copy if you're interested."

Liz slammed her mouse on her desk, her monitor refusing to wake up. Red didn't even so much as flinch.

"I haven't had coffee today," she said.

"Ah, that might be it."

"That's not it, I'm not it, why is everyone on my ass today?"

Red only smiled, watching her smack the sides of her monitor frantically, finally waking it up. It was quiet for a moment as Liz pretended to check her email. She stole a glance at Red to find him still smirking at her, unmoving, watching her curiously like she was a museum piece that had come to life.

"Can I help you with something or were you just in here to give me coffee advice?" Liz asked.

"No, I was just coming in to get your impression of our newest team member, Miss Movabi."

"She seems like she'll be a good addition," Liz said, keeping her answer simple and avoiding eye contact. As nice as Samar had been, she couldn't quite help but scowl a bit at the thought of her… not just yet. She would have to get over that soon if she was going to keep up this charade. Or what was left of it when Red was done with her this morning.

"Everyone seems rather taken with her already."

"Oh? Do they? Seem taken with her?" Liz said, failing to hide her sarcasm. He was clearly batting her around like a cat with a mouse and she might just as well accept it.

"Well, I thought so anyway. Though Agent Ressler can be hard to read. You on the other hand are a more open book."

"Oh really? Who's profiling now?" she said, pointlessly rearranging papers on her desk.

"It doesn't take much profiling to see that you aren't exactly comfortable with her presence. I mean, really Lizzie, that phone call? Everyone you know is already here."

"I know people!" Liz said, finding herself shouting. "I know other people! Why does everyone seem to think that my life revolves around this job? I'm not some friendless, workaholic mess, alright? I could be dating, none of you would ever even know! I could be in a book club!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Lizzie. If you were dating someone the FBI would know. Hell, if you were switching to soy the FBI would know."

"The FBI or you, Red?"

"Well, both. As is the nature of this relationship."

She scoffed. The rolling boil of anger was itching in her throat, begging for just one more comment to allow itself to bubble over again. The silence that followed did nothing to sate the intensity of her anger.

"Are you dating anyone?" Red asked. He didn't hide his tone of ardent curiosity… it wasn't just idle conversation, it was a battle that would not end until one of them pushed the other within view of the edge.

"I don't know Red, are you dating anyone?"

"It's bad form to answer a question with a question."

"Oh, yeah? Well, its bad form to come in here and corner me into giving my opinion about your new fuck buddy," she said, locking eyes with him. She had never spoken to him this way before, and it was too late to back down. If he wanted to play this game with her, she would make the first move and put him back on his heels.

The proverbial mouse was turning the table, backing the cat into a corner, watching as it crouched into a pounce.

"Are you referring to Miss Movabi?"

"I am."

"What makes you think that she and I have been intimate?"

"I didn't say that you two have been intimate. I said that you two have been fucking. I don't know if you're capable of real intimacy with a person," she said, acid lacing her tone.

"Would you care to find out?" he said, toying with her, batting at her nerves.

"Screw you," she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Such uncharacteristically crude language from such a careful communicator," he said, tilting his head in that cocky way that let her know that he felt he had uncovered something. It was the look he had given Floriana Campo when she had used his name in that hotel room.

"How's this for careful communication," Liz said, leaning toward him. "Flirt with the talent on your own time. Some of us are trying to work."

Their eyes locked, neither of them backing down. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears, hoping that she wasn't as exposed as she felt. She kept her hands still, fearing that if she moved them she would begin to shake.

"Let's put what's left of the decorum out of its misery, Lizzie. I sense that you are jealous of Samar and you aren't doing a very good job of hiding it which leads me to believe that you'd like to hash it out. So let's give it a shot."

"I am not jealous."

"You aren't jealous of her?" Red leaned in closer.

"No."

"It's clear to me that you're lying, whether you realize that you are or not."

"And how do you figure that?"

"Because I can see your pulse racing," he said, gesturing to his own carotid artery and the little scar she had left there not so long ago.

Involuntarily, she splayed her hand under her ear to hide her neck. She was now the mouse trapped in the corner.

"That's just anger," she said.

"Oh, I think it's something much more than that," he purred, getting up from his chair and approaching her desk. He laid his hat over her papers. "It's the anxiety of being replaced, is it not? Of being in unspoken competition with a perceived rival?"

She glared.

"I'm not a fan of games Lizzie, so I will cut to the chase. You have made it clear to me since the day we met that you are not interested in a personal relationship with me of any kind. I have respected as much as possible your need for this job to be your only context for my interest in you. You can continue to blind yourself to my true intentions but if you have changed your mind and are now curious, I propose we have that conversation. But not here. Not now. Not while you're angry."

She felt her breaths coming more quickly, her cheeks getting hot with something that wasn't quite pure anger any longer. Her lips fell open as she felt herself being swiftly disarmed of pretense.

"I will be at my hotel room at seven tonight," he said, becoming formal suddenly, nodding his head matter-of-factly. "Either you can come by and we can get to the business of discussing our intentions like adults, or I expect the rest of our time as professionals to be free of… whatever this was."

Before she could speak, he had closed the door. For a moment she was stunned into stillness, her thoughts a low, imperceptible hum. There was anger, of course. Shock at his boldness. But mostly a genuine fear that she might find herself on his doorstep that night.