Much love to FilmsareFriends for beta'ing this.

I will be moving the rest of this story to Ao3 because I feel it should be under an Explicit rating.

Thank you to all who have taken the time to look at my little fic :)

Lizzie paced awkwardly at the front door. She'd never been the kind of person who took ages to get ready. Ten minutes was ten minutes, not forty five. She was learning fast that Red certainly was that kind of person.

Running her fingers over a marble statue in the hall, she thought of Cambodia with a pang. She missed it. Despite the initial loneliness and the uncomfortable power struggle with Red, she had liked the locals, picking up a little more of the language each day. Red hadn't said anything when she'd gone to meet Chea again. He'd raised an eyebrow and given her an oddly...sheepish smile. But he hadn't said a word, only suggesting that she take a fruit basket along for the family.

Cheeky.

He'd taken Cooper's intrusion to heart, increasing security and removing them entirely from that part of the world. She had been getting used to the slow pace of a tropical existence and a removal to Belarus had been jarring.

Lost in thought, she barely noticed Red until his arms were around her, the familiar weight of his chin resting on her shoulder.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Sure, it's just a meeting with a friend right? What's there to be ready for?"

"Quite right. So why do you seem so uneasy?"

"I don't know. Why do I have to wear this dress?" She complained, gesturing to the pretty, above knee, turquoise number. "I'm meant to be your associate, not your arm candy."

"You can be both," he purred. "I can't help it if my associate looks like candy in a dress."

It was probably a lucky thing that he couldn't see the expression on her face just then.

He'd handed her a weapon before they'd left. A pink Beretta Nano. She'd given him her best unimpressed look in return.

A Barbie Doll's weapon.

Her fingers nervously stroked her purse now. She could feel the gun burning a hole through it. She felt exposed, as though everyone in the hotel must know she was carrying. She hadn't had a weapon in her hands since the moment she'd dropped the gun after shooting Connolly. Perhaps he hadn't given her the opportunity because he knew how she'd feel?

How did she feel? She wasn't sure if it was just nerves at being given a task again, however small, or if she was no longer comfortable with the idea of being armed.

She hoped it was the former.

He took her upper arm firmly, steering her through the lobby. She remembered a time when she'd seethe at his proprietary touches, the way he'd grip and turn her as though she were a doll. He hadn't done it often back then, but when he had, she recalled wanting to stick her elbow into his side.

"You'll wait at the bar, keep a lookout."

"A lookout? I thought I was meeting your contact with you?"

He shook his head decisively. "You're far more useful down here. That's what you wanted isn't it?"

Her mouth twisted in understanding. "Right. Fine. I'll keep a 'lookout'. I'll just be here then," she said flatly, setting herself at a nearby table. He gave her a reproving look. She watched him turn from her toward the elevators, resentment bubbling up in her.

She ordered a drink and sat glumly, nursing it. She'd been full of hope that things were 'fixed'. That slow, creeping feeling that he'd always seen her as a mess that he had to manage had been blown away like smoke. She thought he had trusted her, he had practically admitted his mistake in the way he'd been treating her by allowing her to come as his associate today.

Apparently not.

She had to stop herself from grinding her teeth, a habit she'd picked up in the past year, giving her intense headaches. She rolled her shoulders, straightening her spine in a small stretch, twisting her neck gently to each side.

As she rolled her head, out of the corner of her eye she caught a look at two men sitting up at the bar. She couldn't put her finger on exactly what had caught her attention about them.

There was something...new? No, not new. Their clothes didn't fit quite right. The one furthest from her, his collar was popped and his haircut was not typical of a man who popped his collar. His body language didn't give it off either.

She continued to observe them out of the corner of her eye. Was she imagining things?

She smiled at her server and ordered another drink, calculating her options. She counted exits. The lobby or the kitchens. There were the bathrooms but who knew if there'd be a window she could climb out of.

Red.

Maybe she should take an elevator. Go and find him. She pictured his fury if she went upstairs and found she was just jumping at shadows. She wasn't sure she'd risk it just yet, based on a hunch about some random customer's collar and haircut.

She slid out of her chair, wandering to the bathroom, deliberately relaxing her pace, forcing her arms to hang loosely at her side, her fingers curled casually around her purse. She slanted a look at the two men at the bar as she sidled past them.

Yes, they'd both reacted. Not tensing exactly. It was almost imperceptible but there had been...an awareness of her that had increased as she got close to them.

She locked herself in a bathroom stall, taking steady breaths. In and out, slow and deep, from the belly, not the chest. She could practically hear Red's voice instructing her. What would he suggest now? For that matter, what would she suggest? She was the criminal profiler. Who were those men out there? She startled suddenly, realizing they could be Red's. It would be just like him to neglect to tell her he had a full security detail downstairs.

But she had become more familiar with the men he had around them, following them from Mexico to Cambodia and now here. He didn't tend to beef up security when he was around, only when she was by herself. Trading off a low profile for her protection, she supposed. Well, those two out at the bar were strangers to her.

She opened the door of her stall carefully, peering about the bathroom. Still empty. There was a skylight but no window. No exit here.

She moved past the men again, noting no reaction this time-an almost studied indifference to her presence, as she slid past them.

Back in her seat she scanned the room casually, attempting a bored expression.

With a shock, she realized they were everywhere.

A man in a suit, she'd be damned if he'd worn a suit and tie before, save for weddings, funerals and job interviews. He looked uncomfortable.

The room was full of undercover agents.

There were no women. That was foolish, she thought. They could have tried for just a bit of realism. What were they waiting for? Red to come back to the bar?

That was most likely. She needed an out. And a way to warn him.

She recalled an evening almost two years ago now. Red in a suit and tie, asking her to tell him his profile. Ordering a drink for her. Leaving the table so suddenly, heading through to the kitchen...and pulling the fire alarm.

Another deep breath. God she hoped she was right. She didn't want to think about how tense things would be afterwards if she was wrong.

She stood again, her chin held high, smiling at the bartender who was currently pouring a drink for one of the two men.

Sashaying past the bar, she made a beeline for the kitchen, carefully keeping her steps light and confident, unrushed. She belonged there, she told herself. Perfectly natural to push through the doors of the kitchen, smile and wave at the kitchen hand staring at her now, open mouthed.

She breezed through to the back door, spotting the fire alarm just at the moment she caught the eye of a looming chef. He frowned, heading towards her, his intent to remove her quite clear.

She hurtled towards the wall and wrenched the alarm, sounding loud bells throughout the kitchen and she assumed the bar as well.

The entire staff moved like ants in a nest, scurrying everywhere, shouts and yells coming from all directions. She gestured towards the bar expansively, wearing her best look of wide eyed fright on her face.

"Fire!" She threw her arms up wildly, pointing to the bar again. "Fire!"

Excellent. There was a rush to the front of the house. She turned to the back door, praying it would open with no trouble.

It did. She slipped out, toeing off her heels, throwing them into a nearby dumpster. It would be easier to go barefoot now, even considering the attention she'd call to herself.

She ran.

Adrenaline served her well for perhaps the first half hour. She didn't really plan any particular route. She ran, then jogged, and when her feet were sore and her heart wasn't pounding quite as hard, she slowed to a limping walk.

She checked over her shoulder. She could hardly believe she hadn't been followed.

Or perhaps she had.

She'd meant to make her way back to their safe house but what if? What if this was the plan all along? Track her back to the lair. She had nothing, no money, no phone. She had a gun. That was it.

And she'd left Red behind.

A large part of her wanted to make a beeline for the safe house, was furious at herself for leaving him, but she only had to imagine his look of resigned frustration at her stupidity if she were caught.

Think, dammit, think.

The jet. If she could get to the jet, she might find some of his team there. Her shoulders slumped. She'd be walking for hours in bare feet and a skimpy little dress in the middle of the day.

No help for her then.

A knock at the hotel room door. "Mr. Reddington?"

"Come," he spoke tersely, hoping for news, any news.

His man entered the room with a phone in his hand.

"It's Burley. He's at the hangar. Says he has Ms. Elizabeth all safe."

He groped for the phone, the muscles in his stomach loosening all at once, his bowels turned to water.