He was laughing at her. The smug little-

No, it wasn't worth it. It was barely audible over the lively ruckus of the bar anyway, not the sharp mirthless bark he reserved for the other agents or the loud laugh of genuine- if sometimes misguided- amusement. This was more of an annoying chuckle, not for show or for pride, nor even an effort to express his superior knowledge or confidence, but a quiet sound; just for her.

It was entirely infuriating, and for it she glared a dagger or two at him. To no effect what so ever, of course. Deciding to ignore him, Elizabeth turned her hand over in front of her, palm up to see the damage. It had been her own fault, startling and dropping her drink at his unexpected comment; they were here for work and work only.

"Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie," he chided her in the way one might tsk, and her wrist was in his fingers before she could stop it or move to avoid him. His grip resisted her when she tugged backwards, so she strained harder until he pressed his thumb around hers and against the deepest of the cuts on her palm. She made a noise- shock, pain, anger- and he shushed her dismissively.

The shushing was worse even than the laughing.

Squaring her shoulders, Elizabeth gritted her teeth in silence, and Reddington slowly lessened the pressure of his thumb to a light touch as she stopped tugging against his hold. Carefully he turned her palm this way and that, brushing across the bleeding surface with his finger and glancing up to her when she flinched.

"Hold still," as usual, he commanded more than asked most things, and although she no doubt looked sour, Lizzie complied. He raised her hand towards his face, and she wriggled with confusion as he scrutinized her palm.

Her owch that followed was more a noise of surprise than of real pain, and she hissed it as he plucked a near invisible shard of glass from the base of her ring finger.

"I could have done that," she noted, and Reddington spared her a glance that- like most of them when it came to him- she found entirely unreadable.

"Of course you could, Lizzie."

He leaned back against the bar, away from her, and began reaching for his own drink. Perhaps he'd lost interest gratefully fast, and carefully she wondered what would be the best course of action in order to look most inconspicuous. She could order a new drink, possibly, but she still couldn't wrench her wrist from his grasp and although the cut wasn't too serious, the blood was starting to pool in her palm.

Turning back to her, Elizabeth caught his eyes over the rim of his glass and had a brief moment to register the look in them before he upended the contents of his alcoholic order over her injury.

She kicked the bar and swore under her breath.

While she compiled the now burning sting of her cut palm and the throbbing ache in her toes where they'd connected in her knee-jerk reaction to the far more solid bar, Reddington reached one handedly into his jacket and withdrew a small white roll of bandage.

"You just carry that around?"
"Lucky for you."

Within the minute he'd wrapped from her knuckles to her wrist, and after a lingering moment where she deliriously almost thought he was about to kiss her fingers, he finally released her and turned his attentions elsewhere.

Nursing her wounded hand in her other, she followed his gaze; he was scanning the bar. It looked nonchalant and casual, but she knew he was seeing more in each glance than most would see in a thorough investigation.

"We should go," he finally declared without even looking at her, still taking stock of their surroundings. She rolled her eyes and took the bait.

"Why?"
"Because you're compromised."
"I beg your pardon? No, I'm fine."

When he turned to look at her it was sharper than she expected, and it took a large portion of her will not to recoil or betray her emotions on her own face.

"You're injured, your dominant hand."
"It's not like I'll be needing it for anything, I thought you said this meeting looked fairly straight forward."
"Looks can be deceiving."
"I'm not going to quit this for a cut. We need to get this guy before we miss our chance. I feel fine."

He searched her face then, emotions she was afraid to understand hiding in the creases beside his eyes, and she wondered at what point he'd decided to start completely disregarding her personal space. Probably immediately, in hindsight.

"Your stubbornness could get you killed, Lizzie."
"It won't."

This time the smile reached further than just his mouth, along with the small huff of a laugh that she found much less irritating than the one he'd made earlier. Grinning up at her, Reddington leaned away to sit up straight and rest his elbow on the bar beside him.

"I suppose we'll both be needing new drinks, then."