Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He has no one but himself to blame.

That is if he knew anything about it which thankfully he doesn’t. Lizzy pulls back from the door that is open just enough to allow a shaft of light to cut through the darkened hallway. She is out of its reach and with steps as soundless as her approach, she retreats back toward the entrance.

If it wasn’t for his annoying habit of breaking into her apartment she would never have reciprocated, leading to this cat and mouse game. It doesn’t even occur that often, just enough to keep things interesting, she supposes. A way for them to one up each other and there has never been an end to it with neither wanting the other declared the winner.

It is for this reason she had taken the opportunity of striking the next blow since Red and Dembe had moved to a new safehouse from their luxury hotel. It is always a house where she has the greatest success in surprising him by strolling into the room with a small smile of triumph lighting up her face. She would generally just ignore the smirk it elicited and wait for the payback that would inevitably come.

And come it would.

But unlike her, he never entered her home uninvited if she were present. Never since he strolled through her front door after the incursion at the Post Office or following the violent fight with Tom has he repeated that action. But she was barely in her new apartment a day before she came home to find him waiting for her, sitting calmly on the sofa he brought with him and smiling patiently at her.

Her irritation stewed for days following that little stunt, compounded by the fact the sofa was exactly what she would have purchased if he’d given her a chance. The annoyance eventually leveled off since there really was no ill intent in the gift. No attempt to control. He simply wanted her to have a place to sit while she sorted out her life and got things settled after all the time spent moving from one motel to another.

But that didn’t mean she could let it go completely. It took a few weeks but she finally managed it and the look on their faces she will never forget as she entered the living room of whatever safehouse that was and said quite casually Don’t mind me, just dropped by for some water. Red’s eyebrows were raised about as high as they’d go while he peered at her over his newspaper on her way to the kitchen. She offered a wave with the bottle on her way back out again and had hoped that would put an end to things.

But he always has to have the last word.

Thus began this little back and forth. Red occasionally waiting for her when she arrives home and her interrupting dinner or one of their game nights by bursting into the room. It’s been a while though. Their cases lately seemed to come quickly, one right after the other and his travels had not afforded the opportunity. That is until this evening when she picked the lock and silently approached the sitting room. Perhaps he would have expected it had it not been months since she came home to find him plundering through her refrigerator. Perhaps he would have remembered that it was her turn. Then she wouldn’t have overheard the conversation not meant for her ears.

She makes it back to her car that is parked up the block and attempts to slow her breathing, to calm her racing heart. If she had only arrived minutes before or after, she would never have known it. So close to interrupting what would come as her fingers brushed the door just as Dembe’s voice reached her.

You should tell her, Raymond.

Her hand had frozen instinctively as she waited, somehow knowing she was the her being referenced. Several seconds went by as she wondered what to do when she heard Red exclaim.

‘Mimsy’ and that’s a double letter as well as a double word making it 30 points.

She rolled her eyes, probably in sync with Dembe, realizing they are playing Scrabble and that he is stalling.

Raymond, did you hear what I said?

I did. Tell her what?

Why you have remained in this city you despise. Why you don’t simply call her in reference to the list, but instead want to stay close when there is no longer the need.

Not what she had anticipated and something she had not given any thought to. Why he would remain after Berlin was dealt with. After Tom walked away from the boat and thankfully out of her life. After the months and months it took to put herself back together and all the while Red was there adding more names to the Blacklist, thereby giving her a reason to carry on.

It was that focus that led her to move into an apartment, her first home after the brownstone. So much of that time is a blur of cases they worked but from it there is the partnership that somehow grew despite their past. Even a tentative friendship if she were to stop and attempt to define what they are now. She never questioned why he did not leave, but even more than that, she never contemplated what his reasons were for staying.

He was quiet and although his face was not visible to her, it was only too easy to picture his expression. The shuttered look as he retreated within. The muscle tightening in his jaw as he carefully planned his next words. Or maybe that is only with her and not with Dembe. She had stood there beyond the fall of light, leaning as close as she dared.

I’m not sure what you...

His words trailed off and she understood immediately why he did not finish the statement. Because he was well aware of what Dembe meant and he would never lie to him just as he would never tell her an untruth. She has seen him too often use silence as a way to avoid a deception and was not surprised when he did not continue.

But what is it he won’t admit to? What is his true reason for staying?

Raymond, perhaps a time may come when you can admit the true nature of your feelings to yourself. Only then will you be able to admit them to Elizabeth.

She had gasped audibly at her own name and brought a hand up to cover her mouth. However, what sounded impossibly loud to her did not make it into the room beyond and she told herself to leave. Go right then before she heard anymore, but she was rooted to the spot, held there by the deepest need to hear his thoughts.

I know their true nature, Dembe. Believe me, I have known for some time, but that she would ever reciprocate….well, I have no such illusion. I’ve stayed for the simple reason I could not imagine leaving her.

She reached her other hand to the wall to steady herself as his words flowed over her. Words that she strained to hear as his voice dropped to a murmur weighed down by what she cannot name.

With a glance back toward the front entrance, she was turning to leave when Dembe spoke again.

‘Frazils’ and that’s 18, double letter ‘z’ so 28 and then triple word bringing it to 84.

Oh, for god’s sake!

Without a second thought and before there is the opportunity for them to resume the conversation, she had made her escape with only one goal in mind. That he not realize she was there, suddenly finding the thought of causing him pain abhorrent to her.

And now sitting in her car she has yet to turn on, the events replay in her mind. It’s fine, she tells herself and repeats it again and again. A simple mistake that she will soon forget and things will carry on as they always have. Yes, that’s how it will be and if her hands are trembling too much for her to drive it is only the shock. When she sees him again it will have worn off. She’s sure of it. Almost.

I’ve known for some time.

But how long? The question that is burning into her and there is no answer. Not here in this darkened car with her confused thoughts racing about.

The buzzing of her phone makes her jump and she fumbles a moment trying to retrieve it from her pocket and who else would it be but Nick’s Pizza?

“Hello, Reddington. How are you tonight?”

My god, she sounds like a bad actor in an equally bad play and drops her head in her hand.

“Lizzy, you all right? You sound a little strange.”

She stifles the hysterical laugh that it is taking everything within her to control and tries again. “I’m fine, Red. How’s it….uh...going?”

This sounds even stranger to her ears and perhaps if she stops calling him by every variation of his name, not to mention speaking louder than is really necessary. With a sigh, she leans forward until her forehead makes contact with the steering wheel.

“It is going well, thank you for inquiring,” he says, with a lingering trace of confusion in his tone. “I wondered if I might drop by for a word tomorrow morning? Before you leave for the Post Office that is to say.”

“Yes, of course. Yes. You do that.”

She gives up any pretense of normalcy and is relieved when he continues hurriedly. “I’ll not keep you then, Lizzy. About eight o’clock.”

He disconnects without waiting for her response and she closes the phone, giving it a toss toward the passenger seat. After a moment she raises her head just enough that she can see the lights of the safehouse up the block. Just one of many stately homes on this quiet street but it is the only one that draws her eye. The only one that holds her interest, wondering what was said in the time since she snuck out. What has prompted this late evening call and a sudden wish to speak with her?

And what on earth is she going to say in response?

She forces herself to take a breath and with a last look at the light in the distance, she starts the car and drives away.

Chapter Text

By the time Lizzy goes to bed, she has convinced herself she must have misinterpreted the whole thing. By midnight she is tossing and turning and doesn’t know what to think.

She could almost believe they were speaking of someone else entirely had Dembe not mentioned her by name. Still, in all likelihood she is reading far too much into what she overheard. Of course she knows Red cares for her and that those feelings have changed from what they were when he surrendered. When it was a matter of honor that he dealt with the repercussions of hiring Tom, though she does not blame him for that man’s actions. When his regard for her was rooted in obligation to the events of the past. Events she still has only a murky awareness of, but he has told her enough that she has formed a rough outline of it in her mind. Spies and counterspies. Double agents and betrayal. Promises made to protect a child that was saved.

The entire story will probably never be known to her. She has even come to peace with it. What could she say to his pained explanation. Your mother died never wanting you to know, Elizabeth. It is to her, Sam and I made the promise. What could she do? If she has learned nothing else of him in these few years it is the unwavering strength of his moral code, but it did not make it any easier. Her anger compounded with her life falling to pieces and….he stayed.

He took that anger and absorbed it, never once deflecting it back to her. He must have known after she was drained of it and nothing remained but emptiness that she would find herself again. Perhaps there was the smallest hope that they could move beyond what lay buried in her memory and somehow they did. When she accepted the wishes of her mother and that what he had told her would have to be sufficient.

And that is how they found this….balance. Whatever it is that has allowed them to forge ahead. Of course they care about each other. As partners. Or friends? Not that she has really had the time to analyze their relationship. Not that she has any clue what is happening all of a sudden.

The true nature of his feelings.

With a sigh of exasperation she turns to her other side and hopes sleep will find her soon. Telling herself not to count the hours until he will arrive. Seven hours….and then six.

Feelings he is sure that she could never reciprocate.

She turns back the other way and tries not to recall his voice when he said it, the trace of something there. Something close to longing or regret and she pulls the blanket up tighter. Thinks of the paperwork waiting for her at work and the reports Cooper will be expecting.

He could not imagine leaving her.

Perhaps it is some leftover protective instinct or maybe he truly finds some value in the cases he gives them. He probably simply loves the game of leading his double life. That must be the reason.

She falls into a fitful sleep only to wake throughout the night as the hours slowly pass. Until the next dream arrives. Raymond and something she needs but never understanding what it is. Never quite able to reach him in time. Sometimes he would be so close and is just on the point of telling her as she leans in…..

When the phone rings and it’s Nick’s Pizza but as soon as she looks up, Red is gone.

“Where did you go?” she mumbles sleepily.

“Lizzy? Where are you?” he asks in confusion. “Are you alright?”

She’d say the answer to that is no but at least she is finally or mostly awake and squinting at her phone. “Red?”

“Tell me what is wrong.”

What is wrong? Where does she begin? The complete exhaustion that has numbed her brain. The fact she forgot to set an alarm. The lingering effects of the dream that she can’t possibly think about right now.

“I’m fine, just overslept. Are you here?” Her voice is still raspy and the world is a blur as she gives her phone a shake, but the time doesn’t change. Eight o’clock sharp.

“Yes, but perhaps I should call you later or—“

“Look, just pick the lock and I’ll see you in a few minutes. Tell me you brought food.”

He chuckles and there is relief in his voice which makes her smile. “You’re in luck.”

The apartment is quiet for the second or two it takes him to gain entry and she doesn’t know whether to be impressed or worried about her home security, to be honest. There are the sounds of bags being deposited on the kitchen counter and cabinets opening which she sincerely hopes signals he is starting the coffee.

She sits there staring at her closed bedroom door and wonders two things. Should she get dressed and what is it he plans to say to her?

To the first she decides a robe will do. They’ve had many such early morning meetings at her apartment, usually precipitated by his flying off somewhere. At first she’d get up early and be fully dressed when he arrived but over time she chose the extra few minutes of sleep and would usher him in somewhere in the middle of her morning routine. He’d gravitate to the coffee maker and they’d converse from separate rooms until she joined him. So to now come out in her FBI garb when he knows she was in a dead sleep only minutes before would seem unusual and that’s the last thing they need this morning.

She slides out of bed and locates her robe on the way to the bathroom and thinks about the second issue only to be stopped by her appearance in the mirror. After running a brush through her hair and splashing water on her face she is ready to admit defeat. Turning away, she leans back against the counter and ponders his wanting to meet with her and there is only one conclusion she can make. Whatever it is will not relate to the conversation with Dembe. He won’t say a word. The man is a closed book.

Besides, it is probably as she has half convinced herself. Whatever the emotion, it is rooted in the need to protect or the way one would feel about a person they work closely with. Like Aram for instance. Yes, that’s it exactly.

So there is no reason to be nervous. Which she’s not. At all.

Red, on the other hand, appears perfectly at ease. He’s sitting at the table perusing the newspaper, but when she appears, he sets it aside and studies her in that particular way of his. Something that usually doesn’t unsettle her. Today, however, it leaves her even more out of sorts.

“Lizzy, come sit. You look dead on your feet.”

“I’m so glad,” she mutters, but she decides to forgive the remark when she sees a bag from her favorite breakfast spot up the block. “Are those the mini quiches I love?”

“They are.”

“Thank god.”

He chuckles and promptly returns with her coffee.

“There’s the usual assortment,” he says and begins the crossword while she eats.

Nothing out of the ordinary except they are just a little more curious this morning, a little more aware of the other. There are a few more glances between them as they wonder. She about all the things that caused her sleepless night as well as an attempt to decipher what exactly is going on behind that relaxed demeanor of his.

Red’s curiosity is of a shorter duration and there comes a point it gets the better of him. With eyes still studying the puzzle and jotting down the odd answer, he asks quite casually, “Lizzy, what did you mean by where did you go?”

“What?”

“Earlier when you answered the phone,” he says, still concentrating on the paper in his hand. “Where did who go?’

If he had looked at her she never would have thought twice about the question, but there can’t be anything that interesting in the Time’s crossword. If she hadn’t already been studying him then perhaps it wouldn’t have made her pause. It wouldn’t have made her smile before she forces it away with another bite.

“Oh, I meant you. Would you like a quiche?”

“I’ve eaten, but thank you, I still don’t understand—”

“I was half asleep, I suppose, dreaming about you telling me something. Maybe a new case.”

She can’t resist saying it and sits back to sip her coffee, wanting to hide her expression should it give her away. It never crossed her mind. What he would think after waking her this morning and her odd question. Where did who go? Indeed. She hesitates to call it jealousy and if he only knew just how far off the mark his thought process really is. No reason for him to worry on that score, not since…

With a flourish and a smile that has all the markings of relief, he drops the paper on the table and sits back, finally looking at her. “I’m afraid I haven’t got a case at the moment and that is actually why I stopped by. I’ll be gone for a while.”

“Wait, what?” She sits up straighter and sets her cup back on the table, the sound sharper than she intended.

“Dembe is getting cabin fever apparently and since things have slowed down, now is an excellent time for a break. If something comes up I’ll call.”

She is speechless.

And trying very hard not to show it as she tells herself this is no different than the countless other trips he has taken. No reason to jump to conclusions. Why then does it make her chest tighten?

Because this is not the same. This trip comes the morning after and now she can’t get Dembe’s words out of her mind. Why Red stays in this place he barely tolerates when he could call her from anywhere else in the world when there is a name to add to the list.

“When will you…..how long….”

If she could get her thoughts in order, but he seems not to notice. “A few weeks perhaps. They say crime never sleeps but it appears all the blacklisters have gone to ground. I’m sure business will pick up in no time.”

“Crime never pays,” she murmurs, unable to stop the smile at that trademark smirk.

“Is that how it goes? Well, it definitely pays, take it from me.”

He is teasing her while at the same time being completely serious. With a roll of her eyes, she rises to take her dishes to the counter needing to busy her shaking hands. When she turns, he has risen and is putting on his fedora. She can’t help asking the question.

“Was that all you needed to talk to me about before you go?”

“Yes.”

And it’s the strangest thing. The almost imperceptible pause before he answered. The quiet that descends in her already silent apartment that follows his reply. How everything goes still and for the briefest moment she catches it in his expression. Gone as quickly as it came and what remains is a smile and the tilt of his head. There is nothing he need say. She has the answer she has been looking for right there.

“I’m glad you dropped by before your trip,” she says quietly.

The simple truth and she finds there is a need to tell him this if nothing else.

“It was a pleasure, Lizzy. I’ll be in touch,” he murmurs.

With a nod, he is gone and she stands there long after the soft click from the front door signals his exit. She had thought him a closed book but never has she been more wrong. It is she that had her eyes shut to the world around her. Here in this apartment, the manifestation of her new life, she is suddenly aware of all the things she could not or would not see in order to get herself to this place.

He loves her.

And she knows perfectly well it is more than their partnership or friendship or whatever label she tries to assign it. Others may wonder what his feelings are for her but she does not.

There are other questions that come. Why the timing of this trip seems a little too coincidental. Will placing an ocean between them bring him the distance he needs?

Why the thought of him leaving permanently…..but she doesn’t want to think about that now.

She remains where he left her, listening for the sound of the door, not sure what it is she is waiting for. The quiet lengthens. He won’t return this morning, but she imagines him there with the expression that passed over his face. Where she found the answer.

After the betrayal of her marriage the thought of that type of love is unfathomable to her. Something else she locked away and would not acknowledge. However, this is not Tom and it most certainly is not a lie.

There is no denying that her awareness of Red’s emotion makes her feel…..warm. Like the first morning in spring when the air doesn’t sting from the chill. She laughs at herself, thinking all this has certainly made her quite lyrical when that is usually his area of expertise. Regardless, there is the wish to safeguard it as well as his feelings.

His secret is safe with her.

Chapter Text

“This infernal heat!” Raymond grumbles as he steps into the hotel suite from the terrace. “How I let you talk me into Europe during a heat wave I’ll never know.”

My god, he thought Seville was hot until they arrived in Rome a few days ago. He whips his tie off and immediately opens a few buttons of his dress shirt and continues pacing the room.

“There’s always the shore. Perhaps the sea breeze—”

“All that sand. You must be joking.”

“The mountains then,” Dembe remarks patiently, not looking up from the book he’s attempting to read.

“Dembe, I can’t think of a single mountain I need to see at this particular moment in my life,” he concludes emphatically and walks back outside to look down on the piazza below.

Normally the city teeming with late summer tourists wouldn’t set his nerves on edge or the heat increase his restlessness. Even discounting his time spent in the odd prison cell, he has known far worse accommodations for the crowds or temperature to dampen his enthusiasm. Usually it would have the opposite effect. After years on the run, he can move through any number of people with ease and even finds a sense of calm by losing himself amongst the masses.

However, nothing about this particular trip has been calming. There is no business to fill up the days and, as of yet, little to peak his interest in the evenings. There is one simple reason for his mood and it has nothing to do with Dembe’s cabin fever as he said to Lizzy and everything to do with his friend’s real reason for wanting a change of scene, though he never said it outright the other night.

Dembe’s plan for this excursion came too close on the heels of their conversation regarding his….feelings for Elizabeth for the two not to be connected. Perhaps it was with the notion that some distance might lead to a little perspective, but this he has in abundance. He is more than aware of the emotion that keeps him tethered to Washington and a vacation isn’t likely to add any new depth of understanding.

The plain truth is he hasn’t given serious consideration to leaving even after there was no reason why he shouldn’t. He has never felt that his continued presence was a hindrance to her life. In fact, the opposite seemed to be the case. She was nothing short of lost after the lies holding her marriage together came to light. What she needed was to work, to engage her mind and what better way than to add more names to the list. It gave him the perfect excuse to stay near her, something that over time became a need as well as a desire. Or maybe it was the other way round, but however it came to be, it won’t be undone so easily.

It gnaws at him now, whether it wouldn’t be better to make this separation more permanent or even semi-permanent. The entire prospect has him completely out of sorts and he glances toward the West, envisioning the miles stretching between. In all his travels he has never been as aware of that distance until now.

The sun is dipping behind the surrounding buildings and soon they’ll be deciding on dinner. Perhaps that little place in Trastevere that is impossible to find unless you’re a local or an old friend. Yes, that seems a better way to end this rather unexceptional day.

He wonders what Lizzy would think of the ancient city and immediately he can see them there. Waiting to leave the hotel until late in the evening, after the tourists have tired themselves out and the locals have come out to enjoy their neighborhoods.

With a shake of his head, he forces himself away from the coolness of the evening in his mind. He is alone again on the balcony with the sweat dripping into his eyes and she is still an ocean away. Without a second thought he pulls out his phone and dials her number.

“Where are you?”

Well, it seems we are all business today and he steps away from the railing and moves to a chair, relaxing back before answering her question.

Which she doesn’t give him time to do. “Reddington?”

“I’m here, Lizzy.”

“And?” she asks, still waiting for his location.

“And, how are you?”

A rather loud sigh follows and he is almost certain he can hear her nails drumming impatiently on her desk.

“Did you call to annoy me or do you finally have a blacklister for us?”

“The answer to both is no. I called to ask—”

“It’s been awhile. Cooper is going to be wanting a name which is the purpose of our arrangement as you know.”

He smiles in spite of himself.

“Agent Keen, please inform Director Cooper that this isn’t a case of the week television program and when there is a blacklister he will be the first to know.”

“Wrong.”

“Excuse me,” he says, rather surprised at her comeback.

“I’ll be the first to know. You do speak with me after all,” she replies glibly.

He can already hear the change in her tone and chuckles at the sudden turn in the conversation. Something very near to teasing and again she surprises, challenges him at every turn. It is probably the reason he pushes at her, enjoying the spark it often elicits.

“I stand corrected.”

“That’s a first.”

She is probably sitting back to take a spin in her chair, enjoying her small victory. God, he wishes he was there to see it.

“Are you going to tell me where you are?” she asks again, only this time with less bite in her voice.

“Here and there. Italy today, tomorrow is anyone’s guess.”

“I heard it’s hot.”

“You would be correct. Again,” he says with amusement. “Now Lizzy, tell me, are you having lunch at your desk again?”

By her silence, he already surmises that is precisely what she is doing and feels certain if his chair allowed it, he might give it a spin around.

“So you really did call to annoy me.”

His laughter follows before he replies, “I assure you that was not my intention but I will let you get back to whatever it was I interrupted."

“Wait,” she stops him. “You said you called to ask me something.”

“Did I?”

“Reddington.”

The warning is clear and he decides not to press his luck. “I called to ask if you’d ever been to Rome.”

“I…”

Her pause lengthens and he lets it. A silly impulse but there are times he realizes just how much there is still left to learn about her.

“Was that really the reason?”

Quiet now and a little confused and he supposes he can’t blame her. She has no idea the true reason for this sudden trip or the things that only his soul knows. Well, his soul and Dembe, that is.

“It was. I was looking out over the piazza and it occurred to me it has never come up in conversation.”

Probably because their conversations typically revolve around the criminal underworld. Something else he wishes could be different. Ah well, what a fool he was and an impulsive one considering this call.

“No I haven’t,” she murmurs. “There was a trip to Paris and Brussels during college and the few we’ve made for our cases. But never Rome or a handful of other places I’d like to get to one of these days.”

“I’m sure you will, Lizzy. I’ll let you resume lunch but perhaps tomorrow, somewhere other than your desk. It is positively depressing thinking of you there with only Ressler as your lunchtime view.”

She is laughing softly as she says goodbye and disconnects, leaving him feeling better than he has in days. At that moment he doesn’t care about the reasons why. It is enough that she somehow seems closer to him then, as the image returns of their walk through the streets, headed to some secret spot. For a few minutes he allows it to remain even though it is dangerous to fall too deeply within these wanderings. The return to reality is often painful, but today he thinks it well worth it.

When he steps into the suite a few minutes later, it is with an altogether lighter mood and he gives his phone a toss onto the sofa.

“I’m going to shower then I wondered if you’d like dinner at the little place behind the shop down that street I like.”

“Yes, it has been awhile since we have visited,” Dembe answers, knowing very well which restaurant was so cryptically described.

He watches as Raymond disappears into his room before glancing at the phone and there is the hint of a smile as he resumes reading his book.

Liz has just made another spin in her office chair when Ressler enters, causing her to sit up straighter and return to work on the case file she’s been going through.

“Any news from Reddington?”

None that she has the least intention of talking about as she concentrates on the computer screen. Where would she even begin to explain?

“Not as of yet.”

“He does realize his immunity deal is contingent on providing cases for this task force, doesn’t he?”

“I doubt he cares,” she mumbles, feeling her annoyance return, only this time not with Red. It’s one thing when she says it but she is really in no humor for anyone else’s opinion on the matter.

“What was that?”

Taking a breath, she looks past her screen and says as distinctly as possible, “I doubt he cares. When there is a case, he will call.”

Except he already called to ask a simple question, something he wondered about. She goes back to her file and doesn’t at all comprehend what she is pretending to read. So he doesn’t know all her answers it seems, which she forgets at times but then promptly rolls her eyes as she reaches for her half-eaten sandwich. Proof of just how well he does know her and with a shrug of her shoulders she takes a bite and tries to focus.

After a minute or two she realizes she is smiling and it feels like the first time in days. Her irritation steadily increased the past week with every inquiry about his whereabouts or their next case. Between Ressler’s daily questioning and Cooper explaining to her the need to rein in Reddington’s antics, she found herself ready to snap, culminating right before lunch when Aram stopped her on the way to her office.

“Agent Keen, do you—”

“Aram, I have no idea when or even if Reddington will return much less who our next blacklister will be.”

Honestly, have there always been this many questions or is she simply noticing them more now that there is the chance he may stay away?

“I was actually wondering if you’d like to grab lunch. Agent Navabi is due back from court soon.”

Great, that’s really great. Now she was annoyed with herself and well she should be.

“Oh sorry, but you two go on without me. I have some work to finish up,” she muttered, feeling a surge of guilt.

Why push her bad temper onto them and so she had taken her sandwich to her desk and by the time Red called a short while later she had most definitely had it, to say the least.

She doesn’t spend much time dissecting her change in mood after speaking with him, having done more overthinking and analyzing in the past week and a half than she cares to admit. And for a day or two it persists until the monotony of cleaning up case files wears thin. Until the claustrophobia of the Post Office increases tenfold.

As days go by without another call.

Not that she is giving that any thought or wondering if this is to be the new normal. Whether he is deciding which home or hotel to set as his residence for the foreseeable future. No more calls to meet him at some intriguing locale within the city or a park bench he has chosen for his office that day. Certainly no more early morning visits to her apartment which used to occur at least weekly. Why did she never realize their frequency before, now that they may be ending.

“Agent Keen?”

“Yes.” Sharp again, having gotten lost in her thoughts and she looks up to see Aram hesitating in the doorway. Not again, she thinks before waving him in.

“Aram, I’m sorry. It’s just been one of those weeks.”

“That’s okay. Look, I wondered if you wanted lunch.”

Somewhere other than her desk for a change? “I’d love it. Lets go.”

They are almost to the elevator when she stops him. “What about Samar?”

“She’s meeting us there.”

“Are you sure you want me along then?” she asks, smiling at how flustered the simple question has made him.

“Oh, it’s not like that.”

That appears highly doubtful, but she is happy to be out of the office for once. She doesn’t mind the blinding sun or this particularly humid day and is especially glad they have several blocks to walk. They have just reached the door to the little bistro she has been wanting to try when her phone rings.

With a glance at Nick’s Pizza on the display, Aram gives her arm a pat. “We’ll be inside, Liz.”

She is wondering two things. Is that the first time Aram has called her something other than Agent Keen and where in the world is Raymond Reddington today?

“So let me guess. Glasgow? Antwerp? Oslo?”

“Are you in the midst of a geography lesson or simply trying to guess where I am?”

His amusement is apparent and she can already imagine the smirk on his face.

“Am I close?”

“Absolutely not,” he responds matter-of-factly.

“Where then?”

“Bilboa.”

Dammit, he would pick one she has never heard of and she quickly puts him on speaker so she can look it up.

“Are you looking it up?”

Dammit! It is all she can do not to laugh and give herself away.

“I know all about Bilboa actually,” she says haughtily while squinting at her phone. “It’s a port city in northern Spain surrounded by mountains. It is just south of….the Bay of Biscay and—”

“You’re on the Google as we speak, Lizzy.”

And this time she really does laugh. “It’s called googling, Red, not on the Google. Did you call to annoy me again?”

But there is no edge to her voice as she leans back against the building with the phone to her ear and doesn’t miss his soft chuckle.

“Thought I’d check in and see if you’re still eating at your desk, but I swear I can hear the sound of traffic in the background. Is it possible that you’ve seen the light of day today?”

“For your information I’m out with Aram and Samar.”

“Glad to hear it. Too much time spent in that dungeon is unhealthy if you ask me.”

“I wouldn’t be cooped up if we had a case but I get your point.” She’s finding herself already feeling much better which must be from the walk and not this unexpected call. “So are you calling to give me a reason to escape the Post Office?”

“Afraid not. It’s much too hot to fight crime anyway.”

“I’ll keep that in mind” She is smiling at his audacity and quite without thinking asks the one question that has been on her mind for days. “When are you coming home?”

Good god, she hadn’t meant to say it and pushes away from the wall to walk a few steps to the left before turning back in the other direction. Where she thinks she is going is anyone’s guess but one thing is for sure. Suddenly the answer to her question is the last thing she wants.

“Red, I’m sorry to cut this short but I really must go.”

She hangs up before he has the chance to respond and wishes more than anything she could rewind the last fifteen seconds. How could she have asked it and why is she is so flustered?

Because of the way in which she said it.

Barely above a whisper, like a secret they were sharing. Coming home and there is a domesticity to it, even an intimacy.

With a shake of her head, she puts her phone away and attempts to not overthink it and fails miserably. Why the question should disconcert her and why she is afraid of what he would say plays on a loop in her thoughts. It’s nothing. She’s imagining whatever it is she heard there within the tone of her voice. Nothing at all.

“Anything to report?” Samar asks, when Liz enters the restaurant and joins them.

After an extra long sip of water and opening the menu, she replies with all the calmness she can fake.

“Nope.”

And leaves it at that.

When are you coming home?

It follows her all the rest of the day and into the next.

Just a turn of phrase really but it has unsettled her, there is no denying it. The possibility he will not return…..no, she doesn’t want to hear him speak it. The end of the workweek has never been such a relief and with no open cases, she wants nothing more than a few days of quiet to get her thoughts in order.

As she unlocks her apartment, she realizes instantly that is not to be. The lights are on and there is the hint of a breeze coming in from the balcony. Looking through the doorway she finds him with his back to her, leaning against the railing, looking out into the night. Very much lost in thought until she steps to his side.

“So I see we aren't past the breaking and entering phase,” she says quietly.

He turns and studies her in the fading light, long enough that she fights the urge to retreat, feeling her defenses not prepared for his scrutiny tonight. Long enough that she is almost certain he is searching for an answer but in the next moment the notion vanishes as he smiles at her as he always does.

“I’m two up on you now, unless you’d like to declare me the winner.”

There it is. Confirmation that he has no idea she broke into the safehouse. The fear that has nagged at her since the night she overheard his conversation.

“Think again, Reddington,” she murmurs, finally relaxing enough to return his smile.

It makes him laugh softly, like the air moving across her skin. She wonders how the night could have gone so quiet. She wonders…

“Why are you here?”

“Lizzy, you never gave me a chance to answer your question.”

When are you coming home?

And so he came home.

To her home.

Chapter Text

Why are you here?

Lizzy, you never gave me a chance to answer your question.

Red is watching her in that amused way of his, the one that always makes her feel he knows exactly what she is thinking. Well, not this time and she determinedly holds his gaze even while being grateful for the darkness on her balcony where he has waited for her. They are both cast in shadow except for the light spilling out from the doorway illuminating their profiles.

How fitting, she thinks. All this time she only saw half of what was in front of her and never picked up on everything he concealed. Yet it was there all the time in every touch, every glance. Each kindness he has so willingly shown. In his continued presence in her life.

And now it is she that must conceal.

He has no idea what she has learned and as rare as that may be, she definitely needs to keep it that way if they are ever to return to….normal. To the time before.

“Well, it was busy and hard to hear on the street and Samar and Aram were waiting for me and…”

So much for normal.

She wills herself to stop rambling and tries to ignore his expression that has only grown in amusement. There really isn’t an explanation she can offer for suddenly hanging up on him or her odd behavior of late.

“Reddington, why are you here?” she asks again. “Please tell me you have a case.”

“Sorry to disappoint but—”

Her head falls back in sync with the roll of her eyes as she thinks of the week to come. Nothing but paperwork to keep her tied to her desk and at the sound of his chuckle, she looks up to glare at him.

“Maybe it’s time I find another criminal informant that will actually inform.”

“Lizzy, you wound me. Besides, where will you find one that brings you souvenirs?”

“Oh, I’m sure….”

Her retort dies in her throat. Whatever half-teasing remark she would have made vanishes as quickly as it came and here she is once more. Another revelation to add to all the others. It’s not that he always manages to bring her some little something from his travels, usually in the form of a local delicacy, but it is what’s behind the gesture that she sees so clearly now. How he must think of her throughout his days. How he has memorized her likes and dislikes and chooses accordingly. How he feels she should be more adventurous and she smiles faintly at the memory of a few bizarre concoctions he has brought home to her. Home. There’s that word again as well as the strange sensation she felt when she had asked the question.

When are you coming home?

As if he has one and that it is very near to hers.

There she goes overthinking again and…

“Are you alright?” he asks as the amusement fades to concern.

“Yes. Yes, of course,” she replies quickly. “What did you bring me?”

Without waiting for an answer, she walks quickly toward the kitchen, needing the distance but also curious as to what awaits. Not seeing a bag or box, however, she turns as he walks toward her.

“It’s on the table,” he says quietly as she glances around.

She spots it then, the book tucked under his fedora and pulls it out to read the title.

Where To Get Lost In Northern Spain.

Her laughter is immediate. A day ago she was googling his location having no idea where Bilboa actually is and today he is bringing her a travel book. Something he would never read himself. He’d simply do as the title suggests. Get lost and see what happens but knowing her more practical nature, he brought a book to explain the journey and she mentally adds it to the places she told him about. The ones she hopes to visit one of these days.

“Thank you.”

There is nothing else she can think to say as she shuffles through the pages before holding it close to her.

“You’re welcome, Lizzy.” After shifting his weight a time or two and clearing his throat, he steps the rest of the way forward to retrieve his hat from the table. “I suppose I’ll just—”

“Where are you going?”

“I didn’t want to intrude any longer on your Friday evening.”

Liz stifles her laughter this time and replies with brutal honesty instead. “Red, this is pretty much my Friday evenings. How about…”

It’s her turn to clear her throat and she’s glad she is still holding the book because otherwise she definitely wouldn’t know what to do with her hands. Besides, she’s not sure she should ask, not being sure of anything anymore. Plus he’s only ever come for breakfast. He never really stays very long on those occasions he has dropped in at night and...

“How about what?” he finally prompts her to continue.

There is only one conclusion she can make. What the hell. They are friends after all. Hadn’t she decided this only days ago. And if things are to get back to normal, then she should just be cool. So be cool.

“Have you eaten? I was going to order something and you could tell me about your trip while we have dinner.”

That look is back. The one where he is trying to figure her out mixed with the surprise of her invitation.

“I’d love nothing better,” he murmurs after a moment.

“And we’ll have the dessert I’m sure you brought.”

“It’s chilling in the refrigerator. Do you know the Spanish do a marvelous cheesecake? Not much to look at but it really is a wonder and…”

She relaxes seeing him do the same and goes to retrieve her stack of menus as he continues. It is only after she has returned to spread them out on the table, that she realizes the travel book is still there in her other hand, held tightly to her chest. It is only after he has left several hours later that she realizes he never really answered her question.

Why are you here?

Not directly, but it is there in the book that now rests on her bedside table and their conversation that for once didn’t center around a case. It was in the stories he told and the questions he asked about her own trips made a lifetime ago.

Because he simply wanted to see her and even though it might be for different reasons she finds that she wanted that as well.

She is glad he is home.

Across town there is another darkened balcony Red steps onto, taking a sip of scotch as he looks into the night. Their latest refuge is a penthouse apartment that he chose for the view it affords of the city. An aspect he would normally avoid, not having any government that he aligns himself with. In this case, it is what it represents that called to him since the symbolic is something he most assuredly adheres to.

It is her city. Her work that has drawn him in. It is here that she has made a home and for the time being he has done the same...will do the same. He is now keenly aware of the passage of time. The months that have come and gone since he could have left but chose to stay. He didn’t think of it then, but he does so now. In fact, he has thought of little else in the two weeks since his conversation with Dembe.

He imagines it will never be as it was before, the progression of days passing without much thought to where they might lead. There must certainly be an end to it at some point even though he is unsure how exactly that will play out or at what point he will know the time has arrived. Will he simply vanish as he is so adept at doing or will it be as Dembe said to him? Will he choose to leave, but remain her CI, delivering the names by phone rather than in person? That he should perhaps make that decision now and not prolong the inevitable gnaws at him. He has spent days going over it in his mind and wondering. Always wondering.

He has no idea.

What a peculiar feeling and one he finds extremely disconcerting. How easily the endgame usually appears to him and then it is simply a matter of maneuvering to reach it, but they are well past that now. Berlin is dead and the man he so foolishly hired to protect her is long gone.

It seems the consummate strategizer finds himself without much of a plan, but however murky the future may be, he would rather be here than anywhere else, especially tonight with the memory of their surprising dinner. Here is the chance to know her better. Here is the place his soul resides. Something he conveyed to his friend only a day ago when his ill humor had finally gotten the best of him. At least that was his intention.

Dembe, I—

Raymond, I think the time has come to return to the city you despise. You are not yet ready to leave.

He smiles at the recollection of Dembe’s calm demeanor and rather comical expression. With a glower at being so transparent, he had left to take a walk. And felt nothing but relief. There will be other trips, of that he is certain, but all with the intention of returning. To do otherwise is not something he is prepared for as his friend so rightly guessed.

It was on that walk he had called, only to have her ask the very question that had just been settled and before he could answer she hurriedly disconnected. The memory brings another smile at the mystery of her. Glancing toward the monuments illuminated in the night sky, he doesn’t focus on the pillars of marble as his eyes search the darkness on the other side. Just as he did in Rome, he charts the distance between them and will admit that he breathes a little easier knowing she is near.

With a silent toast, he swallows the last of the scotch. It seems the city has won this round and, all things considered, he would not have it otherwise.

Chapter Text

“Hey, I think Dembe sent me the wrong address. I’m standing outside a pet store,” Liz says as soon as Red answers.

A look to the street sign on the corner and then a double check of the numbers in the window confirms it is a match to the location she was sent. Surely he can’t mean….

“It isn’t a pet store, Lizzy, but an all inclusive spa experience for man’s best friend or the beloved house cat. Really all manner of critters as the name implies. We don’t discriminate.”

She glances at her phone as his words seem to come across in stereo then rolls her eyes and spins around. He’s three feet behind her with a flip phone to his ear and grinning broadly.

“Why are you sneaking up on me,” she mutters, feeling some satisfaction in hanging up on him to his face.

“I’ve actually just made a circle of the block. There is a wonderful little teahouse up a ways that looks intriguing but I knew you were expected. I wonder if they do a-”

“Red, did you call me down here to talk teas or do you finally have a case for me?”

He looks a little disappointed and tilts his head back and forth as he shrugs it off. “Another time I suppose. Now come and take a look at my latest venture.”

With a flourish, he joins her and slips an arm through hers before spinning them back toward the Critter Cabin.

“Well?”

“Well what?” she asks in confusion, realizing he sidestepped her question. “I really don’t have time for your puzzles today.”

“And here I thought you might enjoy a reason to get out into the sunlight.”

He returns her expression with his own feigned perplexity and she stifles a laugh.

“Did you really call just so I could play hooky for awhile.”

“That and to show you my newest acquisition,” he answers seriously. “Come and have a look.”

One thing she has learned working with Raymond Reddington is that all is usually not what it seems. She enters the store with a wary eye but is met with what appears to be the functioning pet grooming business as he described.

“Lizzy, you remember Heddie, my financial manager?” he says with a wave toward the counter along the back wall.

The women eye each other skeptically. Heddie due to her natural aversion of anyone carrying a badge and Liz because she somehow doubts Red has turned into a simple small business owner.

“In addition to grooming, we also offer specialized boarding services,” he goes on without missing a beat.

“Boarding of what?”

“Critters, Lizzy. All with their own private accommodations and, of course, we run a cage free establishment. Plus-“

His is interrupted by the jingle of the door opening and they turn to see a customer walk in.

“Ah, this must be Miss Chloe, our two o’clock. Wonderful, wonderful!”

Red seems thrilled, the customer slightly taken aback at such an enthusiastic welcome and Heddie nothing short of appalled when he proceeds to the counter where she is standing.

“Are you joking? I’ll be sneezing up a lung after five minutes around that-”

“Now, Heddie, don’t be an alarmist,” Red interjects with that ever patient smile of his. “Schnauzer’s are typically considered a low shedding breed so I doubt….”

Heddie turns a withering look his way for which Liz can hardly blame her having been on the receiving end of that rather irritating expression more times than she can count.

“Yes, I see your point. Elizabeth, would you be so kind.”

She has been so busy watching this drama play out, it takes her a moment before she realizes he has spoken to her. With all three now staring at her, she steps forward to take the little white schnauzer.

“Do you know where Fiona is?” the man whispers to her as he hands over his dog with a slightly concerned look about him.

“I can’t say that I do, sorry.”

“Nothing to worry about.” Red walks over to thump him on the back and his hand remains to steer the gentleman toward the door. “Fiona has retired to Morro Bay, but she has left the Cabin in good hands I assure you. We’ll see you back around four.”

“Raymond, we discussed this,” Heddie says once the jingle of the door signals the customer’s exit.

“Yes, and it’s been taken care of. Your office is all but hermetically sealed so there shouldn’t be any worries.”

She stalks off grumbling about dander and fleas and Red turns back toward Liz with a smile. The one that indicates he is highly entertained by the goings on until he sees her expression.

“Now don’t look at me like that, Lizzy. I promise I’m not in the schnauzer smuggling business. Miss Chloe is here for a spa day, nothing more.”

“Right.”

Her skepticism remains and he arches an eyebrow at her. “This is a thriving non-profit I’ll have you know. We have a fleet of vans that offer grooming services to all the shelters in the tri-state area in addition to the regular business. It’s actually a labor of love.”

“And there it is,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him. “A labor of love with the added benefit of a 501c3. I’m guessing you’re counting on the IRS steering clear of your pet friendly non-profit should they become suspicious of all the money you’ll be cleaning through this place.”

That she has guessed his motives or used almost his exact wording when he and Heddie first spoke about it doesn’t at all surprise him. What does is that she says it with a hint of amusement while giving Miss Chloe a scratch behind the ears and a kiss on the head.

“The shelter dogs would appreciate your discretion, Agent Keen.”

She sighs and tries not to think about the criminal aspect of what seems a very nice little business and one that he enjoys. Why that should be important to her, she’s not entirely sure, but after the turmoil of the last few weeks, there is no denying that it is.

He comes to relieve her of the pup, which she hands over reluctantly, and is on his way to deliver her to the ladies beyond the large glass window separating the waiting area from the grooming stations when she calls out, “You don’t have anything to worry about other than Ressler and Cooper.”

This halts him in his tracks and when he turns around, his surprise is evident.

“Find me a blacklister, Reddington, or the next time I’m sending them down here to read you the terms of your immunity deal word by word. That thing is at least twenty pages long so it shouldn’t take more than an hour. Two if they read slow.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

She smiles at the grimace that precedes his retreat and laughs when it is still in place upon his return. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

He walks up and places a hand at the small of her back and before she can count to five he has grabbed his fedora from the counter and steered her out onto the sidewalk. “Lizzy, is this the thanks I get for giving you an excuse to take a break today? You wound me.”

“Actually I did enjoy it. Thank you,” she replies truthfully and he studies her a few extra seconds judging her sincerity.

“You’re welcome,” he says at last. “Well, until we meet again…”

After walking a few steps, she can’t help asking, “Are you going for tea?”

Where the question comes from she has no clue. And why she should suddenly want to prolong her visit when there are plenty of tasks waiting for her at her desk is hard to say. She couldn’t care less about that at the moment. She only knows she has been feeling a little out of sorts today and much too tired considering her lack of any real work to do. And since she’d generally consider him good company.....

He turns back and dons his fedora, taking time to adjust the brim, before smiling at her. “Elizabeth, I thought I might investigate the teahouse I found earlier. Would you care to join me?”

She does care to apparently and they are soon strolling up the block. “I’m only coming so we can discuss this blacklister drought further.”

“Of course. I hadn’t thought otherwise.”

He knows her so well.

That she becomes a little restless sometimes just as he. That a walk on an early fall day is imminently better than the gloom of the Post Office. They are quiet as they go along, sometimes stopping to look in a shop window and when they loop around heading back toward their starting point, she realizes he purposely went the long way. Something else she couldn’t care less about and proceeds as if completely unaware.

She is starting to get a little tickle in her throat and thinks a cup of tea might be just the thing when the thought is followed by a sneeze.

“Gesundheit, Lizzy. You’re not allergic as well, are you?”

“No,” she says quietly. “I had Hudson as you know.

“Yes, how foolish of me,” he murmurs, once more linking his arm through hers.

He purposely avoids any mention of her life at the brownstone, only ever letting her bring it up and here he inadvertently did so. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. He’s with a friend in the country and I see him now and then. It’s better this way.”

It’s only a dull ache these days and she wishes he wouldn’t look at her with such a pained expression. “Now, tell me about Fiona.”

“Look, we’re not adding her to the list.”

She laughs then, bumping his side as they continue on. “I wasn’t suggesting it. Tell me the story that goes along with the Critter Cabin. There’s always a story.”

“Indeed there is. Now Fiona and I first met in Zimbabwe when she decided to declare war on a group of poachers and I supplied the firepower so to speak…”

He’s relieved, she can tell, and talking a little too fast. But it is a thrilling story as they all are and she is soon caught up in it as usual. They finally arrive at the teahouse after making quite a large circle of the neighborhood and she lets him go ahead to choose a tea for her so that she can snag a corner table by the window.

The tickle in her throat is fast becoming a sharp pain and after several minutes she glances behind to see what the holdup is. Red is the holdup and why is she surprised? He’s talking animatedly with the woman behind the counter and Liz wonders if there isn’t anyone he can’t charm. Something in the woman’s rapt expression causes just the trace of….irritation but surely that has more to do with the notion she might be getting sick than anything else. With a shrug she turns back to stare at the passersby until he joins her.

“Hmmm, it’s spicy,” she says after taking a sip. “I like it.”

“Thought you might.”

Yes, he knows her well and she’ll just ignore that rather smug look since the tea is quite soothing and just what she needs. There are a few glances at his watch now and then, but he makes no mention of the fact she is decidedly not returning to work or that she never once brings up their lack of cases.

When they exit the shop later, she asks rather slyly, “Now are we going back the way we came even though the store is just up there to the left or what?”

“Is it really, you don’t say?”

“Come on,” she says with a laugh. “We better take the direct approach. I have some errands to run this evening.”

Namely a run by the pharmacy for a cold remedy that she is hoping won’t be needed. She doesn’t mention it knowing he will worry, but she does catch a quizzical look from him once or twice. Most likely from her voice that is sounding more hoarse by the minute.

“You okay,” he asks, when they stop in front of her car.

“I’m good. Thanks again for the tour and remember what I said,” she warns with as much seriousness as she can muster.

The grimace is back and she is still smiling as she drives away, seeing him there in the rearview mirror, gazing in her direction until he is lost from view.

Chapter Text

“I thought you were looking a tad peaky yesterday, but now you’re positively ghastly.”

Red says this by way of a greeting when Liz opens the door of her apartment and he brushes past her horrified expression, heading to the kitchen with several shopping bags in hand.

“And why are you dressed?” he calls out over his shoulder, followed by the sound of his purchases hitting the middle of her table.

With a sigh and a rather hacking cough, she closes the door and follows. “What do you mean why am I dressed? And thanks very much for the ghastly remark.”

“You sound even worse if that’s possible. You’re not seriously considering going into work today? You look—”

“Yes, we’ve covered that,” she interrupts grumpily and plops down on one of her dining chairs. “I’ve been to work and Cooper sent me straight back home.”

“Well, for once the FBI is exercising a little common sense.” He arches a brow at her for emphasis and begins putting the groceries away.

“I can shop for myself, you know.”

His chuckle at her mumbled words is all the more irritating considering she drove home without giving much thought to what was in her refrigerator or the fact she can’t imagine going out again as awful as she’s feeling.

“I know that, but now you won’t have to for a day or so.”

He is bouncing around her kitchen quite efficiently and soon has everything organized plus a kettle heating on the stove. “I stopped and picked up the tea you liked and a few other more medicinal blends. There is also juice and several waters with the added benefit of electrolytes.”

She listens as he goes through some of the dishes he had prepared that will probably feed her for a month, but for some reason her mind is on the teahouse where they spent an hour or two the previous day. More specifically the woman behind the counter and that expression she wore as Red charmed her with all of his tea talk. And why she should be thinking of this at all is beyond her comprehension. Only she does wonder if she was working this morning and if….

“Good heavens, Lizzy, you are absolutely scowling,” he says, finally coming to sit at the table with her. “Now tell me how you’re really feeling. Did you see a doctor?”

She refocuses on what he is saying and shrugs her shoulders. “I feel about as bad as I look apparently and, yes, I stopped by the infirmary this morning.”

“No fever then?” Without waiting for a response, he leans forward to place a hand against her cheek before moving his palm around to the back of her neck. “Perhaps some and I do think you’re a little flushed.”

“I do feel somewhat….odd,” she murmurs and shivers as the warmth from his hand vanishes when he pulls away.

“You should get undressed.”

“Uh…”

“Come on, up with you,” he continues, rising to stand. Ignoring her confusion, he pulls her from the chair and steers her toward her bedroom. “Now what you need is rest. I’ll be along in a few minutes with the tea.”

“You really are bossy, you know that.” She turns just in time to sneeze at his amused expression.

“Dembe has told me that once or twice. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She stands there a minute after he has closed the door wondering how her morning took such a turn and wishes she didn’t feel so completely disconcerted. He’s never ventured into her bedroom in all of his visits to her apartment. And why does it have to be now when it’s at its most messy? She makes a quick loop around the room picking up all the stray clothing along the way and throws the bundle into her closet.

“For god’s sake,” she mutters, wondering what she should put on since she is usually a less is more kind of person when it comes to sleepwear.

There is no time to track anything down in the chaos that is her closet and opts for her usual sleep shorts and tank but grabs her roomiest FBI hoodie to throw over top. She has just zipped it up and climbed into bed when there is a soft knock at her door and he enters with her tea.

“Ah, this is much better.” There is an extra box of kleenex tucked under his arm and he comes in to set it and the mug on her bedside table. “May I?”

“You sure you should risk it?” she asks when he gives the space on the bed next to her a pat.

“For you, I’ll risk it.”

Whether it’s the cold making her dizzy or the way his voice drops that causes her thoughts to go a little fuzzy she has no idea but she scoots over giving him room to sit. She watches him settle down, and when he looks at her with that patient smile of his, she realizes something is up.

“What’s going on? You have that look.”

“Now, Lizzy…”

But he stops when her eyes narrow and continues bravely, knowing she is not going to like what he has to say.

“It seems a new case has presented itself so I suppose I’ll have to speak with—“

“I just saw you yesterday!” she exclaims, and flinches at the pain in her throat.

“Yes, but I only came across the information this morning. Be that as it may, we have a lead. The Toymaker has surfaced.”

“I can’t believe I’ve waited weeks for a case and the moment I get sick, this…”

“Toymaker,” he interjects, helpfully.

“...shows up.”

“I’m sure nothing much exciting will happen, Lizzy. Just your run of the mill blacklister. Now I have the jet standing by since he is most likely in New York. Or Vienna, but most likely the former. Either way I”ll need to call Samar with the details.”

“Samar,” she whispers, appalled at the entire situation.

“Agent Navabi, I should say.”

That familiar irritation is back, the one she felt toward the woman in the teahouse and summoning every last shred of professionalism she can muster considering the present circumstances, she says quite calmly, “You’ll need her number then.”

“Oh, not to worry. I have it.”

“Of course you do,” she replies dryly. “You’re all set then.”

There’s a moment's pause before he finally asks, “Is there anything more you need?”

Anything she needs? Where does she begin?

For starters she’d love an explanation as to why everything seems to bother her all of a sudden and why this all feels very close to…..jealousy. Hasn’t he even said this to her once?

As a rule I’d consider jealousy to be a base emotion but in this case it’s quite endearing.

“I’m not—“

She catches herself just in time, having spoken aloud without thinking.

“You’re not what?” he asks, when she stops abruptly.

“I’m not….feeling that great.”

It’s not a lie. In addition to this terrible cold, she has found herself distinctly out of sorts, something her pragmatic nature isn’t used to. He’s throwing her entirely off kilter and the fact he hasn’t a clue makes it all the more exasperating.

He gives her leg a squeeze through the blanket and stands to leave. “Feel better, Lizzy. Call if you need anything.”

She returns his smile already knowing she won’t call. At least not until she is more in control of her emotions.

Whatever those emotions are…

With a sigh she lies back as soon as she hears the close of her front door, tells herself to stop overthinking again, and before long is fast asleep.

The day passes in a blur.

Her time is spent alternating between sleeping and watching old movies on tv and back to sleeping again. She is well and truly sick and it is easy to blame that on her strange mood the last few days.

There is no word from the task force, leaving her clueless whether they are in New York, Vienna or some other destination this Toymaker would have led them to. She receives one hurried phone call from Red late in the evening asking how she’s faring, but the sound of her voice is all the answer his needs. It is only after he has disconnected that she realized she hadn’t asked where he was calling from.

By the next afternoon she thinks the fever has finally left for good and after a nice long shower she is feeling marginally better. By evening she is wondering how the case is going and picks up her phone more than once to call Red or even Aram but each time she resolutely puts it down again. A few hours later she is back to being annoyed that no one has thought to update her, even if they’re making an effort not to disturb her while she is ill.

She is once more staring at her phone while talking herself out of calling….anyone that comes to mind when it buzzes in her hand, causing her to jump. It tumbles from her grip and she ends up under the table to retrieve it just in time to answer the call from Nick’s Pizza.

“Red?”

“Lizzy? I was afraid I’d disturb you this late but I—”

“No, you’re not disturbing me,” she interrupts hastily, still a little out of breath. “I dropped the phone and had to scramble...anyways, how’s the case?”

“Already completed, you’ll be glad to know. I must say you sound somewhat better.”

"Yes, I may actually live.”

His chuckle makes her smile and for the first time she hears the noise in the background. “Where are you?”

“Just landing and wanted to check in before it got too late.”

She has a sudden thought and speaks before there is a chance to change her mind. “If you want to drop by…”

“You sure?”

“I’ve been cooped up for two days. Come over and tell me about the case. Plus I have food. Lots of food.”

Another laugh with a promise to be there in a bit and Lizzy is once again making a quick turn around her apartment, picking up stray kleenex boxes and whatever else she can find to fling in her closet.

By the time the doorbell sounds, things are pretty much back to normal, including any notion that she is envious of anyone for any reason other than she doesn’t particularly like being left out of the excitement. There is nothing more to it than that and she goes to open the door with all the confidence in the world that all will be as it was.

She couldn’t be more wrong if she tried.

Whether it’s the tux he’s wearing with the bow tie undone and hanging casually around his open collar or the way his head is tilted just so or the smile that forms when he sees her, she has no earthly idea. But there is no mistaking the catch in her breath that she covers up with a slight cough. No ignoring that little flutter in her belly or the warmth that seems to spread out from it that is so achingly familiar yet something altogether new.

“You’re certainly looking better, although still somewhat flushed, Lizzy.”

She attempts a response that comes out mostly as a squeak and he gives her a sympathetic pat on the arm before walking past her. “And that sore throat is still there, I see.”

“Uh yeah, that too,” she mumbles before following him.

Later, she will congratulate herself on doing a fairly good job of acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. It will even bring a smile to her face recalling their conversation.

“Just a run of the mill blacklister, right? The black tie kind judging by that tux.”

“We did crash a rather delightful party, but otherwise I assure you, you didn’t miss much.”

She had watched him rifle through her fridge, making a plate up from some of the food he supplied, and they sat at her table while he gave her a few of the details. Or as many as he knew how to explain.

“I don’t know, Lizzy, some type of gizmo or other. Suffice it to say, it would have piggybacked onto the global cellular system and caused no end of trouble. And though I find these devices a damn nuisance at times, I can’t deny that there are those that I care to remain in touch with.”

He glances pointedly her way before pouring himself another glass of wine.

“I’ll read Aram’s tech report,” she says with a laugh and it hadn’t escaped her notice that The Toymaker seemed to have met his fate for no other reason than Red’s desire to talk with her on the phone.

“Speaking of Aram, he actually made the arrest.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m perfectly serious. He triangulated this and geolocated that and before you could say ‘what’s my data limit,' it was all over. Very theatrical when he tackled him into the chocolate fountain.”

She is speechless.

Absolutely speechless.

Except for….

“Oh but I didn’t miss much! Only the most exciting case to come along in months by the sound of it.”

“But there’s no fun in it without you.”

He says it with a shrug and a wink, but there is truth behind the humor. A new depth of emotion within the familiar words. What she recognizes now that she knows more than what he has intended her to know. However, she doesn’t need an overheard conversation to understand one simple truth.

To be loved by Raymond Reddington is really quite something.

But she’ll have to think of that later, including her reaction to seeing him in what can only be described as a very fine tux. And why this tux is different from the others that came before or perhaps that really has nothing to do with it at all….it will keep though as they are just in time for the beginning of another classic movie, one that she won’t be able to stay awake for. She’ll go to sleep curled on one end of the couch with Red at the other as Nick and Nora banter and sleuth across the ages. She’ll wake to a quiet apartment in the coolness of the morning, but he has tucked the extra blankets from her bedroom around her and she is warm. Very warm indeed.

Chapter Text

Liz’s hand is trembling, honest to god trembling, as she reaches for the doorknob that will gain her entrance into the sitting room. Once again, she pulls back and leans forward instead. There is silence on the other side and either the room is empty or there is little conversation taking place this early in the morning. She leans closer. No, still nothing. She forces herself to take a breath and gives her arms a shake in order to loosen up.

Telling herself to get it together, she stands there a moment listening to the quiet. It had seemed like a good plan when she decided on this latest break-in. It is her turn, after all, having come home to find Red ensconced on her balcony, but it is the time before that, that causes her to hesitate. Another safehouse that she had broken into as payback in this ridiculous cat and mouse game they’ve entered into only to overhear Red’s conversation with Dembe. Where she learned of the true nature of his feelings for her that seem to have thrown her off course for which she hasn’t been able to set right.

Not to mention her rather visceral reaction to seeing him a few nights ago and she silently curses his devil may care attitude as well as that tux. Just when she has convinced herself things will soon get back to normal, he always manages to rattle her again. And again. She has spent days recuperating while her annoyance grew. It didn’t help that she was reminded of a particular dream she once had or its effect on her.

What do you want, Agent Keen?

What does she really want? She has no more idea of the answer to that right now than she did back then, to be honest. She only knows she managed to forget about it until three nights ago. Well, enough is enough. It’s time to get whatever this is out of her system so they can get back to the way things were. The most expedient way being to see him again and not have her body betray her in the process.

Without a second thought, she bursts into the sitting room to find Red in his customary reading chair going through his daily ritual of reading the Times cover to cover.

“Morning,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Elizabeth.”

He doesn’t even have the decency to act surprised anymore and, with a huff, she proceeds to the door at the far end looking for the kitchen. In a minute she is back with a banana nut muffin and comes to sit on the ottoman next to his slippered feet which he automatically scoots over to make room.

She stifles a smile with a bite of muffin and watches him casually peruse the paper. It never ceases to amaze her that the man with the thousand dollar suits and that trademark Rolex prefers a tattered robe over faded flannel pajama pants and tee as his loungewear.

“I’m glad to see you’ve made a full recovery.” he mumbles, still out of view.

“Yes, I’m all better.” But whether she has recovered her equilibrium is yet to be seen. “Any leads on a new case?”

He folds back a corner of the paper before answering. “Might I remind you we just concluded—”

“Yes, I know. I know. Maybe next time I’ll actually be able to take part.”

“That is the deal we made.”

He smiles at her before disappearing again and she’s glad he doesn’t see the flush that creeps into her cheeks. And damn him, the flutter in her belly is back, that certainly isn’t the result of a banana nut muffin but has more to do with the low timbre his voice sometimes takes on when he speaks with her. How it feels like a secret between them.

“Well, I’m off to the Post Office,” she says a little too quickly and forces a casual tone into her voice. “Call if anything in there looks promising.”

“Not much here but bad news I’m afraid which is usually good news for you. Something will pop up soon, Agent Keen.”

She laughs and crinkles the paper down to see his face. “It better.”

It isn’t until she has risen and walked to the door that he responds. “Just remember I’m still one up on you.”

He continues reading or pretending to read most likely, doing his best to ignore her as they play out this little game. However, he still isn’t aware of the overheard conversation during her last break-in and that she has actually just evened up the score this morning. Something she has no intention of letting him know.

“For now,” she calls out cheerily and shuts the door behind her, cutting off his quiet chuckle.

With a deep breath, she leans back against the door and takes another bite of muffin. She also congratulates herself on not having given anything away which apparently is going to come in useful judging by her response to him of late.

But still, there is no reason to overthink the situation.

No reason at all.

“Elizabeth, are you unwell?”

Liz jumps away from the door to find Dembe watching her with concern.

“I haven’t the slightest idea in all honesty.”

With a bemused smile and small wave, she finally exits the safehouse leaving him looking curiously from her departing direction back to the door leading into the sitting room where Raymond is still reading the paper

“....and that’s when I was able to isolate the radio frequency emitted by the device and….”

“Then you tackled The Toymaker into the chocolate fountain.”

“That wasn’t the intention,” Aram replies sheepishly. “But objects in motion really do tend to stay in motion and there was no stopping it.”

Liz laughs as she leans against the side of his desk having stopped there first thing to get an update on the case she missed. “Did Samar see the takedown at least?”

“It’s really not like that,” but spying her arched brow he continues in a lower voice. “She was nearby on the dance floor with Mr. Reddington and saw most of it.”

“I’m sorry, the what?”

Aram seems not to notice her surprise or the way she straightens up at his words.

“They were on the dance floor while Agent Ressler was stationed near the back emergency exit. No one knew what the subject looked like before we arrested him. If he hadn’t had the device on him for me to track we would never have made the intercept and…”

Aram’s voice fades a bit as a strange buzzing in her ears takes over and for the second time this morning, Liz is telling herself to get it together. There is no need to sulk just because she was stuck at home with a horrendous cold while Red and Samar went out dancing…..as part of a covert team attempting to take down an international criminal, she reminds herself. And no, she is not jealous, only extremely….

“Agent Mojtabai, I see you escaped unharmed from the chocolate debacle.”

Speaking of international criminals.

Liz whirls around to Red’s casual grin and unlike his reaction to her earlier break-in, her shock is evident. Less than an hour ago he was slumming in his easy chair and now here he is clean shaven and impeccable in a new three-piece suit by the look of it. There is hardly time to wonder how she would recognize this fact before he continues, shifting his gaze her way.

“Agent Keen, we have a new name for the blacklist. Well, to be accurate, it is more a familiar name. Madeline Pratt has struck a blow and a riposte is in order.”

“A...what?”

“In fencing, a riposte is an offensive maneuver made after parrying an attack,” Aram mutters.

“Thank you,” Liz says with a quick nod his way before looking back at Red. “I just left you not an hour ago and suddenly Madeline is back and we’re on offense?”

She hears a muffled cough in Aram’s general direction and realizes how her statement might sound to a bystander this early in the morning. If this didn’t involve Pratt she’d probably also find it amusing, but it does and she most assuredly does not. At all. She can only offer a shrug and roll of her eyes as explanation to Aram that it's really not like that before Red answers.

“With Madeline, one never knows when the next assault may occur.”

The fact he says this rather fondly definitely keeps any amusement at bay. “You do recall her setting me up as her fall guy in the Embassy, don’t you? I could be sitting in a cell somewhere if not for…”

“Yes?” he asks quite seriously. “If not for what?”

She can’t help herself. Remembering his performance as the frazzled personal assistant that ultimately freed her, she is unable to hold back the smile.

“Ah, now that’s the spirit, Agent Keen. It is time for a rematch as they say. Now would you like the particulars of the situation or should I speak with Agent Navabi again?”

“No.”

“No.”

Aram and Liz seem to be of the same opinion and their identical answers make him chuckle as he removes his fedora to plop on the desk.

Wary though she is, Liz is caught somewhere between annoyance at Madeline in general and Red’s expression in particular, but also the excitement of finally getting even. If she can wipe that look from his face once and for all, well then, so much the better. And her belly can get over it.

Let the games begin.

Chapter Text

“So, tell me about this blow Madeline struck.”

“In this case, I’m not sure the particulars matter all that much. Suffice it to say….”

Red’s words fade when Liz narrows her gaze and he shifts uncomfortably as she and Aram continue staring at him.

“Suffice it to say, all details are important in any investigation. Wouldn’t you agree, Aram?” she asks without looking away.

This is too much fun and she’ll be damned if the task force proceeds without the full story.

“I’d have to agree…..”

Aram suddenly looks as uncomfortable as Red and after clearing his throat, finally chooses the option that will satisfy his curiosity.

“….with Agent Keen.”

“There you go,” she concludes with a triumphant smile. “Out with it.”

His smirk is quite comical but she refrains from goading him further in hopes of actually hearing the story, and decides she has all day to wait him out. Leaning back against Aram’s desk, she folds her arms resolutely.

“There’s not much to tell I assure you. I came into possession of a certain antiquity and Madeline...uh….”

“Let me guess. You’ve stolen something and then had it stolen from you?” His glower is all the answer she needs. “What is the antiquity?”

She sees it then. The glint in his eye as he recalls whatever it was he acquired. The look of a thief and she supposes it takes one to recognize it in another.

“An exquisite intricately cut 137 carat yellow diamond of Indian origin.”

“The lost Florentine Diamond,” Aram whispers and begins typing furiously on his laptop.

“The very same,” Red agrees with a rather pleased expression. “Once belonging to the Medici Family and later part of the Hapsburg Crown Jewels. A lovely little bauble without doubt.”

“Red, that belongs in a museum,” she exclaims, pointing at the image that has just appeared on the screen above them. “You should have left it on display.”

“Says here it went missing around 1918 so I’m guessing Mr. Reddington wasn’t the original thief.”

“Yes, thank you Agent Mojtabai,” Red replies blandly.

“Who were you selling it to?”

“Now that I won’t divulge, Agent Keen. The diamond was en route to its new home when the courier was intercepted and the gem taken.”

“Has Pratt made contact?”

“Not a peep.”

Her eyes narrow again at his small smile. “Then how do you know it was her?”

“Lets just say I know. I should also have anticipated something like this. The Florentine or Tuscany Diamond…..alas, that was a carat dangling before her that she could not resist."

Liz continues studying him, wondering at the significance of that particular region of Italy, but whatever it is will likely remain between them. Probably for the best, she muses, and turns to see Aram grinning at her.

“What?”

“I love a good heist,” he answers honestly which makes Red laugh and Liz roll her eyes.

“And this is the case?” she asks, looking back at Red. “To help you steal your bauble so you can sell it to god knows who for god knows what?”

“I will admit to the need of retrieving the diamond or else having an exceptionally angry Canadian to deal with, but—”

“Yes, that sounds incredibly dangerous.”

“Would you rather make assumptions or hear what the FBI will get in return?”

Like Aram, Liz is completely on board with the idea of an old fashioned heist even though she’ll not easily admit to it. “Proceed.”

“It is rumored to have been smuggled into America sometime in the 1920’s and cut into smaller stones,” Aram interjects as he resumes reading the Florentine’s long and varied history.

“I’m assuming you also weren’t the smuggler involved there,” Liz continues with a smile that makes him sigh in defeat.

“I suppose I could give the details to Director Cooper or, barring all other options, Agent Ressler.”

“No, we’re done,” she says, trying to appear serious. “Go on.”

“The diamond has never been cut from its 126 facet double rose design. The rumors otherwise are probably the lies thieves tell to throw law enforcement off their trail. I haven’t had any word on its current whereabouts until this morning. Seems it will be featured in the next King Family Auction and I’m guessing Madeline will be in attendance to collect payment.”

“The King Family?”

“A rather odd clan, you won’t have heard of. Obsessively secretive and highly eccentric. They’ve hosted private auctions for the world’s most prolific criminals for generations. Everything from stolen art, to launch codes, to the occasional presidential pardon. Really a one-stop shopping experience.”

Liz swears she hears Aram mutter cool under his breath and she attempts to focus on the law enforcement side of things. “And why should the task force help you steal the diamond?”

“Oh, you leave the diamond to me, although perhaps an opportunity will arise allowing you to use those famous pickpocket skills.”

Obvious payback for her earlier remarks. She refuses to look toward Aram who has ceased typing and replies cooly, “We’ll talk about that later. Continue.”

“The auction is highly selective. Madeline has never been invited, but I’m guessing she is using the sale of the gem to wrangle her way in. There is something there that she wants and whatever it is could be useful to the FBI.”

“And you don’t know what that item might be?”

“I do not.”

“I’m still not clear on how you know Pratt was involved. Isn’t the guest list a closely guarded secret?”

“It is, as is the location. I happen to have a standing invite and whenever an auction takes place, contact is made, and a catalog delivered.”

“Then how do you—”

“Lot 45: The Florentine Diamond. Property of a Lady,” he recites from memory. “Believe me, that is Maddie.”

Maddie.

Liz can feel her nails digging into the palms of her hands and imagines holding the diamond or whatever else she can steal that Madeline wants. And if the FBI benefits in the process, so much the better.

“Alright. When is the auction?”

“Tomorrow evening which means we leave as soon as you’re ready. Agent Mojtabai,” Red says, turning his attention to Aram. “Would you be so kind as to gather the rest of the task force?”

“How am I supposed to obtain an invitation,” she asks once Aram has walked to the stairs leading to Cooper’s office.

“You already have one. This time, you’ll be my plus one.”

Did he make the request of Aram just so he could say this without anyone hearing? She is grateful for it and would not be able to explain why it feels like it is something that belongs only to them. It seems to have grown oddly quiet in the command center and she can’t think of one word to say in response as he gazes at her with that smile and tilt of his head.

“I’ll send a car along to your apartment. The auction is black tie.”

With a snap, Liz straightens up from the counter where she has been leaning. “Black tie? I’ve got to go.”

He watches with amusement as she walks briskly to her office to retrieve her bag and nods at her wave when she passes back by.

“I need to stop in at the bureau’s stolen property lockup and hope there’s something I can wear to this thing or they’ll know I’m a Fed straight off.”

There are times she drives him to distraction and others that he remembers the true depth of his feelings for her. It is the latter that comes to him now, seeing her smile just as the doors of the elevator close. A tad too radiant and full of anticipation for an agent who is merely thinking of the case and not the chance to do a little thieving.

You’re not an agent tonight. You’re a criminal.

Indeed and he feels his own anticipation build, imagining the caper that awaits.

“This might be a bad idea.”

Red can hardly disagree as they climb aboard the helicopter with the blacked out windows and take a final look at one another, each holding a sleep mask they’ve been handed for good measure. Earl certainly enjoys his little games and one of the reasons he has rarely accepted these invitations through the years.

“Lizzy,” he reassures her quietly. “The Kings are certifiable but they aren’t stupid. If word got out that the security of the attendees wasn’t completely protected, they would quickly lose all their clientele.”

“Ok then.”

With a shrug, she disappears behind the mask and he follows suit. They are on their own much the same as when they crossed the boundary into the Syrian Embassy and see how well that turned out.

With a grimace, Red is thinking of all the ways he will destroy the Kings if any harm comes to her and Liz is wishing she could see a bit of the landscape as they make their way to the secret destination. They had spent almost the entire flight to Germany going over every detail of the family that Red could recall, his experiences at past auctions and the current catalog. No matter how many times they studied the list of items for sale, he could find nothing significant that would tempt Madeline into parting with the stone through the Kings with their hefty commission. No, it must be something else, but what that is still escapes him.

They had arrived at their hotel in the middle of the night and a little later than they could have owing to Lizzy asking Dembe to drive slowly through the city center. And once more after that.

Lizzy, the Brandenburger Tor isn’t going anywhere, I promise you. We’ll take in the sights after the auction.

But it’s so beautiful all lit up at night.

Wistful as she wished for more time beyond the case, something that rarely happens when they have traveled for work. However, when they met for a late breakfast in the dining room of the suite, all thought of playing tourist were gone. When she had later entered the room after changing for their drive to the small airport outside the city, every other thought in his head vanished as well.

With her hair up and dressed in a creamy cashmere suit which appeared to have been made for her, she looked anything but a federal agent. Add to it her mischievous grin at his speechless reaction and she could definitely pass for a criminal. It wasn’t until they were in the car that he had finally commented.

That is quite a stolen property lockup you have access to.

Well, much of the available selection looked more appropriate for a weekend in Vegas, but I found a few things that will work.

He chuckled and would have continued the banter but had caught a curious expression in Dembe’s eyes as he watched them in the rearview mirror. They lapsed into silence for the remainder of the drive and after a quick goodbye to Dembe found themselves on their own. There will be no means of contact until they return the next morning.

That is if everything goes as planned. Owing to the fact there isn’t much of one, their thoughts race through every eventuality that could possibly occur and how they might escape if need be. It is then the helicopter suddenly loses altitude before righting itself and Lizzy’s hand comes to rest on his arm, instinctively finding him in the darkness. He lays his other hand over hers as the pressure of her grip increases with the turbulence that is surely some sign they are in for one hell of a bumpy night.

“Where are we?” she asks, gazing up in astonishment.

“I’d say within the courtyard of a castle by the look of it."

“Yes, I know that, but which one? This could be a way for us to locate the Kings in the future.”

“Lizzy, this is Germany,” he replies patiently. “You can’t walk a block here without tripping over a castle. I haven’t a clue which one we’ve landed in.”

They actually landed several miles away and were guided to a car, again with blacked out windows. It wasn’t until they stepped from it that they realized their destination would be this massive stone structure reaching toward the sky.

“Good lord” she mutters when they are led into the receiving hall by an attendant and then straight toward the stairs at the furthest end, guarded on either side by a full suit of armor. “They’ve really gone all out to get into the spirit of the place.”

She says it with her hautiest tone and hears a soft chuckle directly behind her. There will apparently be no fraternizing with the other attendees before the auction preview at six. They are escorted directly to their room and it is just as they walk through the door, Liz realizes she has no idea what their accommodations might be. Red always has a large suite of rooms booked at his four star hotels, but this is an ancient fortress and they have arrived under cover, so to speak. As a couple for all the Kings might know.

“I requested adjoining rooms,” he murmurs and sees her nod in agreement.

They’ve entered into a sitting room to find a fire already lit in the stone hearth and a small dining table set for an early dinner. An arched doorway on each side of the room leads into the bedrooms. Surrounded by walls of stone, she cannot fathom how it seems he will be far too close for comfort.

There isn’t very much opportunity to speak privately as the afternoon progresses. A valet is in attendance to oversee their luggage and arrange for their clothes to be pressed. Red urges her to eat a little something when dinner is brought in but her nerves won’t allow for much. They are heightened when he leaves to wash up and she is left alone with her thoughts which consist mainly of the pair of them is this rather cozy set of rooms and the confrontation with Pratt that awaits.

It is his proximity that stays on her mind the most. She is too edgy to sit and walks around the room, studying the art on display and running a hand over the antique furnishings. It is when she passes near his bedroom that she notices the door is slightly ajar and that he has laid out a freshly pressed tux on the bed.

With her hands on her hips, she peers at it from the doorway and decides this simply will not do.

“Red?”

No answer. Poking her head around the door, she hears the faint sound of the shower and enters, looking for the other two tuxedos that she knows are in here somewhere. He hadn’t missed her snicker when she saw them handed over to the valet or his raised eyebrow at her own stack of clothes.

After a moment’s consideration, the switch is made just as the water is turned off making her pulse immediately jump. She walks quickly from the room, through the sitting area to her own room and doesn’t stop until she’s in the bathroom on the other side. The furthest distance she can find and the only room with a mirror where she can look herself square in the eye and tell herself to get it together. He’s too close and it all feels far too domestic somehow even though it was her own fault for wandering in there in the first place. She hadn’t felt this way the previous night in the hotel suite.....that one could land a small plane in, but here, cut off from the world, there is nothing that escapes her notice down to every last footstep separating them.

With a final roll of her eyes at her own foolishness, she removes the cashmere suit and pulls on a robe, determined to calm down and focus on the evening ahead. As she is applying a bit more eye makeup, hoping it will have a mysterious effect and lessen the undercover cop vibe she is trying to conceal, he calls to her from the other room.

“Elizabeth, a word if you please.”

“I’m back here.”

She is unable to hide a smile as he steps to the doorway of her bathroom with a certain tuxedo in hand that he raises and nods at for emphasis.

“I had already laid out what I planned to wear.”

“Red, there are tuxedos and then there are tuxedos,” she concludes, pointing in his direction. “That is the latter.”

“I’ll have you know the other was handmade by—”

“But this one has a vest in lieu of a cummerbund. Now you won’t remind me of Bob Yoshimura in eighth grade swing choir all night.”

Whatever argument he would make leaves as quickly as it came. From her teasing reminder of that theatrical embassy performance to his sudden awareness of the confines of the room or that she is now dressed in a rather short robe, he can think of no other argument to make. There is nothing he can do but retreat and he does so quickly. Once back in his own room and after the briefest consideration of not wanting to remind her of Bob Yoshimura, he decides to acquiesce to her choice.

“Did you do this to get even?” she asks directly behind him.

He spins around to find her holding up an evening dress. The one he placed on her bed before hanging her own selection in the wardrobe.

“The thought would never cross my mind.”

She almost laughs in his face at the audacity but continues glaring until he goes on.

“There are dresses more appropriate for a Vegas weekend as you say, but this will gain you entry into a secret world of power and privilege. It will allow you to move freely amongst your prey because tonight you are one of them.”

Good god. The low rumble of his voice rolls through every fiber of her being. Will he ever not have the ability to send her pulse racing? Has she crossed some imaginary line where her body is in tune to every glance and shift in tone?

Rather than give that too much thought with the way he is watching her, she leaves. Quickly. Once back in her room, she will grudgingly admit he is right about the dress when she runs her hand over the skirt with its muted golds interwoven into the black silk. Her hand finds the pockets tucked into each side and won’t that be handy should the need arise to hide something small. With a sigh, she decides her feminist sensibilities will just have to deal with Raymond Reddington picking out her evening wear.

By six they are dressed and ready for their attendant to escort them to the gallery where the festivities will take place. She smiles at his chuckle when they meet in the sitting room, each wearing what the other had selected.

“Very nice,” she says, with a nod of approval.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, stepping close to lightly touch her face where the earrings she chose twinkle in the light of the fire. “Lizzy, you’ll have to show me this stolen property lockup one of these days.”

“It’s a fun place.”

Her reply is more a breathy whisper instead of the casual tone she intended and she makes a point of clearing her throat.

“The effect is lovely. You’re lovely.”

She is also feeling a bit mesmerized and jumps slightly at the knock on their door. The spell is broken and he steps back to adjust the sleeves at his wrists. Back in control and she attempts the same.

They are quiet as they make their way down to the gallery where the auction items are on display for perusal. It is all so familiar as they come to stand inside the doorway, surreptitiously studying the room, bringing back the memory of the embassy. She had been nervous that night just as she was earlier in the evening and he turns to offer a final word of reassurance, but spies a wicked little smile playing at the corners of her mouth as all signs of her anxiety vanish.

“This is going to be fun,” she whispers, hooking her arm through his.

He has no doubt of it.

Chapter Text

“And you definitely think Madeline will be in attendance?”

“I do,” Red says as his eyes scan the crowd before them. “There is something here that she wants. Wants or needs and I intend to find out what that is. Now, Lizzy, I think it's better if we divide and conquer. Let's mingle and meet at the other end. There are a few associates I must speak with along the way.”

“You’re not seriously going to conduct business right now?”

“Not in the way you image. Trust me and I’ll see you in a bit.”

He says it quietly and waits for her nod before moving off to the left side of the gallery. Trust him? There is no doubt she does and so she walks toward the right, taking a champagne flute from a passing tray and feigns interest in the auction items as she proceeds. Most cause a shudder to pass through her, imagining this criminal element purchasing them for lord only knows what purpose. They are intermingled with some of the world’s rarest antiquities, all of which should be returned to their homeland if possible and displayed in a museum.

It is nothing short of disorienting moving from a beautifully preserved clay tablet from ancient Mesopotamia to a missile reaching almost to the full height of the ceiling. She had taken the champagne mostly for show, but she drinks it down and replaces it with another, the FBI undercover handbook be damned.

There is not much to be gained from the murmured conversations taking place around her and before long she has made it to the center of the room where the most prized of the nights offerings are displayed. There is only one that captures her attention.

A yellow diamond the size of a robin’s egg lies nestled in a sea of black velvet. No setting of gold or platinum to detract from the brilliance of the intricately cut double rose design. Truly a wonder and if not for the glass display case or the armed guard stationed nearby she’d….

“Are your palms itching, imagining how you’d steal it out from under everyone’s noses?” Red whispers close to her ear, sending a tantalizing little shiver down her spine.

“I could do it.”

“Oh, I know you could, but I have other plans for the diamond. We need to concentrate on Madeline.”

“Gladly,” she whispers with a glance in his direction. “But I haven’t seen—”

“What’s that old saying, Raymond? Finders keepers?”

They turn to the woman herself, studying them from several feet away. More like eyeing Red, Liz thinks, as Madeline finally glances her way and recognition dawns in her expression. Recognition followed quickly by distaste.

“I prefer the adage always set a thief to catch a thief,” he replies cooly. “Madeline, this is a surprise.”

“I doubt that. Nicole, isn’t it?”

“Sure, if you like,” Liz answers as casually as possible.

Pratt is staring daggers at her and Liz decides in an instant to use the only weapon at her disposal. Stepping close, she links her arm through Red’s and runs it up and down a few times before letting it come to rest. With a laugh, she continues the charade as Madeline’s eyes narrow into deadly slits with each word.

“I haven’t thought of that in ages. Nicole and Frank, the grifters or whatever it was. That was fun.”

“Too bad the safe was empty. So much trouble for nothing.”

“But I still got what I wanted,” Liz says sweetly, drawing even closer to his side. “Raymond, there’s a monstrous missile over this way. Shall we?”

It feels strange calling him that, and it must be equally strange hearing it as it takes a moment for him to cover his surprise and play along.

“Of course. Madeline, always a pleasure.”

“There is nothing you can do,” she calls out, halting their exit. “The diamond will be under armed guard until its transfer to the new owner.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

They leave the unspoken for Madeline to make of what she will and continue on through the gallery.

“God, that was so satisfying,” Liz mutters, when they have walked some distance away. “I’m sorry about inferring that we’re…you know….”

“Together.”

“Yes. She’s just so smug.”

He chuckles at her honesty and also admires her for not taking it too far. Cruelty doesn’t suit her even though considering she ended up detained in the Syrian Embassy because of Madeline, it was certainly within her right to twist the knife a bit.

“We’ve given her something to stew about that will hopefully act as a distraction. Now, there’s only a little while left before the bidding starts. Let’s take a turn about the room and see if we can catch her out.”

But it is Liz that feels distracted as they circle the gallery, her arm still linked through his. They stop periodically for him to tell her some bit of history about a specific item or to give him time to admire the artistry of a particular piece. More than once she starts to remind him of their target only to refrain. He has the most awareness of his surroundings of any person she has ever known and so she simply enjoys the stroll. It also doesn’t escape her notice the many glances that turn in their direction. Perhaps curiosity but most definitely admiration, and she can’t help smiling, seeing him in his element.

She is just on the verge of asking what their next step should be when he stops short as something has caught his attention. Her eyes follow expecting to see Madeline, but she is nowhere in sight.

“What did you see?”

“Lizzy, there’s no time to explain. Make your way to the back of the room and I’ll be along in a minute. Madeline has just revealed her hand.”

It takes him longer than a minute but not by much. He stops to chat with a few guests and one of the King’s employees before the crowd shifts and he is gone from view. Before long, he has reappeared as relaxed as she has ever seen him. When he joins her, he slips an arm around her waist, pulling her close and she wonders if it is to keep up the pretense or if it is simply an unguarded moment. Whichever it is, she finds that she doesn’t object. In fact, it’s not at all unpleasant and dammit if he isn’t distracting her again.

“Well, are you going to tell me?”

“Yes, but not here. We’re leaving as soon as the auction begins.”

“Wait, what?”

There is no opportunity to continue as Earl King and his two twitchy sons enter the gallery. The patriarch gives a short welcome speech and invites the attendees to move into the hall at the end of the room for the start of the proceedings. A pair of doors are thrown open behind them and without hesitation, Red grabs her hand and leads her inside and directly toward the corner to the right.

“What is going on?”

“Just follow my lead and I’ll explain once we’re in the tunnel.”

“Uh, that sounds….”

What? Spooky? Dangerous? Befitting an ancient Castle? She would answer yes to all and is instantly intrigued.

“Nevermind, lead on.”

He laughs softly and they turn to allow the room the fill. His hand is back around her waist and after a minute or two he takes a stepback, pulling her with him. Then another. Followed by another. She is just to the point of wondering if he really knows where he’s leading them when she notices it. What she had only briefly spared a glance at when they entered. The velvet drapes hanging from ceiling to floor, giving the illusion of a window but she understands now. This is an interior wall and suddenly she can’t wait to see what is hidden behind.

Once they are standing flush with the wall it is easy to see the panels have been hung in such a way as to leave a few feet to slip behind and not disturb the fabric. In a flash, they are gone from the room and proceeding into a tunnel that thankfully has been upgraded with the electric lightbulb and not the torches of fire that probably once illuminated the stone.

It is really nothing more than a staircase and they begin ascending without hesitation until Lizzy whispers loudly, “Hey, I need my hand back.”

He turns and seems surprised to find it there within his own. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, but I’m tripping over this damn dress.”

He releases her hand and she is able to lift the skirt enough to continue quite easily. They seem to be climbing endlessly and are both growing more and more out of breath with each step.

“I think that’s the end ahead.”

“Thank god.”

They arrive at a landing about the size of a small coat closet with a door at the end and each take a wall to lean against to catch their breath.

“Alright, where are we and what the hell is going on,” she asks, once her breathing is somewhat under control.

“Through that door is Earl’s private office. The family have evidently taken up residence here as his health has declined and when enough items had been assembled for an auction to take place, they decided to have it here, with the extra security and secrecy added in.”

“And something in there is what Madeline is here for?”

“Yes, and speaking of….”

He steps next to the door and slides a small panel to the side, revealing a two way mirror that before that moment Liz hadn’t been aware of.

“Good, she still hasn’t arrived,” he says quietly.

“Have you been here before?”

“No, I was just informed about this tunnel by the keeper of the books.”

She expels a breath, putting her hands on her hips, and he thinks he best hurry up with the story.

“I noticed Madeline repeatedly looking to a particular point in the gallery and was able to catch a signal between her and the accountant. It was clear then what she has been planning.”

It is not at all clear to Liz and her expression darkens further.

“The ledger, Lizzy. The record of the items sold and, more importantly, who made the purchases going back generations. This would—”

“Give Madeline a virtual hit list to act upon,” she interjects as she finally catches on.

“Exactly. She earns most of her living by simple thievery. She could spend the rest of her career going through this list alone.”

He hears her mutter career which fairly drips with derision as she steps to the mirror.

“So we wait for her to strike then confront her?”

“That is my current thought. There is another entry point to the office from the bedchamber adjacent to Madeline’s accommodations. Probably some way for the Lord’s mistresses to gain access to his rooms once upon a time.”

“And this tunnel is an escape route,” she concludes and turns to study him in the dim light of the tunnel.

“What?” he finally asks.

“You weren’t out of my sight more than five minutes and have managed to turn Pratt’s inside man against her while also learning about these tunnels.”

He clears his throat and manages to at least appear somewhat abashed at her words.

“Let’s just say I have assisted the gentleman in liquidating an acquisition or two through the years,” and seeing the roll of her eyes he goes on somewhat defensively. “The King’s are a thrifty lot and far be it from me to prevent an employee from making ends meet.”

“Okay, okay,” she laughs. It never ceases to amaze her the number of people that he has formed some sort of relationship with while also collecting an enormous amount of favors owed to him.

With a glance at the glass, he goes completely still and puts a finger to his lips. Liz steps close to him and they watch as Madeline moves silent as the night toward the desk. She wastes no time in laying her clutch on the desk. With a snap it is opened to reveal the tools of her trade. Lock picks of all shapes and sizes but it is a tiny camera that she retrieves to begin snapping pictures of the ledger pages. Without the benefit of cell service or wifi, a phone is of little use here and this camera will be only too easy to conceal. Liz has to admire her ingenuity all the while planning how to best her.

It is over in mere minutes. Madeline is careful and does not let her greed detain her. After going back only twenty pages or so, she closes the book and returns the camera to her clutch.

“Let’s go.”

With a hand on his arm, Liz stops him. “Wait. Something is wrong.”

They watch as Madeline turns form the desk and stops abruptly, her attention caught by something on the wall to the right. Liz leans further over trying to see and Red’s arm circles around her, keeping their balance on the small landing.

“Oh my god,” Liz gasps.

“What? What is it.”

“The Vermeer.”

He sees it then. The Concert. The most prized piece of missing art in all the world hanging amidst a dozen other works.

“You don’t think she’d have the nerve to…”

Madeline answers Liz’s question before she can finish speaking the words. With the speed of one that has done this a thousand times, she removes a utility knife from her clutch and cuts the painting from its frame. The empty frame is then deposited behind a cabinet and after circling the room she finds a piece of similar size and hangs it to fill the empty space. The illusion is remarkable. Only someone intent on studying the wall would realize anything had changed within the grouping.

With a final look around the office, Madeline disappears through the hidden door from which she entered, leaving Red and Liz staring at one another in shock.

“Come on,” she orders and it is her turn to lead the way.

They pass quickly through the office and enter a tunnel very similar to the one they just left. This one, however only descends to the next floor and soon they have exited into an empty apartment of rooms.

He nods when Liz points to a door that is slightly ajar on the far wall and they creep silently forward to see Madeline just close the lid on a briefcase and activate the lock via a digital keypad. She wastes no time in exiting through the door to the hall in order to return to the auction.

“Damn, there is no easy way to quickly open this case,” he concludes grimly as they step into the room.

“Leave it to me.”

With nothing short of astonishment, he watches as she raises the skirt of her gown to reveal an elastic band around her thigh which holds her own tools of the trade. With a flourish she takes a small device and places it near the keypad on the case. It activates immediately and the digits on it’s display change with dizzying effect. Within seconds the device has located the code and the lock pops open.

Looking up and seeing his expression, she gives him a dazzling smile. “It’s the autodialer Madeline gave me to unlock the safe in the embassy. I brought it along just in case.”

“I….”

Whatever he was going to say will have to wait as he lapses into speechlessness when she removes the painting and camera resting on top of the stacks of bills filling the case.

“Brilliant really,” she murmurs with grudging respect. “The safest place to hide the camera as I’m sure many attendees prefer to handle their transactions in cash. Thus the perfect excuse for a lockbox of sorts. She thought of everything.”

But Madeline didn’t factor in Lizzy and he stands in wonder as she asks for his tuxedo jacket and lays it across the bed, placing the Vermeer next to it to make sure her idea will work.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?”

He only has eyes for her as she leans close, studying the three figures depicted on the ancient canvas. A man seated between two ladies in the midst of a small musical concert.

“I’ve read in Dutch paintings of the period, musical themes often symbolized love and seduction.”

“Lizzy, I didn’t know you had such an interest in art.”

“I did a little research after you came into possession of The Storm On The Sea Of Galilee. You know they were both stolen in the same museum heist in Boston?”

“Yes,” he remarks quietly. He would never have imagined the Rembrandt would have made such an impression considering how strained their relationship was at the time. To think she was interested enough to look up the theft and acquaint herself with the other masterpieces that went missing.

She is mesmerized by the trio and wonders at the scene. Love and seduction and she can’t help but make the comparison between Raymond, Madeline and herself. Who are these unknown figures lost to history? Were they anything like the three playing out their own game tonight?

With a small sigh, she retrieves the knife from the clutch Pratt left behind, and uses it to make a vertical slice through the lining of his jacket along one side. There is more than enough room for the two foot painting to fit and no way for it to fall out especially with him wearing it.

“My god, you are wonderful,” he murmurs when she finishes and holds out the jacket for him to take.

There is a flush rising prettily in her cheeks. “Some fathers teach their kids how to ride a bike but mine taught me tradecraft.”

“You’re a natural. You know if this FBI thing doesn’t work out—”

“Will you come on,” she interrupts with a smile and makes a point to hold the garment for him to slip into. Once it is buttoned, she runs her hands down his back feeling but not seeing what is hidden within.

“Perfect. Should we go this way?”

She is pointing toward the door that Madeline took to walk downstairs but he shakes his head.

“No, I think we should return as we came. Less chance of getting lost or being caught on a floor away from our own room.”

“Yes, you have a point. Lead on.”

They make good time of it. There aren’t as many stairs to ascend to the office and it is all downhill through the passage on the other side. He raises a hand to slow her progress and steps out into the hall where the auction is in full swing. She waits for the tilt of his head and does the same with no one the wiser.

She looks around for a clock but can’t seem to find one and finally raises his arm so she can check the time by his Rolex. Less than half an hour has passed and she would not have thought it possible. Thinking there is plenty of time to enjoy the proceedings, she signals a waiter passing with the champagne and they each take a flute.

“Ah, here we go.”

There is no telling what he’s referring to until she realizes he is in the midst of bidding on the current item.

“What are you doing?” she hisses, which only causes him to chuckle and keep right on nodding as a signal to the auctioneer. “Would you mind explaining what you intend to do with that thing?”

The enormous missile that had captured her attention earlier is now the subject of a small bidding war.

“I don’t intend to do anything with it except disarm it, Lizzy. What the other bidders might use it for is anyone’s guess."

She is shocked at the sudden emotion overwhelming her and takes a rather large gulp of champagne to deal with the lump in her throat.

“Bid again.”

“I’m the current high bidder.”

“I don’t care. Bid again.”

He smiles but turns his full attention back to the proceedings and before long is the proud owner of a weapon of mass destruction.

“Thank you, Raymond.”

“You’re quite welcome, Elizabeth.” he replies sincerely with enough emphasis on her name to make her smile.

They might as well be alone for all the notice they give to the rest of the room as they watch each other. As he smooths a wisp of hair behind her ear from their flight downstairs. As she tucks her arm back though his with no thought of pretense.

The auction continues in a blur and she is suddenly looking forward to getting out of here and back to Berlin. A chance to study the painting at her leisure and perhaps take a walk through the city. She has quite forgotten about the diamond until the auctioneer reminds her why they have come here in the first place.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, one of the finest offerings of the night. The lost Florentine Diamond which seems to have been found as sometimes happens.”

A smattering of laughter followed by murmured appreciation ripples through the crowd as the diamond is brought forth in its glass case and held high for the room to admire.

“Who will start the bidding?”

Liz looks around and sees Pratt at the edge of the hall with a triumphant smile that she can’t seem to contain. It vanishes a split second later as the first bid is placed.

“One euro.”

Raymond’s voice rings out to the dismay of the Kings and the outrage of Madeline.

There is a stillness that settles over the gathering that grows and takes hold. Liz now realizes just what he meant by letting him deal with the diamond. It was his turn to retaliate for Madeline’s theft and the blow is resoundingly loud in the silence of the hall as no one steps forward to challenge the bid.

Chapter Text

One euro.

Truly the only persons present that seem the least shocked at the impossibly low bid are the Kings, Madeline and Liz. There is no other general reaction except silence as the seconds tick by.

Is that really all it took, Liz wonders. A quick stroll through the gallery for Red to pass along the message that the Florentine Diamond is off limits. Honestly the most surprising aspect is that she’s surprised at all.

“Reddington, what game are you playing at?” the King patriarch wheezes out.

“No game, Earl, I assure you. You have a bid on the table. I suggest you proceed.”

“If you think we’re letting the stone go for less than—”

“There are no minimums at a King Family Auction or are we suddenly going to dispense with generations of tradition?”

His words have finally caused a ripple through the crowd as several nod in agreement with someone calling out for the auctioneer to get on with it.

Through the entire exchange, Liz hasn’t taken her eyes off Madeline and the other woman’s features have gone from anger to something bordering on amusement. Perhaps the sting of his payback for her theft of the diamond is lessened by the belief the Vermeer and her copy of the auction ledger is still resting securely in her room upstairs.

Liz smiles faintly and puts a hand in the pocket of her gown where the small camera rests and thinks of the painting that is hidden in the back panel of Red’s tuxedo jacket. The only downside to the situation is not being able to see Madeline’s reaction when she discovers them missing.

And with the diamond so tantalizingly within reach, it is shaping up to be a perfect heist.

There is nothing for King to do but let the sale go forth if he has any hopes of maintaining the family’s clientele. With a nod to the auctioneer, he relents.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the bid stands at….one euro. Would anyone care to challenge?”

No one would, it seems, and the silence returns with a bang except for the auctioneer’s sigh of resignation.  The rest happens so quickly, Liz thinks he must want to move on from the inevitable as soon as possible.

“Going once…..twice…..sold!”

The pounding of the gavel brings the room back to life. The crowd carries on as if nothing unusual had occurred while the diamond is removed for the next item to be brought forth.

“I think you’ve lost your standing invitation to the King’s auctions,” she whispers and glances over as he chuckles softly.

He is looking in the distance and nods slightly before turning his attention back toward the auctioneer. Liz doesn’t have to follow his line of sight to know it was a silent acknowledgement between the two foes. She looks back toward Madeline just as she lowers her glass that had been raised in a toast to the winner, she supposes, but it is a gesture he did not mimic. Something that Liz finds faintly pleasing for reasons she hasn’t time to contemplate.

“A small price to pay, Lizzy.”

“When will you receive the diamond?”

“Tomorrow morning at the settling of accounts, after which we will be flown back to our starting point.”

“Good, I’m ready to get out of here,” she whispers emphatically.

“If you have no plans to bid on the last few items, might I suggest we retire for the evening.”

“Cute.” With a roll of her eyes, she links an arm through his. “Let's go.”

Not a retreat so much as knowing when to quit while one is ahead since neither want a confrontation with Madeline. Especially not tonight and hopefully not as long as they remain sequestered within the castle.

As unobtrusively as possible, they slip from the room and are attended upstairs to their rooms where Liz immediately kicks off her heels and Raymond hangs his jacket on the back of a dining chair, well away from the fire.

“I don’t intend to let this out of my sight. In fact—”

He is interrupted by a knock at the door and both whirl around, prepared for anything at this point, only to see their valet enter, rolling a cart stacked with enough food to feed them for days. There is also a bottle of champagne chilling on ice and Liz arches a brow his way in amusement.

“A post auction tradition, Lizzy.”

“One that I fully support.”

With assurances that nothing further would be required for the evening, they are finally left on their own and both are able to relax.

“What were you going to say before he came in?” she asks, eyeing the cheese platter.

“That I think it best if I stay up and keep watch. We can assume Madeline will discover the theft tonight and there is no telling what she might do.”

“I agree. Actually I’ll keep you company if that is alright.”

“I’d love nothing more,” he says with a smile, while undoing the bowtie at his neck and moving on to the buttons of his dress shirt.

“Uh, I think I’ll change. It’s a bit…...chilly.”

Liar. She escapes to her room wondering how she could suddenly feel so warm in this drafty castle. Reddington, that’s how. With that tuxedo and his easy confidence. His smile and the way he looks at her. His astuteness as well as complete cluelessness where certain things are concerned. Herself for instance. 

With a plop, she sits on the side of her bed staring toward the closed door for longer than she knows, wondering how this all will end.

By the time she returns to the sitting room, he has also changed into his favorite beat up robe, pajama pants and faded tee. Not that different from her own comfortable loungewear that she packed next to the designer garments borrowed for the occasion. It makes her smile, thinking of them here in this castle, all pretense of glitz and glamour gone for the night. When he glances her way, she holds up the camera for him to see before slipping it into the pocket of the jacket where the painting will remain hidden.

“Not a bad haul,” she concludes. “Decades of auction purchases that will hopefully lead to the recovery of stolen antiquities as well as solve a crime or two. A diamond purchased at the bargain price of a euro and lastly a lost masterpiece valued in the hundreds of millions.”

“And a missile.”

“How could I forget the missile?”

With a soft laugh, she steps to the small table to accept a glass of champagne and he immediately raises his glass to her.

“To us.”

“To us,” she repeats in a whisper, studying him over the rim as they each take a sip.

The toast he refused to reciprocate with Madeline across the auction hall, but waits to offer to her and the emotion returns that seems to be just under the surface lately. She is losing count of all these small gestures that mean something to her, that she wants to keep and finds herself tucking away in her memory.

“Lizzy?”

“Hmmmm?”

“I asked what you’re thinking about. You seem very far away.”

He’s looking at her in that way of his and she hastily starts filling a plate with a little of everything. Mostly because she really is starving but also needing a distraction from the intensity of his gaze.

“Just thinking….wondering.”

“About how much you’ll need to leave out of your FBI report?”

“Oh god, that’s right,” she laughs. “Really, only the copy of the ledger should be handed over. The rest….”

“Will remain between us.”

“Yes.”

More secrets that are adding up but the FBI somehow doesn’t belong here, at least not tonight. They each take a corner of the small sofa in front of the fire and Raymond brings the bottle of champagne. They’re quiet for awhile as they eat.

“I wanted to thank you. I should have said so earlier.”

“For what?” he asks, surprised at her words.

“For buying me that missile.”

He chuckles at her humor but grows serious when he replies, “I promise it will be disarmed at the earliest opportunity.”

“Good. And a certain painting will be returned to a certain museum in Boston.”

“Now, Lizzy—”

“Don’t now, Lizzy me. You take the diamond, the task force will have the list and I get the missile and the painting. That’s a good deal.”

“Good for whom?” he grumbles but only half-heartedly. “In truth though, I will admit to a lingering regret that the Rembrandt wasn’t returned to its original home when I had the opportunity.”

The Storm on the Sea of Galilee. It was there in his warehouse for days and more than once she would enter to find him staring at it, searching its secrets. The last time when she barged in after Tom was released from the blacksite. After Zanetakos took the fall for him. Lies on top of lies that she could not discern at the time, but somehow in the midst of it all, there was the painting. It had captured his imagination and also did the same with hers. She studied it for days, even weeks, wondering if there was an escape from the storm bearing down on them.

And now there is a chance to return the Vermeer and to know he thinks it the proper thing to do, even though it goes against his criminal sensibilities, makes her smile.

She is just beginning to think he’s not completely incorrigible when he continues, “Plus there’s a share in the ten million dollar reward the museum is offering.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Which I will see donated to an art education program,” he finishes without missing a beat.

“That’s better.”

“Lizzy, many more heists like this one and I’ll be out of business.”

“Would that be so bad?”

It seems too personal a thing to ask in the quiet of the room with the fire burning low and she almost wishes she had left it unsaid.

“No, not under the right circumstances.”

She wants more than anything to know what those circumstances might be, what image comes to him when he contemplates a life beyond the FBI’s Most Wanted. That is a question that will go unasked. One that she can’t fathom him ever answering. Instead she glances once or twice to his profile as he studies the fire, but it is inscrutable as he so often is.

“You could have told me.”

He turns to look at her with the flickering light of the flames the only movement across his features.

“About the plan for the diamond,” she clarifies, realizing just how much she could have been referring to in her attempt to change the subject.

“You’ll have to allow me some secrets, Elizabeth.”

It is laced within each word. The thing he shields from her. What she now knows but cannot leave alone. Again and again she finds herself pushing at these barriers, at him, without understanding exactly what it is she wants. Just when she tells herself to retreat, she doesn’t.

“For now.”

His eyes narrow just enough to indicate his curiosity is piqued yet again, but she will give no more clues this night and turns on her side toward the fire to rest her eyes for a minute or two.

Her next thought is waking to the sensation of someone’s thumb stroking back and forth across her ankle and she doesn’t have to open her eyes to know just who that someone is. At some point last night she had stretched out on her side with her legs resting on Red’s and opening her eyes just enough, she can see his feet propped on an ottoman while he sleeps. So much for staying up to watch over the painting and camera. They evidently slept straight through the night without stirring.

Craning her head back a little she spots his tuxedo jacket a few feet away and appearing quite undisturbed. Whether it was all that champagne or the cheese they packed away but, whatever it was, she slept like a log and stretches a bit more, feeling uncharacteristically relaxed.

“Hey, are you awake?”

“Define awake,” he murmurs.

“When did you fall asleep?”

“About five minutes after you trapped me here with your feet."

He smiles at her soft laugh, seemingly not inclined to open his eyes. It also doesn’t escape his notice that she isn’t in any real hurry to move her legs or maybe if he didn’t have his hand wrapped around her ankle….

And at last he is fully awake and stills the motion of his thumb moving across her skin. Without looking, he can feel her watching him and knows it is too risky to look her way. Too easy for her to see in his eyes what he tries so hard to conceal.

“I suppose I should call for the accountant and then we’ll be free to leave.”

“Do you know if Madeline is already gone?”

“I do not. Most of the guests will have left already. Attendees are always kept away from one another before and after an auction to prevent any skirmishes that might arise. Our late departure time is owing to my RSVP at the last minute.”

With a platonic little tap on her leg, he lifts them enough to stand and glances quickly her way before continuing. “I’ll let them know we’ll be ready shortly.”

He’s gone, firmly shutting his bedroom door, leaving her curled on her side with only a thoughtful smile for company. She finally rises and returns to her room and dresses quickly. With her hair pinned up once more and a form fitting dress in a dark burgundy, she feels prepared for her last performance while looking forward to her own clothes that wait for her in Berlin.

“Okay, I’m ready,” she says when she enters the sitting room and stops short.

There he is, impeccably dressed in one of his trademark suits, dark charcoal this time with a silver and burgundy tie. They couldn’t have planned it better if they had tried. Something that hasn’t escaped his notice judging by his expression.

“You look…”

He pauses and simply smiles almost in time with the knock at the door. The keeper of the books enters, but with the valet also in the room, nothing is said of Madeline or the deal he had made with her. The one that was broken as soon as he was confronted by Red.

It all remains unspoken as a small case about a foot across is placed on the table and opened to reveal the diamond nestled within. With more theatrics than is really necessary, Red makes a point of searching a few pockets before removing a coin as payment.

“One euro is the amount, I believe. This will cover the diamond and you have the account information for the missile.”

The accountant makes a show of holding it up to the light before placing it in his briefcase that he closes with a snap. “Mr. Reddington, our business in concluded. You are free to leave with your purchases.”

“Bit dramatic,” she mutters when the man leaves.

“They do love their traditions. Think I’ll just….”

She watches as he drops the diamond in a small velvet bag he retrieves from the case and places it in the pocket of his vest.

“....for safekeeping.”

“Fine,” she says, as she puts on a light wool coat and begins buttoning it up. “That seemed much too easy so let’s get the hell out of here.”

It does seem too easy especially without a counter-strike from Madeline so it really comes as no surprise when they are not allowed to go quietly.

So close. Almost to the exit and he will curse himself for letting his guard down. She would never have been out of his sight had he not stopped to give final instructions on the delivery of that damned missile. A minute’s distraction and when he looks ahead to where she had been walking, there is nothing but the cold stone of the castle floor.

“Elizabeth?”

He hears them first as he quickly walks forward, muffled voices somewhere off the entrance hall they had passed through less than a day ago.

“Where is it?”

“The diamond? I really have no—”

“Do you imagine you can play a game against me and win?

“But the game really doesn’t include her, Madeline.”

Raymond steps into a small receiving room off the hall and takes in everything at once. Lizzy backed into a corner and the light reflecting off the gunmetal in Madeline’s hand.

“Now that really isn’t sporting, seeing we are unarmed as per the rules,” he continues, when both women turn at the sound of his voice.

It is the look in Madeline’s eyes that causes the first real fear to take hold. Even more than the gun at Lizzy’s side as she closed the distance when he entered. It is the desperation that prompts him to raise his hands to reinforce that he is indeed not carrying a weapon.

“Give them to me.”

“There will be no discussion of that until you let her go.”

He never breaks his gaze from Madeline’s, not even when Lizzy is pushed to the side and the barrel of the gun turns in his direction.

“The painting is mine. I found it.”

“Well, I think it was the King’s that found—”

“Don’t try my patience, Raymond. The painting. Now.”

They are circling each other around the periphery of the room and Liz watches from the edge, keeping step with his. Just like a dance and the image of the scene comes to her mind again. Vermeer’s three in concert and the secrets known only to them.

“I’m afraid that is quite out of the question as is the camera. There is no way to retrieve them without drawing attention. Madeline, think,” he adds quickly as the gun swings round to Lizzy once again. “That leaves the diamond.”

“No, don’t,” Liz interjects but it is beyond her now.

The only bargaining chip remaining and he will let it go in the face of a gun trained on her.

“It is time to settle accounts.”

His voice is so low and each take another step around, allowing the one with the gun to move closer to the door with its promise of escape.

It seems to last forever. The pause before Pratt nods and Liz turns to Red as he puts his hand to the vest pocket and the shock that passes over his expression realizing the stone has disappeared.

“I…”

The gun moving back toward him as Madeline awaits whatever trick is being played.

“Liar,” she hisses, seeing his hand come away with nothing.

It takes only the briefest second for Liz to step between him and the gun.

And the room is spinning as he grabs her arm attempting to force her away, but she won’t be moved even when his hand tightens like a vice.

“No!”

The exclamation bounces around the hollow chamber and Liz doesn’t realize it is her own until it returns to her.

“Lizzy.”

He says it without thinking, with the desperation to somehow get through to her as Madeline raises the weapon and steadies her aim. As the truth dawns in her eyes as she looks from Lizzy to himself. The last and final reason he could never meet her in Florence and for the first time she realizes it was there all the time. Even as she went through the pretense of the embassy heist. She had already lost and didn’t even know it.

“What in god’s name is going on?”

Earl King’s voice is resoundingly loud, quite in contrast to the frail man that propels his motorized wheelchair into the room, followed by his sons and a security detail.

“Wait,” Raymond commands, halting the progress of the guards. “Madeline, this is not you. It’s done. You’ve always known when the game was played.”

But this is quite a different woman than the one that bested them at the embassy. There is a danger here that was never there before.

“I will make sure you leave here unharmed.”

But still the weapon is raised toward them.

“I want an answer. What is going on here?”

It is Liz that finally addresses King’s question as she steps forward only to have Raymond immediately move in front.

“We have had our diamond stolen by Ms. Pratt and would like it returned so that we can be on our way.”

If Raymond was shocked to find his pocket empty, it is nothing compared to Madeline’s face at hearing Lizzy’s words. It is nothing compared to the auction and probably doesn’t rival her surprise at discovering the painting and camera missing, but that this common pickpocket could have possibly planted the stone on her is beyond belief.

She falters, lowering the weapon, which is immediately taken by a guard.

“You will produce the diamond at once.”

“Wrong side,” Lizzy murmurs, when the other woman reaches into the pocket on her left.

With the faintest smile, Madeline retrieves the velvet bag from her right pocket and holds it toward the Kings.

“I’ll take that if you don’t mind.”

Holding out her hand, Lizzy steps around Raymond and walks forward. There is nothing for Madeline to do but place the bag there.

“Take her into the hall,” King rasps out, drawing a close to the drama.

Liz turns away and only hears Pratt led from the room and Raymond asking for a few words with the King patriarch. She is quite alone as she walks to the window and places a hand there to lean forward, trying to steady her breathing.

It was a whim, some instinct she can’t define, that prompted her to take the gem from his pocket. Never did she imagine the gun that would be pointed at his chest and the image of it won’t leave her mind.

As she closes her eyes, trying to stop the turning of the room. As the thought of the danger that surrounds him closes in tighter and tighter and what if one day it….

He spins her around, with a hand on each shoulder and holds her there as if she might slip away. Lizzy had not heard his approach, can’t seem to make out the words through the buzzing in her ears.

“What did you say?”

“You can never do that again. Promise me.”

“I don’t understand. The diamond—”

“I’m not talking about that,” he bites out angrily, still not releasing his grip. “Why would you…”

Not anger, she thinks. Fear. The same as her own and rooted in something larger than themselves.

“Because I…..care about you,” she whispers, and wonders which of them feels the impact of her words more.

“You can never do that again.”

“Raymond—”

His name is lost as he pulls her forward, enfolding her with his arms. For the briefest moment until the trembling of her body breaks through, makes him loosen his hold. Hating himself for his harshness as the cause of it when he pulls back to see the tear track down her cheek.

Not understanding, as he steers them toward the door, the true depth of her emotion.

Chapter Text

Raymond stops in front of the closed bedroom door through which Lizzy retreated as soon as they entered the hotel suite. More than once he has walked near, listening to the quiet on the other side before backing away, some instinct within not wanting to disturb her solitude.

He resumes his circuit of the sitting room and can feel Dembe’s eyes follow him to the bar where he pours another finger of scotch before proceeding to the window.

“The Tiergarten is beautiful this time of year. We have timed it just right,” he murmurs, almost without thought.

“You should speak with her, Raymond.”

It seems Dembe isn’t inclined to discuss the fall foliage spreading out below and, with a sigh, Red takes a sip from his glass in lieu of answering.

It wasn’t until their return to the hotel that he had recounted the events of the auction to his friend. There was only an imperceptible shake of his head when he and Lizzy had entered the car after flying back to their starting point. Dembe had remained silent, only occasionally stealing a glance at the pair of them through the rearview mirror. And what had he seen? Each lost in thought, worry etched into their features. Her hand passing him the diamond before turning away.

“I did not handle the situation….well.”

“Then do so now.”

“I don’t want her risking her life for mine,” he states emphatically, feeling the fear burning in the pit of his stomach.

“Yet you have risked yours on many occasions and so she reciprocated today. To her there is no difference.”

Another sigh. Another sip of scotch to wash the dread away. It is not the same. It can never be the same with the emotion that also burns into the deepest part of him, that made him demand the promise from her that she would never again put herself in harm’s way for him. That made him hold onto her so tightly.

If she would only walk through the door, but the minutes drag on and it remains firmly closed. Ridiculous, really, considering the numerous dangers he has faced without hesitation, yet he finds it so difficult to go to her. With a glance over his shoulder, his eyes move from her door to Dembe, who inclines his head back toward her door, and there is nothing to do but try. With steps that feel much too heavy, he deposits his glass on the table, and walks to where his thoughts have been centered since their arrival.

Perhaps she is in the shower or not inclined to answer or...but no, there is her quiet come in when he knocks.

She is at the window, staring out at the same aspect that he just left. It seems she has already showered and is wrapped in one of the plush robes provided by the hotel, all semblance of her auction persona having disappeared.

“I can be ready in a few minutes.” When he doesn’t respond, she turns to see the question in his expression. “Were you coming to tell me the jet is ready?”

It hadn’t crossed his mind. Not once. Washington and the task force seem a world away and he has no wish to return to them so quickly.

“I think Edward might enjoy the evening off.”

She gives him that look as only she can with the hint of a smile. “In addition to last night?”

“Yes, he does love this city,” but when she arches a brow at him, he continues quietly. “As do I. If you care to stay an extra day….”

“We’ll go home tomorrow,” she agrees and turns back to the window. “It really is beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

He never takes his eyes from her profile, framed in the early afternoon light. Can’t find the starting point until she turns back and he is lost. As always happens.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, I gathered as much,” he replies with a rueful smile. “However, I regret my….harshness.”

“You were afraid for me,” she says with a shrug. “As I was when Madeline turned the gun on you. It’s the same thing, don’t you see that?”

Just exactly what Dembe had said only minutes before, but he can never reconcile her risk with how undeserving he feels in the face of it. There is the slightest tilt of his head as he watches her, astonished as he so often finds himself that he is still a part of her life. That they have made it to this place of….friendship. Whatever it is that keeps them in each other’s lives.

“Lizzy, how about we let it go for now. Those leaves out there are falling fast.”

“Then give me five minutes,” she says, looking relieved as she shoos him out the door.

He chuckles quietly, walking back into the sitting room, which is met by the keen observation of Dembe.

“I see that went well.”

“We have reached an impasse and are going to take in the sights instead,” Red explains on the way to his own room to change from his three-piece suit.

He does not see the smile that forms as his friend looks from one door to the other or the contemplative expression that follows.

“I need a guidebook.”

“You do not need a guidebook.”

“But I want to know when that gate was built and by whom and—“

“It was built in the late eighteenth century by order of King Friedrich Wilhelm II,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“Show-off,” she mutters under her breath, then takes his elbow to steer him toward the park. “Let’s walk through before it gets dark. Too bad we don’t have a map. I could google-”

He slips his arm through hers, preventing her hand from reaching for her phone. “Lizzy, let’s meander and leave the google for another day.”

“We seem to be leaving everything for later.”

“A highly useful tactic, I’ve found.”

She can’t help but laugh as they take the first path they come to. It leads to another and a new one after that. Before long they have left the sounds of the city behind, with only the last birds of autumn to greet them as they walk.

It was beautiful from above but now that they are here, surrounded by this riot of color, it is nothing short of breathtaking.

“There’s a particular garden around here somewhere…”

“If we had a map,” she murmurs, bending to pick up a leaf that has caught her eye, and adds it to the others she has gathered.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll stumble upon it sooner or later.”

They ramble on without rhyme or reason, instinctively choosing a new path as one catches their eye. Eventually any thought of a plan leaves her mind entirely.  It is much more satisfying to simply let the park reveal itself.

“Okay, I’m glad we don’t have a map.”

It makes him chuckle, especially when she leans into him for emphasis. “Well, we might need one to find our way out of here.”

He slips an arm around her shoulder to pull her in closer and out of the way of a rider on a light blue bike, who gives them a wave as they pass.

“See, you save my life and I save yours,” she says with a smile toward the bicycle that has already far outdistanced them.

“I don’t suppose it will do any good to point out that it’s not the same—”

“No good at all,” she interrupts and stops to look at him. “That is what partners do.”

The seconds are ticking by and he is held there by the earnestness of her expression. “Yes, they do, Elizabeth.”

His voice has dropped low and there is a little sigh there at this worry for which he finds no easy answer. A dilemma for another day as he returns her smile with a shake of his head, knowing it is futile to argue with her. They continue on for awhile before turning onto a trail Lizzy spies off to the side.

“This is a nice one,” he says, taking a bright red leaf from a bench as they walk past and handing it to her.

“Definitely your color,” she laughs, giving it a twirl between her fingers.

The trail eventually takes them back to a larger walkway leading to a beautiful garden.

“Ah, here we are,” he murmurs, as they roam about between the plantings of summer flowers that have survived this far into fall.

He leads them toward the statue at the far end and they circle back until he finds a particular path he can recall nearby. They arrive at a small bridge and stop to look out over the pond that is like glass on this bright, clear day. All the colors of autumn are mirrored there and they are surrounded by them from above and below.

“I think we’re here at the perfect time,” she muses, and drops a leaf into the water to mix with the reflections there.

“Indeed we are.”

Far from where they began and never has it seemed so apparent until this moment. The leaves drop one by one. Yellow, gold and orange spreading out to join the ones that came before. All save one. A flash of red that is held in her hand before it is tucked into a pocket.

She glances over to see him smile at the gesture, before he looks back to the water. With the collar of his jacket raised and his hat tipped low, he is a little hidden from her as she tries to make out his expression. Another instance where she wishes to know his thoughts, but is hesitant to ask.

Her gaze follows his to the water where the colors blur and for once she lets her thoughts go. Lets them take her where they will. The image comes quickly and must have been there for a long time waiting for her to acknowledge it. What it would be like to close the distance and kiss him there under that fedora. She can feel the anticipation building and smiles at the prospect of surprising the hell out of him.

“Lizzy, are you ready?”

“What?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper as she attempts to focus.

“It’ll be dark soon. What do you say to dinner?”

“Dinner….yes, let’s do that.”

“Splendid,” he replies with enthusiasm as he takes her arm. “I know a little place that makes wonderful Königsberger Klopse.”

“Uh….”

“Trust me, you’ll love it.”

“Alright, lead on.”

Which he does, knowing exactly which series of left and right turns to take to lead them toward the restaurant. So much so that he must have known just where they were within the vast park the entire time, but wanted them to take their time and meander about as he called it. It feels like a gift and more than familiar. Another intangible that he so often finds a way to share with her.

“Raymond, this was a great day.”

“Not the best beginning, but it’s all in the ending.”

“It is,” she agrees and wonders what that ending will be.

Chapter Text

“Ah, Lizzy, there you are,” Raymond calls out with a wave of his hand as soon as she enters the Critter Cabin. “Come in, come in. It’s freezing out. We’re expecting snow, you know.”

“Yes, I do know,” she returns a little grumpily. “Thanks for making me schlep all the way over here.”

“My apologies. I would have dropped the notes off to you but we’ve had a personnel crisis of sorts this morning. Morty is out with bronchitis so we’ve no one to run the desk.”

His eyes cut toward Heddie who is clutching a box of kleenex and glaring at everyone is sight. “You know I have allergies and besides that—”

“I am thoroughly acquainted with your allergies, my dear, I assure you. Not to worry, I’ve called Smokey who has agreed to help out and—”

“Have you lost your…”

Liz glances at Dembe who is standing off to the side and who offers her a smile and a shake of his head as the two continue their squabble. Eventually there is a break in the tirade and Raymond turns his attention back her way, holding out a manilla folder for her to take.

“I’ve added one or two details to Agent Mojtabai’s report as requested.”

She opens the folder containing Aram’s assessment of weapons sold at the King auctions which he then tracked through the criminal networks behind the purchases as far as he could piece together. With the hope additional information could be provided, she had given a copy to Raymond and looking through the pages, she stifles a laugh. With all the flair of a high school English teacher, he has dissected the report to within an inch of its life and with a red marker no less. Bringing it closer and squinting at a few of the smaller circles, she rolls her eyes at his objection to the punctuation. However, since his one or two details are actually copious notes about the organizations in question, she decides to let Aram and Raymond argue the merits of the Oxford comma.

“Alright, I’ll pass it along.”

Unbuttoning her coat enough to slip the folder inside, she is just readjusting her scarf when the door opens behind her and she turns to see a familiar face. Small, white and furry and one that immediately brings a smile to her face.

“Miss Chloe, are you back for a spa day?”

Quite without thought, Liz steps forward and takes the schnauzer from her owner, just as she did on her first visit to the store.

“Do you work here?” he asks, sounding surprised to see her there again.

“Not even remotely.” After planting a kiss on the little dog’s head and giving her a scratch behind the ears, Liz looks up to see the man smiling at her. “She should be ready in a few hours.”

“I think I’ll stay in the neighborhood since the weather may turn bad. Isn’t there a coffee shop close by? Is it up the block on the right?”

“No, it’s to the left. There is a tea house a few blocks up though.”

“I’ve never been much of a tea drinker.”

“Me neither, although I have found a few blends that I’ve enjoyed,” she smiles, thinking of the teas Raymond brought to her when she caught cold.

“Well, I think I’ll stick with the coffee shop today…...I don’t suppose….would you like…”

With a sigh, she plants a last kiss on the little dog’s head, knowing she needs to hand her over to the groomers and be on her way to the Post Office. Glancing up, Liz realizes he has hesitated and she asks helpfully, “Would you like a call when she is ready? That won’t be a problem.”

He pauses again before backing up a few steps. “Uh, that’ll be great. Thanks.”

The bell on the door signals his exit and she turns back to see three very curious expressions directed her way. “What?”

“And this is your contact with the FBI? Unbelievable,” Heddie mutters with nothing short of disdain.

Liz is completely confused by the change in atmosphere and looks questioningly toward Raymond who is watching her grimly. Next is Dembe whose normally stoic demeanor has given way to amusement. Again to Heddie who is now shaking her head reproachfully.

“Seriously, what?”

“You solve crimes but can’t tell when a man is trying to ask you to coffee?”

“What? No he wasn’t. He was…”

She stops abruptly and realizes he didn’t, in fact, want a phone call when Miss Chloe is through with her spa day.

“And there it is,” Heddie concludes with a snort of derision.

“Look, I just came to pick up the report. I really don’t need the hassle,” Liz retorts with as much dignity as she can muster and turns to walk out the door with her head held high.

“Elizabeth.”

Her escape is just within reach as her hand touches the handle when Raymond quietly says her name, halting her retreat. With the heat rising in her face, she adamantly refuses to turn around.

“Yes?”

“You’ll need to leave Miss Chloe with us.”

Closing her eyes, she wishes to hell someone had told her to stay home today. In a second, Dembe is at her elbow, taking the bundle from her arms and opening the door for her. “Have a good day, Elizabeth.”

As much as she appreciates the sentiment, somehow it doesn’t seem possible.

The computer screen moves in and out of focus as Liz attempts to concentrate until her thoughts eventually stray from the task at hand.

It was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

No reason that it should have unsettled her so, even though that is exactly what has happened. Is she so far gone after her experience with Tom that she no longer recognizes something as basic as being asked to coffee? She certainly never saw Raymond’s feelings for her, when they grew and became something very different from what they were. It was there right in front of her but once again she did not see.

Exactly what she said to him after she found out the truth about her husband. It feels like a failure somehow and she hates the lump that rises in her throat. No matter how many times she tells herself she is being ridiculous, she can’t deny the source of what really has shaken her. What catches her off-guard these days. What lingers in her mind. Still.

She thinks of the park everyday.

It somehow remains suspended in her memory, forever held in that perfect fall day. Strange that it should seem so when it began with Madeline and the gun, but her thoughts never start with that. It is always the image of the paths they took that she recalls, the twists and turns that led them to the garden. Another world. One quite apart from her life in Washington and the FBI. Perhaps if there had been more time, she would have given into temptation and kissed him there under that fedora, on that bridge, in that other world.

But what felt like anticipation became a hesitation that took hold and grew when they returned home. When the days turned to weeks and they resumed their normal routine.

She is finding that normal is a relative term. It is certainly familiar though, even comforting at times. Raymond dropping by a few mornings a week to bring her breakfast as they began the task of sorting through the auction ledger. Her amusement mixed with exasperation as he refused to give information on some attendees while happily sacrificing others to law enforcement the world over. Seeing that familiar fedora saunter through the Post Office to seek her out and the smile he would bring to her face in the gloom of the place.

This is how it should be, she reminds herself. This is what matters. The work they are doing amidst the partnership they have forged. Not the whims of fancy brought on by a castle and a heist or a walk on a beautiful fall day. Not the chance of ruining what they have built.

Not the risk of ever again allowing herself to feel….

“Elizabeth.”

Her office slides back into focus and she looks up to see him hovering in the doorway.

“Raymond.”

It comes out in a whisper and she immediately clears her throat and sits up straighter. Suddenly, she very much wishes she had somewhere to be other than here, with no way out of her office than where he is standing and studying her.

“What’s up? I thought you were dealing with staffing issues today?”

“Well, I thought one schlep deserved another.”

He comes to lean on the credenza to the side of her desk and she determinedly turns to face him and watches as he twirls his fedora a few times in his hands before setting it down.

“Did you come all the way down here to see if I’m alright?”

That is it exactly and they both know it. Still, he hesitates a few moments before answering in a roundabout way.

“Heddie can be rather…”

“Rude? Unpleasant?” she asks helpfully.

“I was going to say unflinchingly brusque. She generally means well.”

The roll of her eyes seems to last forever. “It doesn’t matter, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry.”

“It is beautiful in winter and will be covered in snow by now.” Seeing her puzzled expression, he inclines his head toward the image displayed on the screen next to her. “Are you trying to trace the route we walked?”

With a glance sideways, she realizes she has an aerial view of the Tiergarten pulled up without any recollection of having done so. It is not the first time. In fact, it is something she does frequently and damn him for guessing that she does focus on the paths they walked that day.

Closing the tab, she decides to ignore his teasing question. “I’ve been going through images of castles hoping I would recognize the courtyard of the one inhabited by the Kings. Do you know Germany has approximately twenty thousand castles?”

“I do.”

“Yeah, so it may take awhile.”

“Lizzy, your time is probably better spent on the ledger Madeline copied. Considering the ruckus the morning we left, I wouldn’t be surprised if they have already moved locations.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she agrees, even though looking through the images has kept her distracted when she has needed it. It has allowed her to retreat to her office when she inexplicably wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

“Speaking of the ledger, I thought I might go over my notes with Agent Mojtabai since I’m here,” he continues, looking past her to Aram’s empty workstation.

“When are you leaving?”

“I just arrived.” He smiles at the abrupt change in topic and tilts his head to the side when he looks back.

“Christmas is in a couple of weeks so I know you’ll be leaving soon. I was curious when.”

The seconds tick on, one after the other, as this unspoken topic rests between them.

“On Saturday,” he answers quietly, studying her again.

“Then I suppose we better take a look at that list.”

She stands to slip past him in the close confines of the office so quickly that he doesn’t have time to move, only managing to reach a hand out to steady her as she steps over his outstretched feet.

“Lizzy?”

Her steps never slow and she doesn’t turn back just as she didn’t earlier in the day, not giving him a chance to decipher her expression.

“Aram is back at his desk.”

Nothing he can do but follow. And wonder.

In all the time she has known him, he has never stayed for the holidays. She can almost track the course of their relationship by the turning of the year and where they were in the face of it.

There was only a hurried phone call after the incursion when the task force was still reeling and Red went into hiding. He returned well after the new year when he waltzed into her home with a smile and another name for the list. She hadn’t even realized how close she was to her life falling apart.

Twelve months later and it was all gone. The brownstone and her marriage. All that remained was the rusted hull of a boat and the deadly repercussions that followed. There is no memory of that holiday season. None at all. Just a motel room somewhere she chose to hide away in while Red did the same. A retreat until they were stronger and found a way to move forward.

But last year she does remember. By then she was settled in her apartment and content in her solitude. When all that mattered was putting her life back together with no plan for anything beyond. He came back in January as always and they returned to their work.

And now here she is again. Another ending and another secret. He has left and taken it with him, not knowing a piece of it remains with her. Perhaps that is what causes this disquiet to take hold. The fact she is alone with it and has yet to find a place to put it.

She wonders about him now. Really wonders. Where he might be and if he has found a place far enough from that Christmas Eve. The image of him there causes an ache in her chest, thinking of the reason he must go. Why he must always be in motion when the anniversary comes.

It is one of the few things he eventually disclosed. The cover family while the real one was killed.

Something else that remains with her, settling deep into her soul. His love for her and his grief for them. How often it causes her to pick up the phone she will never know, but the call is never made. This is what she has wanted after all. A return of what has been in the past. A line that she doesn't allow herself to cross.

She finally understands his need to run, to keep busy. For the first time since the brownstone, she accepts the invitations that come with the season, needing the noise and the chatter. Anything but the tumult of her thoughts that are always there waiting for her when she returns to the quiet of her apartment as she does so now.

When she walks to the balcony to look at the cars passing below and the lights beyond, wondering if he is alright. Hoping wherever he is will silence the ghosts for a time.

The doorbell makes her jump, but it is most likely a neighbor dropping by. Now that she has befriended a few other tenants, it occurs more frequently. She has even made plans for a Christmas potluck with those in the building without family close by or simply without family. She is smiling as she opens the door and is more than shocked when it is Raymond on the other side.

“Good heavens,” he says, looking just as surprised as she feels.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Uh…”

He makes a point of glancing down and she erupts in laughter while stepping aside to let him in.

When they reach her sitting room, he turns back to add, “My god, it’s just as loud as it looks.”

“Okay, calm down,” she says, placing her hands on her hips making him chuckle at the sound just that simple action elicits. “I’ve been to Aram’s Ugly Holiday Sweater party where I happened to win a door prize for Loudest and Proudest.”

“Wait, are you a tree?”

“I am.”

Her pride is apparent as he takes in the sweater in all its splendor. The green background is draped in red, blue and gold garland that wraps around, while the entire garment is covered in hundreds of small bells that are responsible for the sound effects.

Leaning a little closer for a better look, he asks in awe, “Does it light up?”

“Yes, but—”

“Where’s the battery pack?”

He is smiling broadly now and moves to look behind her, but she turns just in time, cutting off his view.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

For god’s sake, ten minutes ago she was convincing herself this separation was a good thing, and now his soft throaty laugh is sending a shiver up her back that is quickly turning into a pleasant warm sensation moving across her body.

“What did you win for this creation?”

“A fruit basket. It’s on the table if you’re hungry.”

“Hmmm, maybe later.”

She has no idea what is happening or why everything seems laden with an underlying something she can’t define, but she moves a few steps away to catch her breath in the meantime.

“Lizzy, I wondered if you were busy this evening. I know it is last minute but things just came together today.”

“Right now?” she asks, surprised.

“Yes. I promise it will be worth the late night.”

Her eyes narrow as she studies his relaxed demeanor that is completely at odds with the last time she saw him.

“Ok, let me grab my coat.”

“Are you going to show me the lights first?”

“Were you going to let me walk out of here in this thing?” she exclaims, putting her hands back on her hips with a loud jingle, making him chuckle all over again.

“Far be it from me to choose your attire.”

“Yeah right.” She is shaking her head, thinking of the evening dress he chose for her as she searches for the hidden switch.

The tree lights up with theatrical effect and his eyes widen in shock. There is definitely a mumbled comment about a fire hazard which makes her smile as she retreats to her bedroom to change, leaving him to plunder through the fruit basket.

She really has no idea what is in store. Can’t fathom what he is up to as he drives them to the small airport that he favors outside the city.

“Where’s Dembe?”

“You’ll see.”

Cryptic as always, but she is more than willing to play along during the short flight. By the time she finishes telling him about the party, they are well on their way and she isn’t exactly certain which direction they are headed.

Even when they have landed and he is driving them to their destination, it doesn’t come to her. She has never been there although she has thought about it on more than one occasion, but still it is unrecognizable to her as he skirts around to a rear entrance. They are in the building in an instant and there is hardly time to acknowledge the security guard that is waiting to open the door or the other guard they pass who is currently engrossed in a game of chess with Dembe.

He gives her a quick wave as they pass and just then she realizes.

But how did Raymond arrange it?

How is it possible that they are here in the middle of the night?

“Oh my,” she breathes as they enter a corridor and she knows where it will lead.

He takes her hand these last few steps and she will have to think about that later. If perhaps this is how his barriers finally fall. In the night. With her and another secret they share.

The gallery is familiar to her having seen it online. Having walked through the room in her mind, tracking the thieves as they selected the ancient canvases to take. She can recall the empty frames that remain, that have never been removed in all these years, but it is only one that her eyes immediately seek out. Just there to the right. Not hanging on the wall but displayed on a table and she sees the painting now resting within.

He had promised to return the Vermeer to its home in Boston but never did she think that he would arrange for her to be there as well. Her hand squeezes tighter as they stop in front of the masterpiece that she hid away in the lining of his tuxedo. What she left out of her FBI report just as he knew she would.

For whatever reason he chose this moment. Days before Christmas Eve when he is normally anywhere or nowhere at all, but he is here and she thinks this is a gift that could not be wrapped in a box. He came back this year, even though it might only be for this one night.

He came back and the tears that have been close to the surface so many times in the past few weeks finally fall. Quietly so that he is unaware until he hears the emotion in her whispered words.

“You’re really not playing fair, you know. You really aren’t.”

“Lizzy…”

But he trails off as her hand squeezes his again and she moves closer to rest her head on his shoulder. Not turning to look at him, wanting to keep the secret a little longer.

That he loves her and that love is returned.

Chapter Text

“This is as it should be.”

Still with her hand in his. Still with her head on his shoulder. After the weeks, months, of over thinking and rationalizing every nuance of their relationship, they have arrived at this moment.

“Yes, Lizzy, it is right that the painting be displayed for all to see.”

A moment that he is not even aware of yet which makes her smile. She wants to remember it forever. This feeling of letting go as something new takes hold that steadies her even as she falls.

It is so much easier to simply love him and let him love her in return.

Besides, there’s not one damn thing she can do about it now. And she wouldn’t even if she could. What came before seems a little blurry and faded in her memory, but everything around her has been brought sharply into focus, the colors that much brighter. She can no longer imagine him anywhere but where he is right now. By her side, adding just a bit more texture, a little more life to her life.

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

“I couldn’t imagine you anywhere but here for its homecoming.”

No, there is no going back, but she is never going to get her emotions in check if he doesn’t stop reading her mind and saying things that make her heart beat that much louder in her chest. With resolve, she lets go of his hand and walks ahead with the pretense of studying the painting. Leaning forward she lets her hair shield her face as she brushes a tear away and takes a deep breath. By the time she turns back, she is smiling thoughtfully and isn’t surprised to see that he is doing the same.

“May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“I thought I wouldn’t see you until after the new year.”

“Is that the question?” he asks as his head tilts to the side.

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

She watches him watch her as their thoughts stray in the same direction. To wherever it is he hides away every Christmas Eve and the fact he came back, this year of all years. With the twenty-fourth only a few days away she wonders if he will still be here, but that is a question she will leave for the moment.

“Things seemed to fall into place quite suddenly.”

“I’m glad they did,” she returns quietly when she is able to discern nothing more from his expression.

His words stop her as she moves to turn back toward the painting. “Now it’s my turn.”

There is only the fleeting hope he doesn’t see her start and that she appears as calm as she is able to fake.

“Alright.”

“What did you mean by you’re not playing fair?"

That you make it impossible not to love you.

She's surprised the words don't come tumbling out, so forcefully do they enter her mind. They are held there with only an imperceptible shake of her head as she searches for what to say.

“Raymond—”

“Mr. Reddington, I wanted to stop in and say goodnight before I go. So glad we were able to accommodate your schedule and move up the transfer date.”

They turn to see a gentleman walking briskly toward them and Raymond steps forward to shake his hand.

“Emile, it has been a pleasure,” he replies, appearing surprisingly happy considering he is returning rather than selling a stolen work of immeasurable value. “Elizabeth, this is Emile, the curator of the museum.’

Liz moves to Raymond’s side and finds her hand immediately engulfed within a rather enthusiastic handshake. “Mr. Reddington has informed me you are also to thank for the return of our Vermeer. I do so now, Ms. Rathers. Thank you from all at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.”

Whether it is the sincere formality of his gratitude or being referred to Ms. Rathers, it takes her a moment to mumble you’re welcome and then watches as Raymond puts his hand on the man’s back and all but steers him toward the exit of his own museum.

“Emile, I trust you won’t mind if we impose on your hospitality a little longer and make a walk through?”

“You need never ask. And you’ll be glad to know all of your security measures are in place and working perfectly.”

“Splendid,” Raymond says with a thump on his shoulder. “I assure you the Vermeer is home to stay.”

Liz returns Emile’s wave as he leaves the gallery, then looks at Raymond in nothing short of astonishment.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, surprised by her expression.

“How long have you known him?”

“A few weeks, give or take. What?” he asks again when she erupts in laughter.

“So in a few short weeks you’ve managed to befriend the curator, install your own security and he’s now comfortable enough to let you have the run of the place?”

“Well, when you put it like that—”

“I think it’s great,” she interjects with a smile and shrug of her shoulders. “Ms. Rathers, though?”

“Yes, about that,” he explains, shifting his weight from side to side. "The poor man was clamoring for the story of how we happened upon the painting. I supplied a scaled down version and an alias for you.”

“Right,” she says, attempting to sound serious. ”And what was that about moving up the transfer date?”

Her answer is his own smile and small shrug. She’d bet money this was all arranged for after the New Year but something prompted him to hurry up the delivery of the painting. No doubt, she is the something. It seems Raymond Reddington’s excitement got the better of him and he just couldn’t wait.

“I think it’s great,” she repeats softly and feels the rush of emotion return even more powerful than before. She wonders if he will always make her feel this breathless. She wonders if he will always find a way to surprise her.

“Now where is the frame for the Rembrandt? It should be just beyond the Vermeer…”

Her voice trails off as she turns to seek out the frame in question and catch her breath, away from his all knowing gaze. “What security measures was Emile talking about?”

“Enough to guarantee Madeline won’t be successful should she attempt a payback.”

He arrives at her side in time to hear her mumbled oath at the mention of his nemesis, which makes him chuckle.

“This should be the next one,” she concludes matter-of-factly after turning a full 360 degrees to survey the room and arriving back at the empty frame before them.

“I don’t quite follow.”

“The Storm on the Sea Of Galilee. And it should be the easiest to locate since you brokered the deal.”

"Lizzy, you want me to…..do you know how much it would cost to even attempt to purchase it back from the current owner?”

His astonishment matches her own from a few minutes earlier and only increases when she answers, “Who said anything about buying it back?”

“Agent Keen, I’m surprised at you!”

“Oh, you are not.”

Which really does make him laugh and they make the circuit of the room as she points out different facts about the theft and the masterpieces that were taken. Now don’t start that again when she decides the other Rembrandts should be next on the list to track down. She is altogether unperturbed by his uncooperative attitude saying only we'll talk about it later  and lets him lead the way out of the gallery.

They continue on, stopping frequently, separating and then coming together again as something new catches their eye.The museum is completely silent except for their murmured conversation and footsteps echoing off the tile underneath. They are as captivated by the architecture as much as the art and antiques filling the place. There is a timelessness to it and neither would have been surprised to see Isabella herself walking through the halls admiring her collection.

Eventually they ascend to the third floor and begin again, meandering about, exploring the rooms off the long gallery until they find themselves in a small chapel at the far end.

“It’s impossible to take it all in,” she concludes in wonder, studying the massive stained glass window above the alter.

“I agree, but before we end our tour, there is still the atrium.”

“About time,” she mutters and briskly leads the way back to the staircase, hearing him chuckle over her shoulder.

Every time she had attempted to get a closer look at the inner courtyard from the many arched openings they passed, she had felt his hand at her back steering her away as easily as he maneuvered Emile from the Dutch Room.

Will you stop! when he again and again blocked her view. He only smiled that infuriating smile when he knows he’ll get his way and repeated  patience, patience until she eventually gave up or got distracted by a new antiquity or, more often than not, the warmth from his touch.

When they have descended the formal staircase leading to the main entrance and he ushers her into the atrium, she is grateful he made her wait. This is how it should be viewed for the first time. As if they are stepping into the courtyard of a Venetian palazzo and if she closes her eyes she can almost hear…

“What are you thinking about?” he murmurs, quite close to her ear.

She keeps her head tilted up toward the glass ceiling, imagining the stars that are not visible. Imagining them in all the places she imagines herself someday.

“I’m thinking there must be a canal out there and a gondola waiting.”

“I’m sure I hear the water splashing against the side of the building,” he continues, playing along. “Shall we?”

Liz glances over to see him crook his elbow toward her and she hooks her arm through. It is beautiful and they take their time admiring the winter botanicals of every variety. When they have made a full circle she once more looks up toward the ceiling of glass above them.

“I’d like to sit here all day just to see how the light changes with every hour.”

“I’m sure I can arrange something with Emile. It really is lovely with the sunlight streaming in.”

“Good, it’s a date.” And instantly feels the heat rush to her face. “I mean…”

He makes a show of checking the time on his watch, much longer than is really required, before looking up. “Or we could wait for sunrise. It’s not too far off.”

“Yes, let’s wait,” she agrees quickly. “Yes, I’d like that.”

And before she can embarrass herself further she goes in search of anything to act as distraction on the first floor. By the time they have found the gift shop, she feels a bit steadier and they are quiet for awhile as they peruse the contents.

“You should take that one,” he says, pointing at the book she is immersed in. “You keep coming back to it.”

“I can’t just take it without paying, Raymond.”

“It’s the definitive guide to the museum. A perfect souvenir.”

“You want me to steal a souvenir?”

“You want me to steal The Storm on the Sea of Galilee,” he replies like it is the most normal thing in the world. “Besides, Emile won’t mind after we gave him a painting valued in the tens of millions. Trust me.”

Her eyes narrow at his own version of logic and the knowledge this criminal could talk anyone into just about anything.

“I want us to steal the Rembrandt and there is no way I’m taking this book.”

“I tell you what, I’ll purchase the book so your conscience will be clear.”

She watches as he goes behind the counter in search of a bag and comes to place the book within.

“Raymond, I know for a fact you don’t have any money on you.”

“I’ll have Dembe buy the book.”

“Now that I believe,” and she laughs at his mock indignation.

By the time they arrive back at the courtyard it is either very, very late or very, very early, but either way they are glad to find a bench to rest. Content to sit quietly thinking of the night they have passed until it becomes increasingly difficult not to close their eyes and simply drift…

“Make sure and wake me up,” she mumbles as her head finds his shoulder again, and his arm wraps around.

“I’ll do my best.”

A smile before she dozes off, hearing the fatigue in his voice and there is the image of them sleeping till the museum opens and Emile shaking them awake. She dreams of them there, lost in the corridors of stone, the light streaming through the arches leading to the gardens beyond. We’re getting close. A whisper from behind and he is there. I know as she draws him to her until everything blurs.

“Lizzy, we’re getting close”

“What?”

“You wouldn’t want to miss it.”

She's a bit dazed when she sits up with a start and realizes it is still dark. He is referring to the break of day and not...whatever pleasant something he so unknowingly interrupted in her dream. But they are moving toward the telling of secrets and turning on the bench she studies him a moment. Closer to something he doesn’t know is coming and she wonders again when that will be.

“May I ask you something?”

“This again,” and seeing her nod, he continues with a small smile. “Always, Lizzy.”

“Are you leaving again?”

“Yes.”

Quietly this time and his simple answer is only an affirmation of what she has already felt.

“Where do you go? Is it the same every Christmas Eve or—”

“It is the same. Not at first, but over the years it has become a certain destination, wholly different than what came before. Where there once was snow now there is heat. It is a world of opposites that came to hold its own traditions to mark the day.”

Traditions that she will not intrude upon, but at least she will worry a little less imagining him there in the warmth with the sun overhead. Somewhere south of the equator, no doubt, and as far from a DC winter’s night as he can find.

“And Dembe will be with you?”

That thoughtful smile again and the tilt of his head as he studies her. She can feel the question there, wondering at her concern. Perhaps curious about a thousand little things, just as she has been, and she feels the breath catch in her chest. The stillness of the place deepens as she waits.

“He will. You don’t have to worry.”

A nod but she says no more. Simply waits.

“Now it’s my turn,” he continues softly.

“This again?”

“Turnabout is fair play, Lizzy. Besides you never actually answered my question from earlier.”

You really aren’t playing fair.

The answer is there, but she holds it close. Guarding it as she has his secret all these months and she knows now. Closer but not quite yet.

“Raymond, I’ll tell you when you return in January.”

“Now, that hardly seems fair.”

The pressure seems to lift in an instant with his teasing words and the expectation of what will come.

“Trust me, it will be worth the wait.”

“As all good things are,” he says, pointing toward the glass above them where the first pink light of morning is making its way into the courtyard.

“You really do have impeccable timing, you know?”

“So, I’ve been told.”

She is smiling even as she shakes her head at his sly grin, before leaning a little nearer to his side and tilting her face upwards. He does the same and although neither realize it, their eyes close together as they imagine the sounds of the canal just beyond the courtyard.

Chapter Text

The restlessness grates on him.

Something quite apart from the ache that surfaces on Christmas Eve. That deep sorrow is too familiar after all these years for Raymond not to recognize it. He even waits for it even though it is always with him in some form or the other, but its sting is all the more poignant on the anniversary of the loss. It recedes with the passing of the day, but this year there is a melancholy that remains. One that drives him from the house time and again to watch the horizon, to breathe and attempt to shake off what has unsettled him.

His view is the same every year. A small bay dotted with the comings and goings of local fishermen. The breeze wafts in off the ocean tempering the heat of the day as he walks the length of the veranda and back again. He doesn’t have to glance within to know that little has escaped Dembe’s notice, ever watchful, with the rather annoying ability to read him like a book.

It was much the same during their impromptu trip this past summer when he wondered if he should make the break a permanent thing. To step out of Elizabeth’s life sooner rather than later as the inevitability of it pressed in on him. Another heat wave that stifled the air around him as he tracked the distance in his mind to where she was, always in his thoughts no matter how many miles stretched between.

He does so now, recalling when he left her after their night in the museum. How bitterly cold it was that morning, but he felt quite warm with the anticipation of returning to her already surrounding him.

She had stood in her doorway as he walked away, a final wave before he entered the elevator and there was that something in her expression. How many times has he caught a glimpse of it now? He has no idea and again he thought of what she had said when they entered the gallery where the Vermeer waited.

You’re really not playing fair. You really aren’t.

The way her head dropped to his shoulder and he realized her hand rested in his. How had it come to be there? Was it simply instinct that caused him to reach out without even realizing?

How for one brief moment he imagined she could feel the same.

With a shake of his head he clears his vision from that night and looks toward the setting sun on this, the last day of the year. What a damned fool he is for thinking he could stay in her life indefinitely. For envisioning a life with her that cannot possibly be.

I’ll tell you when you return in January.

The answer he sought but one she hesitated to give. The reason for those words that now haunt him as well as the emotion as she struggles to speak them.

You’re really not playing fair.

Nothing in life really is, he supposes, and so he will return to hear what she must tell him. Whatever it is, he senses the ending approaching. One that he has been waiting for. When she would tell him their work on the task force is over. That she is leaving and it is time for him to do the same.

There is a certainty now that the closing of this next year will find that everything has changed and he resumes his pacing. An attempt to stay one step ahead of his thoughts as the ache inside deepens.

Liz was determined that this year should be different than the last.

And so it has been. Where last year she spent the holiday alone and quite happily so in her new apartment, this season she was determined to do the opposite. Every invitation has been accepted and it is all a blur as she steps out onto the snow-covered balcony for a few minutes of quiet as the New Year’s party grows louder.

All a blur except for the night Raymond came to take her to Boston so she could be there when they returned the painting to its rightful home in Isabella’s museum. The night she realized she loved him and then let him go.

She has found herself counting down the days until the words can be spoken, without the knowledge of what that number truly is. Only some time after the new year and now it is almost here. Minutes away and she would rather welcome its arrival alone with only the image of him than with all the revelers behind her.

A smile plays across her features as she closes her eyes to the city beyond and pulls up the collar of the coat she took off the top of the pile on her way toward the balcony. She had managed to slip out unnoticed to wait for midnight. It is growing increasingly difficult to control her impatience now that the reason for his retreat has passed. It was for that alone she let him walk away that last morning and not call him back to her as she came so close to doing.

It is jarring when the crowd begins the countdown and in ten quick seconds they are in another year. The one that will be so different from what came before and the longing overwhelms her as the cheers grow louder. She wants him here and suddenly there seems no earthly reason why she shouldn’t tell him that much at least.

He answers after the first ring and she immediately places a hand to her other ear in order to help her hear.

“Raymond?”

“Lizzy? Is anything the matter?”

“No, not at all. I just wanted—”

“What was that?”

He must be having just as difficult a time judging by the loudness of his responses and the commotion she can hear in the background. She should have waited to call not wanting to have this conversation at yelling level.

“Maybe I should call later or—“

“Hold on,” he yells at a volume to match her own. “I’ll move outside.”

Of course he would be at his own gathering. Something that should’ve crossed her mind. Of course he could be with anyone as she thinks of his ability to make friends in any number of situations. She glances over her shoulder and wishes she could somehow disappear into the cheering crowd and drown out the rush of thoughts bearing down on her.

“That’s better, I think.”

“Are you already in the new year?” she asks quickly, unsure how to proceed now that she can hear him more clearly.

“Only by an hour.”

The time change runs through her mind and the relief is unmistakable that he is closer than she imagined. Not in the same hemisphere but at least not on the other side of the globe.

“So I’m guessing you’re in South America then.”

“I am indeed,” he replies, sounding pleased. “A little town hardly anyone has heard of. No use doing the google.”

“Please don’t let anyone hear you say that,” and she laughs hearing him do the same.

God, how she misses him and the urgency returns more forcefully than before to tell him to come home. To tell him…

“Raymond—”

“Lizzy, why—”

They lapse into silence having spoken at the same time until Liz prompts him to continue. “You go first.”

“I wondered why you called.”

“Can’t I call to wish you a Happy New Year?”

“Why…yes. Always.”

Even now, even after the museum and a thousand other things he cannot fathom why she would reach out to him minutes after midnight. Why she should so obviously choose him over the celebration he knows is going on around her. He still doesn’t see the emotions at play and she finds the words just as elusive as he has all this time.

“You sound a little shaky,” he continues so quietly she almost misses it.

“I’m out on the balcony and it’s very cold, but it was the quietest place I could find.”

I want you to come home.

But she hesitates again and really the trembling in her voice has little to do with the temperature. With each second the words drift further away and she desperately wants to bring them back again.

I want you.

“Raymond, I—”

There is a rustling on his end when she hears his name called in the background. The words won’t return as he muffles the phone to answer the woman that had call to him in Spanish. Liz picks up enough of the response to know he’ll be along in a moment and feels again how foolish she was to place this impromptu call.

“I’ll let you get back to your…companion. Happy New Year.”

“Lizzy, wait,” he interjects in a rush. “Was there anything else?”

“I should go inside. Goodnight.”

The call is ended much the same as when she first stepped onto the balcony. Eyes closed to the night and counting the seconds that pass until her breathing slows before returning to the party in search of Samar.

She will never see his quizzical expression or the cloud that passes over it before he turns back to his companion who could be anywhere from eighty to a hundred and twenty. Her assumption makes him smile as he follows her back to the gathering of old friends.

Lizzy can’t read his thoughts that so frequently return to their conversation and to what it is she will tell him. If it has anything to do with the task force or who possibly waited for her inside and if he should be counting down the days they have left together in the start of this new year.

“Liz, are you listening?”

“Absolutely,” she mutters while rifling through her copy of the King’s auction ledger for the thousandth time. “Your cousin is getting married.”

"Right, so it’s tomorrow, which I know is last minute but…”

“Aram, look at this series of numbers.”

She is standing on the opposite side of his workstation and turns the page around so he can see where she is pointing.

“I haven’t been able to track that as an account number.”

“But there is a small break here. What if the first set of numbers is perhaps a bank deposit box and the last is the actual account number?”

“I’m on it.”

Within a second he is typing away and she turns back to her own laptop that she has brought out with her.

“Why in the world would someone get married in January?” she asks after entering a few notes to follow up on later.

“They’re going for a winter wonderland theme.”

“Hmmm, I‘d still prefer the sun,” she murmurs as the image of Raymond in the warmth of a South American summer comes to mind.

“So what do you say?”

“About what?”

“The wedding.”

“You really should ask Samar, but I’ll go if you’d rather not.”

“Wait, Liz, I…”

She looks up to Aram’s obvious alarm. “Weren’t you asking me to go to the wedding?”

“Yes, but with my cousin.”

“I thought your cousin was the one getting married.”

“I knew you weren’t listening.”

“Well, I am now so start over.”

“My other cousin, who is recently divorced, needs a no pressure date to deal with our high pressure family.”

“A date!” She can all but feel the eyes that turn in their direction and forces herself to continue at a normal volume with a little less panic in her voice. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“You just said yes when you thought it was me.”

“That’s because it was you.”

“You have to get back out there sometime.”

It takes everything within her to stifle the hysterical laughter that suddenly rises in her throat. It would almost be worth telling him she sort of skipped the dating phase and fell in love with an international criminal they both happen to know.

“Aram, look—“

“Think of it as four people going to a wedding in the dead of winter and saving someone from my Aunt Frieda’s incessant matchmaking.”

“Four people?”

“I sort of asked Samar this morning and—”

“Four is generally considered an unlucky number but in this case it all adds up perfectly," says an all too familiar voice from behind.

There really is no other way to describe that sensation of her heart dropping into her stomach except to say it fairly plummeted. She spins around to find Raymond looking as uncomfortable as she feels.

“Where did you come from?”

“From the elevator, Agent Keen.”

Agent Keen. She’d swear they just went back in time by about three years and has no idea how to stop the sinking feeling with the way he is watching her from under the brim of his fedora. As if he has no intention to stay so why bother removing his hat or his many layers of winter wear. His next words are confirmation of that very thought.

“You’ll be glad to know I’m not bringing the task force a new name for the blacklist, therefore, your weekend plans should proceed uninterrupted.”

So it seems he heard quite a lot before making his presence known and there is an immediate spark of irritation. After all these weeks and everything that has occurred to just casually think it’s fine if she re-enters the dating scene is too much to deal with on a Friday afternoon.

“That works out perfectly then,” she replies calmly.

“Aram, a pleasure as always.” Raymond nods in his direction before looking back to her. “Agent Keen.”

Two Agent Keens in the space of a minute and she doesn’t know whether to throttle him or cry. She does neither and watches as he heads toward the stairs to Cooper’s office before hurriedly walking to her office for her things. Coward though she certainly feels herself to be, she has no intention of being here when he comes back down. After telling Aram to call her with the details, she is gone, needing to clear her mind of the perplexing conundrum of an impending blind date and the even more confusing puzzle that is Raymond Reddington.

It really is a winter wonderland. Perhaps there are one too many ice sculptures but they sparkle in the candlelight quite beautifully. She smiles seeing the cousin trying to dodge Aunt Frieda yet again and decides he’s on his own for a little while and finds a pillar to lean against to survey the room.

Not where she expected to be, but she finds that she’d do it all again. Not a difficult decision once she sorted through the events in her mind, which she’ll admit took the better part of a day. It was more than this improbable date. Significant not in the way Aram thought, but because of the simple fact he is her friend. One who waited until the last minute to ask Samar to the wedding and who also wanted to help his cousin. One who thought four might be better than two at least on this first outing.

Considering how isolated she had become in her marriage to Tom, how he maneuvered her away from friends she previously had until the only ones that remained were through his made up life, these new relationships are all the more meaningful. Which is why the sight of them on the dance floor brings a smile to her face. Why helping the newly divorced cousin skirt uncomfortable questions from well-meaning family isn’t the worst Saturday she’s ever spent.

It doesn’t, however, lessen the heaviness in her chest as the evening grew late and the crowd thinned out.

It all adds up perfectly.

To whatever image he has built up in his mind. She can feel her grip tighten on the champagne flute and attempts to force the tension away. It all seemed so simple at the museum. The words didn’t feel as elusive as they do now. They were there waiting but now it is difficult to know where to begin.

Just the same as he.

The thought causes her to stand up straighter. He could never bring himself to tell her or even recognize the change in her emotion. Much the same as she. Not until she overheard a private conversation that offered a little nudge or more accurately a bolt of lightning for her to understand.

Later when she waves to Aram and Samar as the car merges into traffic in front of her building, it is with the intent to go inside, but she is walking toward her own car as they disappear around the corner. A text to Dembe provides the address and a request for him to keep her secret will give her cover. And some amused thoughtfulness on the part of Red’s friend without doubt.

It seems to take no time at all. Her thoughts have become amazingly quiet that matches her approach to the safehouse. The lock is dispatched with ease and she knows which direction to turn having been provided a tip from her accomplice. Raymond would call this an inside job, but she’ll still claim the victory.

Fitting that it should come to this as her hand reaches for the doorknob. It is so eerily similar to all those months ago when she inadvertently heard what she was never supposed to know and was forever changed.

The true nature of his feelings.

And it’s about damned time he get the same little nudge. Or that lightning strike. 

She walks into the library and takes in everything at once. The suit jacket slung over the back of a chair. His vest undone as he turns toward the sound of the door opening and halts in his tracks. The glass of scotch in his hand that reflects the flames from the fireplace within the etched crystal.

“I don’t know how much of that you’ve had,” she says with a nod to the bottle on the side table. “But he’s not worth it.”

“He?”

So inscrutable, he gives nothing away with his shuttered expression, only the briefest surprise at her sudden appearance.

“Aram’s cousin, who is a very nice accountant from Hartford by the way, but not worth all this.”

“Lizzy, it’s late.”

“I’m aware. Do you remember when you asked me for your profile?”

He doesn’t answer and she doesn’t wait for one as she steps further in, running her hand across a few of the leather bound editions lining the walls before looking back.

“I don’t think I hit all the points correctly. One never does on the first attempt. A profile always changes over the course of time, but I do recall one part vividly. You understand that tight bonds can make you vulnerable so you’re careful not to have any.”

“Elizabeth—“

“But there are a very few that are the exception to the rule. I am one of those exceptions. With me you are enduring, permanent.”

“There’s no need to skirt the issue,” he replies with a forced bravado she’s come to recognize. “You indicated there was something you would tell me when I returned to DC and so here I am. Go ahead and say it.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing.” She is studying him so intently it causes him to turn and walk toward the side of the fireplace. “What is it you think you’ve figured out?”

“The task force certainly can’t go on forever. I’m sure there are other avenues of your career you’d like to explore.”

“Yes, I suppose there are,” she muses quietly as she takes a step forward. “One part of your profile I hadn’t yet discerned was the broad spectrum of your evasiveness. The riddles you use as your defense. The games.”

And another step.

“This isn’t a game.”

The first sign of a crack in his armor. The weariness behind his eyes and something very near to pain.

“No, it isn’t, but at some point you will tally this break in and call us even.” Closer, until she can feel the heat from the fire. “You’ll be wrong.”

“Elizabeth, what is this about?”

The muscle in his jaw is jumping and it is more than apparent she has backed him into a corner.

“I know.”

Another step.

“What do you know?” he murmurs, with the slightest shake of his head.

He isn’t expecting it. Every movement forward has not prepared him. Her hands take hold of his vest to draw her the rest of the way to him and there is a jolt when they impact the bookcase directly behind. The glass of scotch topples to the antique rug under their feet just as her lips brush his. Softly. Yearning. His hands are there to take hold of her upper arms, to steady them when the world tilts. When, at last, he responds. Questioning. Trembling.

“I know, Raymond.”

It breaks her to see his utter astonishment when she steps back and runs her hands down the front of his vest, smoothing the wrinkles there. Wishing desperately she could soothe the scars she cannot see. Not yet. Not unless he lets her love him in return.

What it took so long to understand is there, written into every part of his expression. That someone who loves at such a magnitude cannot recognize its depth when directed their way. She won’t say the words she came here to say. All the pieces of the puzzle are there for him to sort through just as she has had to do.

“I’ll be waiting when you’ve worked it out.”

He must truly be rendered speechless for there is no word to halt her exit from the room, only the snap of the fire as she closes the door.

Chapter Text

It comes to him in the early hours of the morning when the city had yet to wake. When it had no idea that life had been materially changed, at least for him.

How long he simply stood there looking at the closed door after her exit, he has no idea. Nothing remained but embers by the time he came back to himself, seated near the fireplace, without any memory of having done so. He would think it a dream if not for the tumbler still lying on the carpet where it fell from his hand. If not for the feel of her lips on his, so vivid in his mind, but too achingly brief and filled with a hesitancy that he senses even now.

Too filled with things unsaid.

It is the unspoken that has shaken him to the core. To be caught so completely off-guard is a rare occurrence, but this is the way with her. He never expected to love her as he does or imagined that she…

At some point you will tally this break-in and call us even. You will be wrong.

This isn’t a game.

Yet some monumental truth lay hidden within the puzzle. An entry she made unobserved and a retreat without his knowledge. A bit of information she took with her. He still has no way to pinpoint its origin, but it must be months ago, as the seasons have passed one to another.

I know.

As the secret was kept and they went on without his awareness there had been a change. He can see it now as the fatigue takes over and he allows himself to relax, to prop his feet on the ottoman and close his eyes for these last few hours until dawn. Quietly, letting the rush of thoughts leave him, he sorts through the images in his mind. Mere glimpses of her and their time together as the answer becomes clearer.

What do you know?

If he could only hold back the day and remain suspended in this vision of a life with her, but it will arrive and sooner than he will want. He was never meant to enter her life. He was never meant to stay.

The exquisite pain that comes with the answer is like nothing he has ever known. What a fool he was not to leave after the husband and let her find the life she deserves.

He was never meant to stay.

Had the thought come to her last night, she doubts she would have slept at all. No, there is no doubt about it. She did sleep, however, and deeply as if the weight of what was hidden finally lifted allowing her to let go, to rest her mind. It wasn’t until the morning that the possibility entered her thoughts

What if he simply goes.

It has always been there after all. The knowledge that he could disappear again at a moment’s notice. Hadn’t she puzzled over this very thing when she learned the truth. Not why he came, but why he remained.

With me, you are enduring, permanent.

But she cannot drive away the image of his torment. The fear that ran so deeply, coloring everything between them, when she stepped between the gun in Madeline’s hand and its aim at his heart.

Because I care about you.

You can never do that again.

He could not see it. Could not accept it. How desperately she wanted more than his reticence and confusion last night and why she left when everything within her demanded she turn around.

The choice has been left to him and for the first time she wonders if he will choose his first inclination. To step aside and take himself out of her life. The final act to protect her damaged heart.

By late afternoon she’s convinced of it.

There will be a phone call, of course, from a location she’s never heard of. Some forced casualness as he makes a point to free her of the darkness that surrounds him. His mask will be firmly back in place, visible to her even from an ocean away.

The silence stretches out, a foreshadowing of the days ahead. They already seem flatter, grayer, fitting for this harsh winter.  

Eventually she can no longer take the stillness and leaves the confines of her apartment to walk the neighborhood. Wanting to feel its permanence and her place within it. Where she put her life back together and maybe it is that simple reminder she needs now.

Her steps retrace their route when the cold has finally seeped through and the sun dipped low in the sky. Slow methodical movements as she returns her coat to the hall closet and places the keys on the table just inside the sitting room. One act leading to the next that will carry her through what lies ahead.

She doesn’t see him at first. There is no sense of his presence, so certain is she that he has left. Only a movement out of the corner of her eye halts her progress and there he stands at a window where he must have been looking at the fading day, waiting for her. Perhaps lost in thought till just this moment when he turns.

I was afraid you were gone.

But the words won’t come.

He is already in motion when he finishes the turn. Already striding to her when her mouth drops open in shock. Hardly time to take a breath before he is there, reaching to place a hand at each side of her face and draw her forward. She forgets everything in that instant. The cold and heaviness of the day. Every single worry vanishes when his lips meet hers, urgently and with a purpose that can only come from the longing held in check so long.

His hands move to tangle in her hair when he deepens the kiss, causing a moan low in her throat. His every touch speaking to her more eloquently, more intensely, than she could have imagined. Her arms circle around his back to draw him closer as the world falls away.

Finally everything slows when he pulls back to look at her, the seconds passing with their breaths the only sound filling the quiet of the apartment. He is just as dazed as she, as overwhelmed by the emotion coursing between them.

“I thought you were going to leave.”

“I thought so too.” Painful honesty as well as what follows. “Tell me to go, Lizzy.”

Words from long ago, when there were still lines drawn in the sand. Before they all disappeared.

“No,” she whispers, already shaking her head. “I won’t do that.”

He opens his mouth to speak but the argument dies there as he reads her expression. Sees what he has been blind to for so long.

At last she rests her head against his chest, feeling its rise and fall. “What changed your mind?”

“You.”

Her eyes close at the simple response, and she holds it like a promise. But there is more.

“I love you.”

She doesn’t need to see him say it. It is everywhere. The truth of it is in his voice and in his heart that she can feel matching the quickened pace of her own when her arms rise to circle his neck to close the distance between them. It is in the pressure of her embrace that he returns and his breath on her neck when his head dips low.

“And I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

He holds on so tightly and she waits.

“You deserve—”

But she won’t hear it and leans away just enough to see him again, already shaking her head. “Sorry, but you really have no say in the matter. And I know this is new territory, but you’ll get used to the idea.”

He smiles softly, pulling her back. Slowly this time, drawing out each touch. Surrendering for the final time. This is one thing he will never get used to and he will happily spend the rest of his days lost in the discovery of her.

“Lizzy, you’re buzzing,” he murmurs against her lips some time later.

‘I know. It feels fantastic.”

He chuckles, waiting for her to realize which she does almost immediately. It is the vibration of the cell phone in her pocket and she has a good mind to hurl it off her balcony.

“Do you need to get that?”

“Are you kidding?”

Another laugh as he takes her hand and steers her to a chair at the kitchen table. “I’m going to make tea. You were frozen solid when you came in.”

“Well, I’m thawed out now,” she replies saucily, thinking what a difference a day makes. “What’s that saying? Second time’s the charm?”

“No, but I see your point. I will say I wasn’t at my best last night.”

“Hmmm, you definitely were a minute ago.”

There is quite a pointed look that he tosses over his shoulder, one that she returns before relaxing back to watch him putter about her kitchen. The cell phone is placed near his fedora and her finger stops to trail along the brim. She has made a life here, but god the thought he wouldn’t be here to share it. That something so profound could have slipped through their fingers.

By the time he turns with their tea, the tears are tracing down her cheeks at a steady pace.

“I’m okay,” she reassures him, seeing his stricken face. “Just happy.”

He takes it in stride and places the cups on the table before moving behind her to run his hands up and down her arms. There is a kiss though her hair before he moves off to locate a box of tissue.

“Perhaps something stronger?” he asks when he returns.

“No.” He is all she wants, and she reaches for his hand. “Raymond, come sit with me.”

The tears pass quickly, but not the need. They are content to simply be. His thumb strokes across her palm sending a delightful shiver through her and she runs her fingers down his arm doing much the same. Time and again they find themselves moving closer, wanting that contact if only the whisper of a caress.

“So I have a question.”

“Ask away, Lizzy.”

“Did you break in just to put yourself in the lead again?”

It makes him laugh out loud and how he knows she really is alright.

“Of course,” which makes her roll her eyes as he knew it would. “Speaking of, someday I’d love to hear the story of the one I never knew occurred.”

“How about today?”

“How about I take you to dinner? I know just the place.”

She can see it perfectly. A cozy out of the way restaurant where they won’t be rushed. Where they can let this evening play out as it will. And afterwards…

Her phone buzzes again just as her mind is wandering in a most pleasant direction and judging by the look in his eyes, his thoughts are on a similar track.

“Please throw this down the garbage disposal,” she mutters, already knowing it can’t be good.

“Now do you see my point about modern technology?”

Her sigh is deep and resonating when she finally answers. “Aram what the…..wait what…...where…...who……....tomorrow…...Paris?”

“I knew the FBI was out to get me,” he murmurs, realizing there might be a hitch in their plans.

“Yes, I’ll let Reddington know,” she continues, wrinkling her nose at him. “No I’m sure he won’t mind if we all fly over together.”

A big hitch.

She hangs up with a finality and a shrug before leaning back in her seat.

“Don’t say it.”

“It seems Aram went and found his own blacklister,” she explains, smiling in spite of herself.

“And how may I ask did he do that?”

“An obscure little passage from the ledger that we’ve been working on. He set up some search parameters and we finally got a hit. I’ll explain on the plane.”

She gives him a consoling pat on the arm before sliding the fedora in his direction.

“What? You’re kicking me out?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” She stands and waits for him to do the same, while inwardly cursing Madeline Pratt and her damned auction ledger. “I need to pack and take a shower.”

“You know I could—”

“Yes, I know you could but instead you’re going to go home and get ready. We should be wheels up by ten.”

He is left to mutter something about finding his own blasted blacklisters while she leans against the wall, smiling as he puts on his many layers.

‘Hey, if we play our cards right, perhaps when this case is over we can find an excuse to—”

“Ditch the Feds,” he concludes coming to stand in front of her, coat and fedora firmly in place.

“Exactly that.” She slips her arms into his jacket enjoying his warmth, especially when his hands move around to her back.

“I’ve read somewhere that Paris is always a good idea.”

“Probably on a coffee mug,” she retorts, bringing back his soft laugh which feels so good.

It’s still there, that wonderful little thrill of anticipation that has been building for months now, longer than either realized. And so they will carry it with them.

“What’s that saying? Good things come to those that…solve crimes?”

“No, that is decidedly not how that goes," he states emphatically. "But considering the current state of affairs, I can’t deny its accuracy.”

“So I’ll see you later?”

“Well, since it’s my plane,” at which she gives him a shove and he is smiling as he tips her chin up with his hand, wanting her to see the truth there in his eyes. “I’ll see you later.”

Chapter Text

“Ah, Agent Keen, I was beginning to think we’d have to leave without you. Didn’t you inform me wheels were to be up by ten?”

Liz climbs aboard the jet to find Raymond smiling like the proverbial cheshire cat with Dembe, Aram, Samar and Ressler comfortably scattered around appearing to have been ready for take-off for quite awhile. It doesn’t escape her notice that the aforementioned has traded his normal seat so that he’d be facing the door for her arrival.

“It’s five after, Reddington,” she mutters, keeping up the pretense. “Besides, traffic was a scramble.”

“Really? This late on a Sunday night?”

With as much dignity as she can muster and feeling all eyes upon her, she takes his seat before he has the chance to switch, leaving him to fly to Paris backwards.

“Did you get stuck in Dupont Circle again? I’ve told you, you have to stay in the outside lane.”

Raymond is getting no end of enjoyment from the situation especially when Aram joins in. “I once got trapped over an hour and didn’t drive for six months when I finally made it out.”

“Why didn’t you just take the parkway? Would’ve been quicker.”

Ressler this time which elicits a soft chuckle from the one sitting across from her and she resists the urge to kick him in the shin in order to wipe that grin off his face. But his smile, which is just this side of wicked, does have the ability to send a delightful little charge through her so she refrains. For now.

“I did not get stuck in Dupont Circle,” she announces to anyone else ready to make a comment. “Dembe, would you mind telling Edward we are ready to leave?”

Dembe doesn’t mind and they are soon lifting off and banking east. It is quiet during the ascent, giving her time to relax into the plushness of the seat and close her eyes. She may not have gotten stuck in traffic but it did seem to take quite some time to prepare to leave. They’ve made dozens of trips over the course of their time tracking blacklisters, but this is unlike any other. This day is unlike any other.

She had returned to the table and sat for quite awhile completely in a daze. Long after the apartment grew dark, she remained there. When her mind should’ve been racing with a thousand worries descending over this unconventional path she has turned upon, nothing intruded. It was as she told him. She is happy. Something that once seemed unattainable ever again.

“What do you want, Agent Keen?”

In a blink, she is snapped out of her reverie and wondering why that question seems vaguely familiar. “I’m sorry?”

“I asked what you wanted?”

The amusement in his expression has only grown and she determines to keep her mind focused on the task at hand.

What do you really want?

Except now she recalls a certain decidedly vivid dream and hopes the color she feels rising in her cheeks isn’t obvious. It isn’t so much the question he posed within it as it is the answer that is now clear to her. She knows exactly what she wants and could almost swear he is reading her thoughts with the way his eyes narrow, but in the next moment she realizes how much of the conversation she has missed.

“Aram brought snacks apparently. Did you by any chance have dinner?”

With a glance around, it is obvious that any discussion of the case can wait as everyone has gathered near the bar to plunder through the bags stored there.

“Somehow I never managed to.”

She gives him a smile as she rises and brushes past, closer than is really necessary. It’s not surprising Aram went a little overboard as sometimes happens and Liz returns to her seat with an assortment of everything piled high.

With the others still out of earshot, he leans forward to say quietly, “You realize we’re headed to the culinary capital of the world.”

“I know and I can’t wait. Now do you want to share my hoagie or not?"

It takes only a second or two to decide. “Hand it over.”

“I thought as much.”

“Are you going to divvy up the fruit?”

“If you’re lucky.”

She is the only one that hears his soft laugh and their gaze is held a few extra seconds before the others return. Not at all where either thought they would be this evening but somehow it no longer matters.

“Have you had any dealings with this guy?” Liz asks once the food has been cleared away and everyone is settled in their seats.

“What guy?”

“The blacklister, Reddington. How did he turn up alive?”

Raymond’s amusement is back full force at her question. “I haven’t as yet heard the details. Agent Mojtabai stated we should wait for you.”

She glances over to Aram who gives her a quick thumbs up before opening his laptop to access the specifics of the case.

“As you know,” Aram begins as he types. “The copy of the King’s ledger obtained from Madeline Pratt contains specific details on all lots sold in the last six auctions. Those we have begun sorting through, however, interspersed within the list are coded entries. No lot number, only a series of numbers and/or letters.”

“A silent auction?”

“That’s what we thought,” Liz muses at Raymond’s question. “Some sort of private sale. That is until a dead man walked into a bank in Paris.”

“Well, now my interest is definitely piqued.”

“We were able to trace the last entry dated a few weeks before the auction you attended,” Aram continues. “It begins with a series of 16 digits that led nowhere until Agent Keen noticed a slight break after the first three numbers and asked me to input only the last in the series.”

“Do you have a copy of the pages?”

Raymond studies the paper a moment after it is handed over and gives her an approving nod.

“That led us to an account in Banque de France. The first three digits are the box number rented under the corporate header Triple Crown.”

“And since I don’t think that refers to thoroughbred horse racing, I’ll wager it belongs to our three Kings,” Raymond concludes, giving the paper in his hand a little wave.

“Exactly. I hacked the bank’s security archives, but found no footage of the box being opened since the date of the ledger entry.”

“What do you mean it hasn’t been opened?” Samar asks in surprise.

“Just that,” Aram replies, passing more copies around. “However, when I went further back I found the box had been accessed exactly twice within two days. The first for an item to be placed within and later it was removed by one of the King sons. I’m not sure which, they are difficult—”

“To tell apart. Yes, I’ve always had that trouble.” Red’s quiet words are the only sound for several seconds as the group studies the photos. “I’m assuming by our red eye flight across the Atlantic you have discovered the first individual to be Zarak Mosadek?”

“The heroin dealer? Didn’t he die in a warehouse explosion last summer?”

“The largest heroin supplier in Europe, Agent Ressler, not to mention his other even more unsavory ventures.”

“Yes, but I recall a security brief that reported his death.”

“I doubt it reported his body and, in my experience, without that you oftentimes don’t have a death.”

“So he’s just walking around the streets of Paris with no one the wiser?” Liz asks with a shake of her head.

“It’s easier than you think.”

She can’t quite help the roll of her eyes and attempts to stifle the smile that would normally follow. “So it seems we have a dead man to locate.”

“You have more than that, Agent Keen.”

“What do you mean?”

Her eyes narrow at the thoughtful expression crossing his features and she wonders what piece of the puzzle they are all missing that seems abundantly clear to Raymond.

“The necklace.”

The agents all glance down in unison to their copies of the security footage and study the series of images within the safety deposit vault. There is the glint of diamonds from the strand of a necklace peeking out of a velvet bag at just the moment Mosadek placed it in the box.

“Is he in need of money now that his operation is in disarray?”

“No, I’d venture to guess Agent Mojtabai is about to tell us his organization continued on uninterrupted since this transaction occurred.”

Aram, who has been quietly scouring his sources, looks up grimly toward Raymond and then to Liz. “He’s right.”

“Now that is very curious indeed.”

“Why is it curious, Reddington? Surely you know who has taken control—”

“Because that is the Napoleon Necklace.”

“Which was stolen eight months ago while on loan from the Smithsonian.”

“Indeed it was, Agent Navabi,” Raymond concludes matter-of-factly, leaning back in his seat. “Now what I’d like to know is how this necklace stolen by Greyson Blaise came into the possession of Zarak Mosadek.”

“Wait, you’re saying Blaise took the Napoleon Necklace?”

“Yes, you heard correctly.”

Ressler, it seems, had asked the question everyone was wondering and they let it sink in a moment before Liz continues. “The playboy philanthropist who circumnavigated the globe in a hot-air balloon and raced at Le Mans? Who has donated millions to charities and humanitarian causes worldwide? That Greyson Blaise?”

“One and the same.”

“How do you know this for certain?”

“Because just as I know who controls the drug supply to Europe so that our shipping lines do not converge, I also know who absconds with priceless art and or jewels.”

“Okay,” she says with a sigh, realizing just how complicated the case had become. “Tell us what you know about Blaise.”

“His accent is as fake as his name.”

“Perhaps something helpful to the case, Reddington.”

“He dabbles in thievery and also provides funding for the odd illegal activity, usually to curry favor and promote his own agenda. This dark money is funneled into politics or business at the highest levels to spread his influence and purchase loyalties. He gains power until that inevitable day when he runs for something. King perhaps.”

Liz suddenly finds herself exhausted. “So now we have two blacklisters to track down. A dead druglord and an elusive billionaire kingmaker in reverse who might now be in the heroin trade.”

“Crime does make for strange bedfellows, Agent Keen.”

There is a soft oomph as she shifts position and just grazes his shin with her boot before settling back and closing her eyes.

“I’m still wired from my energy drink,” Aram mumbles as he continues to type away. “I’ll see if I can locate Blaise if you guys want to rest for awhile.”

“Blaise also stole Van Gogh’s Poppy Flowers from a museum in Cairo. It would appear that was either a clue or a foretelling of events to come.”

She opens her eyes just enough to see him watching her. “As is the Napoleon Necklace. Greyson Blaise has no idea what’s coming for him.”

“Don’t even think of sending the bureau a bill for this.”

Liz issues the command as soon as Raymond opens the door and watches as he makes a show of peering to the left and right at the empty hallway before looking back to her.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“I really am. Are you going to invite me in?”

“Are you sure that’s wise, after all—”

She gives him a shove and bypasses his comical expression to enter the lavish hotel suite. There is only a fleeting glimpse of it before he pulls her around and she instinctively brings her arms up to circle his neck.

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself,” he rumbles low in his throat and taking advantage of the few minutes they will have alone, leans closer.

“Raymond, my make-up.” Her whisper stops him just as his lips brush hers.

“I always knew I disliked that Greyson Blaise.”

“Not yet,” she says, tightening her hold when she feels him move to step back. “I’ve missed you.”

“We just flew across the ocean together with your feet sharing my seat I’d like to point out.”

“I know but that was Reddington and Agent Keen.”

“Yes, it was,” he murmurs thoughtfully, tilting his head to the side. “I’ve missed you too, Elizabeth.”

“Good.”

Another laugh as he plants a kiss along her cheek before taking her hand to lead her the rest of the way into the suite.

“The FBI probably wouldn’t approve of us staying in such expensive accommodations.”

“I always book the rooms surrounding mine so you might as well make use of them,” he replies with a shrug. “By the way, there is a connecting door just through—”

“Which leads to Agent Ressler’s room if I’m not mistaken.”

“For god’s sake.”

The hand he was pointing with falls back to his side in defeat and she can’t help but laugh at his theatrics.

“I’m across the hall next to Samar. A nice safe distance until the case is solved.”

“That’s no fun.”

“All the motivation you need to charm Greyson and lure him back to Paris.”

“Consider it done,” he states emphatically, bringing her hand up to his lips one last time.

“You have any coffee? It’s going to be a long evening.”

“Of course.”

She follows him past the formal dining room through a door to a small kitchen and leans against the counter while he pours her a cup. In a few hours they will be in London, crashing a party in order to get near enough to Greyson to lay the trap. One that is only in its beginning stages but must be started tonight before he has a chance to jaunt off to his next soiree across the globe.

“Thanks.” She takes the cup and immediately sips the scalding liquid needing the caffeine to cut through her jetlagged mind. “So is this a hotel room or an apartment?”

“I thought we could use the extra room for planning.”

“Good idea.”

“I do have an apartment here,” he says quietly after a few seconds pass. “I don’t get to it as often as I like.”

Somewhere hidden and protected. Somewhere he wouldn’t risk exposing for just any casual stopover. One he saves for only himself.

“The view of the cathedral is lovely. Perhaps when there is time…”

Yes, when there is time and they can let the world go on around them for a bit. Where she might catch a glimpse of the life he guards closely.

“I want—”

To see it.

Her words go unspoken as they hear a knock at the door. These few minutes will have to be enough and are the reason she hurried to get ready as they prepare for another flight and the night ahead.

“That’ll be Aram most likely. He’s been working to add Samar to the guest list so she can sneak us in.”

“Then I suppose we better go.” He walks a few steps toward the door and turns back looking at her in that way that only he can. “If I don’t get a chance to tell you later, you looked lovely tonight as we danced.”

He is gone and she stays tucked away in the kitchen for a few minutes marveling at the last twenty-four hours and how far they have come. A world away from where they began.

Chapter Text

“Agent Keen, I have one question. If Agent Navabi was indeed added to the guest list, why are we huddled in this alley and not simply walking through the front door as guests that Agent Mojtabai…..added to the guest list?”

“Uh…”

“Don’t tell me no one thought of it.”

Did someone think of it? Liz’s mind is more than a little numb from the cold London evening, not to mention the jetlag that is most definitely setting in. After their overnight transatlantic flight to Paris, then another across the channel, it takes her a minute to remember how they ended up freezing near one of the stage entrances of the Royal Opera House.

“The Duchess of Cambridge is a patron and we had no way of knowing if she’d be in attendance which would mean near impossible security at the entrance.”

“Well, judging by the total absence of security at the rear, I’d say the Duchess is a no-show.”

“Good. Blaise is quite enough to contend with,” she says, giving a little hop to keep the blood circulating. “And can you dispense with the Agent Keen?”

“Just keeping things professional.”

He makes this rather remarkable statement followed immediately by his trademark chuckle as he pulls her forward. It feels wonderful to relax into his warmth while he rubs his hands up and down her arms.

“Better?”

“Much.”

“What do you say to the next time we find ourselves across the pond, mid-winter, we take in a show or find a small pub to while away a few hours?”

She closes her eyes for a blissful second to picture them doing just that and smiles at the image. “Let’s go right now.”

Her mumbled words into his chest aren’t meant to be taken seriously, something they both know, but it feels good to imagine it nonetheless.

“Soon, Lizzy.”

“I’m counting on it.”

There is a hint of a smile, matching her own, when she leans back. A look in his eyes that she’d love to get lost in for awhile. The pressure of their touch tracing the longing that moves like a current between them.

When the door suddenly swings open, it stops a mere inch from crashing into them and the spell is broken. A moment later, Liz realizes it was Raymond’s quick reflexes that shielded her as Aram’s disembodied voice reaches them from the other side.

“Liz? Mr. Reddington?”

“We’re here, Aram,” she calls out softly, seeing Raymond shake his head in amusement as they move apart.

In another second his head appears at the edge of the door. “Sorry about that. I took a wrong turn once or twice and had to disable the alarm for the door.

They follow him into the dimly lit backstage area where they skirt around props and enormous light fixtures as well as numerous wardrobe racks. It is eerily quiet without a scheduled performance, making is easier to slip in unnoticed.

“There was no problem with security?”

“None at all.” Aram is peering at the buildings layout on his phone and glances quickly over his shoulder. “Samar’s alias is foolproof and as her plus one, they never gave me a second glance. So far there’s no sign of Blaise.”

“Wait a moment, Elizabeth, let’s deposit our outerwear here and avoid the coat check.”

“Good idea.”

Aram moves ahead to figure out the next turn while their coats, gloves and one fedora are piled on a Queen Anne chair. She finds it a bit chilly in the cocktail dress she has selected for the evening and hopes it’ll be warmer once they’ve reached the hall adjacent to the opera house, but when she looks up to find Raymond studying her with an appreciative glint in his eye, she forgets all about the cold, all about anything for those few seconds.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs just loud enough for her to hear.

“You mean the clutch?”

He smiles when she gives the small silver bag a wave and he takes her other hand. Their fingers stay intertwined until the last possible moment before they slip unobtrusively through a door and into the crowd.

Another auction.

A silent one this time for friends and patrons of the Royal Opera and Royal Ballet companies respectively. Raymond had actually rubbed his hands together in anticipation when they arrived at the entrance and stopped to take a look at the evening's offerings.

“Lizzy, I think we are well on our way to establishing a tradition. We do well at auctions.”

“Just remember why we’re here. The goal is for me to plant the tracker on Blaise and for you to entice him to Paris.”

“Yes, but there is no reason we can’t do our part to support the arts while we’re at it,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Besides, I’ve had business dealings with Blaise in the past. If he sees me, he will seek me out, I assure you.”

She had last seen him heading off to place a bid while she circled the room looking for their target. Not being all that familiar with the London landmark she was surprised when they arrived at the large glass and steel reception hall. A stark contrast to the stately lobby and auditorium of the more traditional opera house.

It reminded her of the museum in Boston where they waited for sunrise and that first ray of light that made its way into the courtyard through the glass ceiling. Time and again, she finds herself glancing up to the darkened sky, but always with the vision of that night in her mind. When she realized she loved him...

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

The clipped British accent pulls her back to the present and she turns to find none other than Greyson Blaise next to her at the champagne bar.

“I’m sorry?”

“I noticed you studying the architecture. I’ve always been partial to it myself.”

She watches as he signals to the barman and immediately two flutes of champagne are placed in front of him. He takes a moment to straighten his cuffs as he glances around, smiles and nods before turning back to her. It happens in mere seconds but plenty of time for her profile to take shape.

He isn’t the least bit interested in the architecture, but he is very aware of the admiring looks directed his way. There is definitely the mark of a showman in all his movements, one that is very calculating. One with many secrets.

“Here we are then.”

“Thank you.” She smiles politely, feigning interest, and wonders what his next line will be. Probably something about these functions and how he typically finds them boring.

“I usually find these things rather tedious, but this one is gaining my interest.”

Bingo. She is just thinking how nice it is that Raymond isn’t this predictable when he materializes at her side.

“There you are, Sweetheart,” he says enthusiastically, wrapping an arm around her waist. “I have our bid in for a private performance of Don Quixote.”

“The opera or ballet?” she asks without missing a beat.

He looks honestly taken aback for a moment before erupting in laughter. “Darling, the ballet of course.”

“My favorite.” She raises the glass to her lips to hide her smile when he gives her an affectionate squeeze. In truth, she has no idea how she knew there was an opera and a ballet version of the famous novel.

“Raymond, I didn’t realize you were a patron.”

“Oh, I like to assist where I can.”

Greyson is watching them curiously as she offers her flute to Raymond who takes a sip before handing it back.

“Fancy meeting you here, I must say.”

“And why is that?”

“I’ve recently heard rumors that you have come into possession of a particular waterway through the Aegean,” Raymond replies and waits a second or two before adding with emphasis. “For now.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Greyson, apologies, but they are playing our song, as they say. Let’s catch up a little later.”

“But—”

“I’ll take that, honey.”

The flute is lifted from her hand and passed to Blaise who takes it reflexively. His look of comic indignation is priceless as Raymond grabs her hand to lead her to the furthest end of the room.

“I think the point was to get him to Paris, not to make him want to murder you.”

“I’ve given him something to stew about.”

They arrive at the dancefloor and she finds herself giving into that feeling of being swept away. These stolen moments are all they have at the present and besides, she doubts Blaise will leave without his curiosity being satisfied.

It isn’t the first time they’ve danced, but it is the first time they’ve danced this close. It isn’t the first time they’ve acted the part of a couple, but there is a truth now within the theatricality.

“You were laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?”

“How so?”

“Sweetheart. Darling. Honey.”

“You said I shouldn’t call you Agent Keen.”

His look of mock innocence really is too much at times. “Raymond, I swear—”

“Besides, I’m trying out a few endearments to see which I like the best.”

He is teasing her and is highly amused while doing so which only makes her roll her eyes.

“Liebling?”

“I need you to stop and can you be serious?”

“About you?” he murmurs, drawing close to her ear as his hand slips lower on her back. “Always.”

It really is lovely with the lights reflecting off the glass surrounding them and the music reminds her of something pleasant. Something just out of reach.

“Hey, this is familiar but I can’t place it.” He pulls back to look at her, not catching her meaning. “The song. Since it’s ours I should at least know what it is.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“That’s right,” she whispers as the memory of the movie comes to mind. Audrey Hepburn and Fred Astaire falling in love in Paris of all places. “It suits us.”

“Yes, it does.”

Surrounded as they are, it is easy to lose themselves within the couples so they stay through their song and the next, eventually leaving to circle back toward the champagne. Samar and Aram meet them along the way to let them know Blaise is still present among the throng.

“He will seek me out after the speeches,” Raymond mutters once they have passed by.

“That’s what you said the last time, but he found me instead.”

He stops abruptly and looks around to her amused expression. “Well, I can’t say I blame him there.”

“Come on,” she says, taking his arm. “They’re about to start the festivities.”

The chairman drones on for quite awhile and eventually wraps up his thank you’s and congratulations to those gathered. They are well into announcing the auction results when Raymond glances over to see her stifle a yawn.

“Almost over.”

“It’s been a long day.” The crowd applauds and she joins in having no idea what's been said.

“We won.”

He is grinning at her as she continues to clap and she wonders what she has missed as the fatigue sets in again. “What are you talking about?”

“We won the silent auction,” he explains. “The performance will be a dress rehearsal for their spring production. That is if you think we can make it.”

“It’s a date.” She doesn’t care when the performance is, all she really wants is the expectation of their return. ”I didn’t realize you like ballet. Opera, yes, but…”

His smile slips just a fraction, just enough. Or perhaps she has come to recognize the nuances of his mood.

“What is it?”

A small shake of his head and she knows that look. There won’t be an answer for whatever it was, not with the commotion of the crowd dispersing and the music starting up again. Not with the way his expression shutters closed.

“Raymond—”

“How about a drink?”

Without looking at her, he walks a few steps away and stops, enough of a distance that the other guests are streaming between them until finally they are left as they are.

Until something unexpected happens. Something that is typically most unlike him.

He returns to her side as if nothing strange had occurred and links his hand through her arm. They proceed toward the front of the hall, stopping to look out at the trees that line the sidewalk.

“I do enjoy the ballet and usually attend several performances a year,” he says at last, finally answering her question. “It is something my daughter loved and therefore…”

“You love it, too.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you” and when he glances over in confusion she continues. “For telling me and for not being predictable.”

There is a trace of surprise at her response. At the way she steps closer and places her hand over his, not at all concerned with who might be watching or of any lingering pretense. “You’re welcome, Lizzy.”

It has begun to snow, very lightly, and there is a faint dusting covering the branches of the trees. How different it will look when they are here again. How different everything will be and she feels it again. That sense of impatience. The need for something beyond the darkness of the Post Office and the world they are mired in.

“Do you think we’ll still be working on this case in the spring?”

“God, I hope not.”

“Then can we find this creep and finish this. My body thinks it’s two days ago in Washington. I need sleep.

“Come on,” he says with a soft laugh and they walk to the bar to wait.

It doesn’t take long. A sip or two of champagne and that familiar voice resonates from behind.

“It appears you have some sort of message to convey, Reddington. Why don’t we dispense with the games. What do you know?”

They turn to find Greyson has indeed sought out a second meeting and his look of detached disdain doesn’t quite cover up the worry.

“No games. Just be sure you don’t miss the boat sinking around you while you tilt at windmills.”

“And you have something to plug the hole?”

So much for games, Liz thinks and wishes they’d get on with it.

“My network of trade routes could prove quite profitable to a man of your resources, but one who is now burdened by dead weight which can sometimes be one’s undoing.”

And there it is. The little nugget letting Blaise know his alliance with Mosadek is no longer a secret, sowing a seed of doubt between the two clandestine partners.

“Go on.”

“I wish I could Greyson,” Raymond says apologetically. “But it really has been a long night and we are returning to Paris. Speaking of, we’re having a little party this Friday. If you’re so inclined, we could discuss this further and it will give you a chance to see the Rembrandt.”

He reaches to place a hand at her back as they prepare to leave but are stopped by Blaise and the curiosity that is now most definitely getting the better of him.

“The Rembrandt?”

“The Rembrandt?” Liz asks a second later, unable to contain her own curiosity.

“Storm on the Sea of Galilee.” Raymond’s tone is patiently annoying as if there is any other Rembrandt worth mentioning.

“That painting has been missing for nearly thirty years.”

“Missing,” he scoffs. “It’s hanging on the wall of my dressing room. There is nothing like a masterpiece to prepare you for the day, I always say. I’ll have someone send the details of the get together. Cheers.”

They are gone without a backward glance and pass within a foot of Samar and Aram as they exit the hall.

“We are going to retrieve our coats. If you’ll be so kind as to pick us up where we entered,” Raymond says without a care in the world.

She could throttle him.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

She gives her coat a snap as she pulls it on with more force than necessary. “I’m fine.”

“I can see that.”

She whirls around in time with his eyebrows disappearing into his forehead. “You have no problem picking out our song but then can’t understand why I’d be upset.”

“Do you want another song or—”

‘Have you had it all this time?”

“What?”

“The painting, Raymond,” she mutters through, gritted teeth. “Our painting. The one that…”

She can’t go on as she feels the emotion get the best of her. The stolen masterpiece that caught their imagination long before they were able to share it. The one she wanted so much to return to Isabella’s museum and the night they brought back the Vermeer it seemed possible. Something they were meant to do.

“Elizabeth,” he says quietly and comes to stand before her, slipping his arms around her. “I don’t have the painting. You know I would have told you if I did.”

She studies him a moment and can feel the anger leave as quickly as it came. Yes, she does know.  “Then why are you using it as bait? You’re up to something.”

“We needed more than a possible threat to his arrangement with Mosadek to get Blaise to Paris. His passion is art and a stolen Rembrandt that hasn’t been seen in decades is the hook.”

“But if it’s missing then how is that going to help us?”

“I said stolen, Lizzy, not missing.

“You know where it is.”

“Of course,” he replies with a nod. “Remember, I brokered the sale. It’s in Paris which is the reason I chose it since it will be easier for us to steal.”

“We’re going to—”

“Steal it. Tomorrow or the day after,” he goes on quite casually. “You mentioned doing so at the museum and I think it’s a splendid idea. There’s a Caravaggio that we could probably get to without too much fuss, but it’s in the Solomon Islands and we’re under a bit of a time crunch.”

She laughs softly and rests her forehead against his chest before looking back up. “I hate the thought of him getting his hands on that painting.”

“What do you mean?”

“I do know you. You’re setting him up somehow and the Rembrandt is involved.”

“I promise it will find its way back to Boston, though it may take a more circuitous route than we would like.”

“Alright,” she sighs. “So now we have to hope Blaise takes the bait, find Mosadek, plan a party at a location as yet to be arranged and steal the Rembrandt.”

“And disrupt whatever organization those two are building together, but otherwise that’s an excellent summation.”

“I’m trying to make sense of it all. You need to keep me in the loop, okay?”

“Okay,” he murmurs and smiles when she circles her arms around to his back. “It’s going to be a fun week and perhaps…”

“What?” But when he looks downright fearful of saying whatever just occurred to him, she asks again more forcefully. “What?”

“The tracker, Lizzy. We forgot the tracker, although, not to worry, we can always….”

Her laughter cuts him off and he can only repeat her question from a few seconds ago. “What?”

“Raymond, I put the tracker on his watch when he signaled the barman to get our drinks. He was so busy preening like a peacock he never noticed. It really is almost transparent and I was able to slip it under the band so I doubt he sees it.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For surprising me.” It makes her laugh which softens the exhaustion in her features, but not the spark still there, flashing in her eyes. “Do you suppose they’re outside waiting for us?”

“Probably.” She plants a kiss under his jaw and then another. “In the spirit of keeping you in the loop, I should warn you that I get a little testy when I’m tired.”

“A little?”

“Shhh.” Another lands at the corner of his mouth that is now turned up in a smile.

“Anything else I should know?”

“Lots of things,” she whispers against his lips

“Lizzy, my love, I can’t wait to find out.”

She pulls back enough to see his expression, wondering if he is teasing her again, but she finds no trace of it. “What did you call me?”

And she can see him replaying the words in his mind. Just as she realized, it was unplanned.

“My love,” he answers quietly. “Do you mind?”

“No, that one you can keep.”

“I intend to.”

He kisses her then, soft and slow, drawing out each movement, both aware the minutes are ticking down. Every touch and taste, each sensation still a new discovery. The only truth that remains in this world of make believe.

“I could get used to this.”

“Lizzy, you took the words right out of my mouth.”

Her laughter doesn’t quite cover up the sound of her phone buzzing or their sighs that follow.

“It’s Ressler,” she says when she lifts it from her pocket.

“Of course it is.”

“Keen…okay, give us about five minutes. We got a little lost but are making our way back now.”

She drops the phone back in her pocket and lays her head against his chest, not wanting to step out into the night just yet.

“There is no one I’d rather get a little lost with than you.”  

“We still have a few minutes, Raymond. Let’s make good use of it.”

She smiles at the chuckle that rumbles through his chest and looks up to that look in his eye that is just this side of wicked.

“Yes, my love.”

Chapter Text

“Are you decent?”

Liz peeks around the door to the empty bedroom and hears Raymond answer from the bathroom beyond.

“Not in the least.”

“Well, I’m coming in regardless.”  

There is the unmistakable sound of a chuckle as she moves to sit on the bed and wait. It takes only a second for him to appear, all smiles, in slacks and dress shirt with his customary vest not yet buttoned up. He approaches to tuck what appears to be a shaving kit into a leather satchel next to her and takes a moment to kiss her softly on the cheek.

“Leaving me already?”

“Not in the least.”

“The fact you are packing would indicate otherwise.”

He picks up two ties next to the bag and goes through the motion of holding them up for her. They are both quite nice and she studies them before pointing to his left, for no other reason than it’s one she recognizes and seems to be a favorite. He nods, placing it around his neck, and moves to the mirror. Normally these little rituals would be fascinating, and she does find herself a little distracted watching him loop the expensive silk under and over until it is perfect.

Except she knows exactly what he is doing.

“You’re stalling.”

At which point he gives his vest a little tug after buttoning it up and returns to scoot the bag out of the way. He sits facing her, studying her as he does at times, for whatever answer he is seeking.

“Good morning, Lizzy. You look rested.”

“I am.”

He smiles at her and they watch each other for a minute. It was quite late when they arrived back at their hotel in Paris and with the task force present there hadn’t been time for any conversation. And she definitely doesn’t remember any mention of a trip through the fog of exhaustion.

“We have a Rembrandt to steal,” she reminds him, when he seems content to simply sit with her.

“Which I’m looking forward to very much. Let’s plan on that tomorrow, shall we?”

“Great.” Her brow arches at his casual manner regarding their impending art theft, not to mention every other task they must attend to in the days to come. “And a party to plan.”

“Taken care of. Heddie is arriving today and will see to all the arrangements.”

“And a venue to select.”

“We’ll be borrowing a little chateau Mr. Kaplan owns outside the city. I keep telling her to sell it now that she’s retired and perfectly content in Nova Scotia, but alas…”

“Is she coming?”

“No,” he replies fondly, thinking of his friend. “She and Mary are ice fishing in Cape Breton, but she says her chateau is our chateau for as long as we need it.”

“Any other details you’ve worked out?”

He ignores the hint of sarcasm and goes on quite jovially, “Dembe will supply you with the location of the Rembrandt and I leave it to you to scout out security and formulate a plan.“

“Uh huh and what are you up to today?”

“Just a quick trip.”

“You packed an overnight bag.”

“I like to be prepared, Lizzy. It will hopefully be a brief spot of business, but these things are sometimes followed by too much grappa. I’ll most likely return tomorrow.”

“Why is everything a secret with you?” she asks with a trace of a smile that masks her exasperation.

“In this case it is more along the lines of a surprise.”

“For me?”

“Aren’t you presumptuous?” he teases.

“What I am, is hungry so keep your secret while I go order breakfast.”

He catches her arm as she walks by.

Doesn’t pull her back, just brushes his fingers down until he finds her hand, and waits for her to stop a few paces beyond. “It isn’t a secret, Elizabeth.”

Something in his voice won’t allow her to leave. Something that reminds her how far they’ve come and to slow down. “Is it related to the case?”

“It’s not pertinent to the case but it will definitely add some flair to the proceedings.”

Finally she steps back, studying him for her own answer and a moment later moves closer to lean against the bed.

“And, yes, it is for you.”

“Then I look forward to being surprised.”  And because she wants to be done with this case as quickly as possible, she can’t help adding, “When you return, we need to concentrate on locating Mosadek.”

“Dembe will be here to assist in that. You will be able to make contact with our assets here and I’ve no doubt we’ll have his location by nightfall.”

“Wait, what?”

“What?” he asks, surprised when she suddenly stands up straighter.

“Dembe isn’t going with you?”

“You realize I can take care of myself, don’t you?”

When she doesn’t answer he increases the pressure of his hand, drawing her forward, and she comes to stand in front. When she determinedly looks the other way as her thoughts worry her features, he pulls her just a bit closer until she is standing between his legs. When, at last, there is the hint of a smile, he brings her arms up to drape over his shoulders.

“Aren’t you presumptuous,” she murmurs, when his hands move behind to hold her close, finally prompting her to meet his eye.

Knowing she is lost. Knowing they both are.

“I confess I am. I’m also touched you are worried, but there is no need.”

“There is always a need.”

The concern in her voice cuts into him, and he tells himself not to dismiss it so casually. “Yes, I suppose there is.”

“Just make sure you stay out of trouble.”

“I’ll do my best.” His hands that have been resting at the small of her back begin a slow descent and he smiles as she looks down at him with one of her own.

“Speaking of staying out of trouble.”

“You’ve already said that.”

“Yes, well, we’ll continue this discussion after the case,” she concludes with emphasis and laughs softly at his sigh of frustration.

“Let’s at least get breakfast then, after which you and Dembe have Europe’s largest heroin supplier to deal with.”

With a sigh of her own, she brings her hands to each side of his face and bends forward to kiss him fiercely, passionately and all too briefly knowing there won’t be an opportunity later. She forces herself to step away and almost makes it to his door before he stops her.

“Uh, Lizzy…”

“What?” She turns to look over her shoulder at his comical expression.

“Perhaps I should check to see who may have arrived in the suite before you enter from my bedroom. We wouldn’t want anyone getting ideas.”

She had completely forgotten and is grateful one of them is thinking clearly.

He makes quite a show of approaching the door, listening for any sounds coming from the other side, then opens it just a fraction so he can see into the sitting room. It closes just as quickly and he turns to whisper theatrically, “Full house, I’m afraid.”

“Dammit.”

“There’s really only one way out I suppose. Unless you want to try the balcony.”

“Very funny,” she mutters, looking from him toward the door on the opposite wall. The one that leads to another door that leads to the room on the other side, currently occupied by Agent Ressler.

“Give me your lock picks and wipe that grin off your face, Reddington. Let's hope no one sees me sneaking out of Ressler’s room.”

“Please, Lizzy, not before breakfast.”

Once they are handed over, she makes quick work of the lock, returns the picks to the small case and tosses it in his direction. He isn’t looking quite as amused as he was a few seconds previously and she gives him a dazzling smile before disappearing through the adjacent room, enjoying his flash of jealousy very much.

Within seconds, she is through the darkened room, out into the hall and making her second entrance into Raymond’s suite. He is already seated at the dining table along with her fellow agents and takes great enjoyment in calling out to her, “Agent Keen, there you are. We had almost given up on you. Now, I seem to recall you’re not a fan of pancakes but how do you feel about crepes? For or against?”

“This is the easiest art heist in the history of heists,” Liz mutters with undisguised disappointment.

“Were you expecting dobermans and lasers?”

That is exactly what she was expecting, not this rather nondescript mansion on a rather nondescript street, with an ancient security system any amateur could bypass and one Raymond dispenses with in mere seconds. She certainly did not expect to gain entry via the same lock picks she had used only that morning to make her escape from his room. So easy, in fact, she thought seriously of doing the job herself when she and Dembe scouted the area surrounding Amalia Hammett’s address a few hours later.

“I suppose I should thank you for waiting for me,” he whispers close behind her, all but reading her thoughts.

“Dembe and I were pressed for time. Otherwise…”

The click of the lock coincides perfectly with his laugh and they are through the door of the service entrance in the next moment. They wait for their eyes to adjust to the darkness and listen for any sounds coming from within. All is silent as she hands the picks to him and they each retrieve a small pen light from their pockets, that will guide them to the second level.

“So are you going to tell me?” she whispers.

“Tell you what?”

“Why you came back tonight.”

It is honestly the first opportunity she has had to ask the question after he called just after ten and has been curious about it since.

I would have thought four agents could manage to stay out later than this, Agent Keen. I’m heartily disappointed.

He was heartily amused at learning they had made an early night of it after deciding to have dinner out and that she was already in bed.

We’re still on DC time, what can I say.

Then I suppose making a run for the Rembrandt is out of the question seeing as we may have to stay up past midnight.

Wait, you’re here?

I am indeed, but since you’re in bed, I suppose tomorrow—

Will you stop? I’m on my way.

Within minutes, Dembe was driving them through the busy city streets and she was reminded of that old saying. Fitting that Paris never sleeps because she was fairly certain they would get very little rest this night. And neither gave it a second thought.

There is enough light in the entryway that he can see her grinning at him, waiting for his reply. Waiting for some glib remark that she will return in kind, their banter matching the lightness of their moods.

There is only one possible answer he can give.

“Because I can no longer imagine not seeing you at the close of every day or at the start of the next. And a bit of midnight thieving would accomplish both very nicely.”

Her mouth drops open, then closes just as quickly at his unexpected sincerity. “You’re still not playing fair.”

He smiles in response and they both recall the last time she spoke those words at Isabella’s museum. When she loved him, but he did not know. The night they thought of the possibility of returning a second stolen masterpiece to its home and unbelievably it is almost within reach.

“Okay, let’s go,” she whispers, giving his jacket a little tug.

They make their way through the darkened kitchen and dining room to the formal entrance beyond. Their silent steps never slow as they ascend the staircase to the second level sitting room where they finally come to an abrupt halt.

“Son of a…”

His muttered oath breaks off as they instinctively shine their small pen lights around the room until they arrive back where they started.

“Well, this is most definitely Amalia Hammett’s sitting room in Paris, and there is an easel exactly where it should be, but that is positively not The Storm on the Sea of Galilee,” she finally states when they’ve looked at it for a full silent minute.

The landscape staring back at them is lovely and on any other occasion would be worth taking a moment to admire, but as it is, their minds are already focused on the next step. Without a word, they make their way through the rest of the rooms on that level, steering clear of what appears to be Amalia’s closed bedroom door. Once they have descended to the first floor and done the same, they arrive at a formal reception room a little out of breath and more than a little annoyed.

“I take it back. This isn’t the easiest heist in history.”

“It’s here somewhere,” he states emphatically.

“How do you know she didn’t sell it?”

“Because I’ve offered to buy it back on numerous occasions and, believe me, Amalia is aware she will never beat my price.”

“You’ve tried to buy it back?”

“Yes,” he replies as his murmured words become even softer. “I regretted the sale immediately, more so after our visit to the museum.”

She’s grinning at him again and proceeds to take out her phone and start typing.

“What are you doing?”

“Telling Dembe we’ve hit a snag, but we’re okay, and that I love you for the sentimental softie that you are.”

He chuckles watching her face, illuminated by the light from the phone, and feels exactly the same.

“Now,” she says, looking up as she tucks the phone away. “If she didn’t sell it, then is it possible she moved its location? Does she own other property?”

“As cheap as she is?” he scoffs. “She indulges in the odd masterpiece, but otherwise Amalia is a penny pincher of the highest caliber. She runs this place with that ancient butler of hers and one maid that was probably around when it was built. At least we have that to our advantage, plus her lack of security.”

Lizzy suddenly takes her light and swings it around again as if looking for something. “Panic room.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“She has a panic room.”

He follows her as she walks the periphery, studying the walls and furnishings, letting her lead him into the adjoining library.

“Think about it,” she continues, running a hand along the bookcases rising from floor to ceiling. “Lack of security and probably overly suspicious of technology or strangers entering her home to set up a modern security system. That last part could be you.”

“Very funny,” he mutters, hearing her quiet laughter.

“Only a few prized pieces in her collection and at least one that we know of would need to be kept away from prying eyes. There is a hidden room secreted away here and that is where we’ll find Galilee.”

“Remind me to tell you I think you’re wonderful.”

It makes her smile and they begin the task of searching the darkened mansion. Two hours later, they have covered all three floors accessible to them and are well on their way to total frustration while being grateful the three occupants of the house are heavy sleepers. Their jackets have been tucked behind a settee along with their shoes leaving them to roam about the rooms in almost total silence.

To no avail.

Neither want to say it. Neither want to let it go and admit they may never retrieve the Rembrandt.

Until something catches his eye. Some imbalance in the symmetry of the second floor landing opposite the sitting room. All this time they have looked for a door disguised as part of the wall or a mechanism that would reveal a secret passage. Could it really be this easy? Here in plain sight, in no way drawing his eye as he passed it time and again.

“Lizzy.”

She is a few paces away and barely hears her name as he slowly exhales.

“Look, I know it’s here somewhere. I can try sneaking in her room or—”

“There should be a door here.” Once she steps closer he continues, “Something is off. The two sides of the landing are mirror images of one another except here. There should be a door.”

What there is, is a massive wardrobe from a century Lizzy couldn’t begin to guess. Stepping to the side, she knows immediately he is right. The moldings have been removed letting it sit flush with the wall and taking a look to the left and right she agrees something isn’t right with the balance of the architecture.

Returning to his side, she watches as he unlatches the doors and swings them apart revealing several winter coats hanging neatly in a row.

“Well, this seems familiar,” she whispers behind him and hears him chuckle as he pushes the coats apart.

It would go unnoticed to most. Nothing to raise anyone’s curiosity should they take a closer look at the solid wood lining the back of the wardrobe. Only if they took the time to search would they find the small latch in the bottom right corner allowing the back to swing silently inward.

Raymond turns and steps to the side giving her room. “After you, Lizzy.”

“Thank you,” she replies in awe, thinking of what could possibly await them on the other side as her imagination gets a bit carried away.

A few paces between the coats and through the wardrobe and they arrive in a small room whose original function they could not guess. There is only one window but the heavy drapes would prevent any light from entering no matter the time of day. On one wall there is a small settee and table. On the other sits what has eluded them for hours. It rests on an easel closely matching the one they saw earlier, magnificent even in darkness.

The sea is still as turbulent as they recall. The ship and its occupants still held in peril for all time. Raymond hears her small gasp as she steps closer, shining her light toward it. She had not studied it as he had for that short time it was in his possession. They were locked in their own storm and it hadn’t been until after, that it caught her imagination. Something he had not known as he brokered the deal that would send it across an ocean, far away from the memory of her anger and cutting words. Far from his regret, but so many times he has wanted it back, somehow knowing he had made a mistake in letting it go.

Finally it will return to its home, now that the storm is behind them.

Stepping back to wrap an arm around his side, she waits for him to do the same. “It’s breathtaking, Raymond.”

“Yes, it is.”

“There’s something I don’t understand though,” she murmurs with a shake of her head.

“How we didn’t end up in Narnia after walking through the wardrobe?”

Her laugh is as soft as his words and she turns to look at him, loving the way he always surprises. “I’m a little disappointed, I have to say, but the painting more than makes up for it.”

He returns her smile and they are both a little distracted by the night, and hidden things and the wonder of it all.

“What was it you don’t understand?”

“Why she would lock it away in here and never come to see it.“

“How do you know…”

Looking around, he notices it then, as the small beam of light illuminates the dust laying over the gilded frame and small table. The staleness of the air, as if nothing had moved here for a very long time.

“You know, I was beginning to feel guilty about absconding with the painting, but now my conscience is clear. How about we get out of here before our luck runs out and someone actually wakes up to our bumbling about.”

“Okay, let me text Dembe to wake up and have the van running,” she says, grinning with excitement.

They take their time, not wanting to disturb the occupants of the house as they maneuver the painting through the wardrobe and down the stairs, stopping only to retrieve their coats and shoes. They’ve almost made it, just a turn through the kitchen to the door beyond. So close, when Raymond stops suddenly and she walks into her side of the painting that they’ve been carrying between them. She manages not to make a sound, instinctively knowing something is wrong.

There is the unmistakable sound of a glass being placed on the counter followed by the door of the refrigerator opening. Raymond looks back as they silently decide what to do. She points toward the front entrance but he shakes his head no and she supposes they might look suspicious carrying the painting down the sidewalk and around the corner looking for Dembe’s parking spot.

A few minutes later and all is quiet as the midnight snacker leaves the kitchen, never having given away his or her identity or being aware there were two burglars nearby. All is as they found it by the time they reach the van where Dembe is waiting to help them load the Rembrandt inside.

Only when they are driving away with no one the wiser does he finally ask what he’s been wondering for hours as he waited.

“Where in the world was it?”

“Narnia,” they answer in unison and share a smile before Lizzy tells the tale.

“Dembe, do you think you could manage the painting while Elizabeth and I take a walk. We’ll stroll toward the Seine and wait for you near Pont Saint-Michel.”

“Right now?” she asks, surprised when he makes the suggestion.

“Yes, right now,” he replies, turning toward her as he checks his watch. “At just before three in the morning on one of the coldest nights this winter. What do you say?”

“Dembe, can you manage?”

“I will see to the painting, Elizabeth.”

“Yes, Raymond, I’d love to go for a walk.”

A minute later they are on a quiet sidewalk watching the lights from the van disappear around the corner.

“So where are we and where is he going?’

She waits with growing amusement as Raymond places a beanie on his head and pulls the zipper on his coat up just a bit more snuggly. Once he has rubbed his gloved hands together a time or two, he places them on her arms and does the same.

“Warm enough?”

She’s freezing, and her face is tingling from the sudden drop in temperature after leaving the warmth of the van. “I’m great.”

“Come on,” he says with a chuckle and takes her hand. “Walking will help.”

They set off in the opposite direction from Dembe. Once they reach the next intersection, he seems to immediately get his bearings and they turn right.

“Dembe is taking the Rembrandt to my apartment where it will be safe until the party on Friday.”

“Am I going to get to see this mysterious apartment?”

“You will, Lizzy, but since we were passing close to the river I thought…”

It is there before he finishes the sentence. Around another corner that leads to a larger avenue with Notre Dame in the distance. They are quiet as they walk along, approaching the ancient cathedral from the rear.

“This is a favorite path of mine when I arrive and have difficulty sleeping. I never grow tired of the view.”

And a little further still as they cross the river, with only a few cars passing at this in-between time before sunrise when the city almost slumbers.

“I don’t remember this,” she says when they have stopped at a vantage point parallel to the church.

“What do you mean?”

“From my college trip. Everything is a blur, we were going so fast. I don’t remember stopping to just breathe it in.”

And it never stopped. The promise she made to return never came to be as she moved on to her graduate program and then to work. There was never a chance to slow down when she was accepted to Quantico and all that came after. It isn’t until now that she senses how many days that have slipped by.

There are no more thoughts of the cold or the fatigue that is starting to set in. No worries about the case and the pieces of the puzzle still left to sort. There is only this. How beautiful it is lit up against the night sky with the lights reflecting in the water below, and how wonderful it feels to share it. Another secret to tuck away.

“Raymond…”

They’ve passed it by now and take a moment to look back at the bell towers before they must continue on to the bridge where Dembe will soon be waiting.

“What is it, Lizzy?”

A few more seconds as she fixes the memory in her mind, not wanting to forget a moment of it. At last she turns to look at him as he waits for her. At last she can put some of it into words.

“You make all my days better.”

There is that sense of falling that has been with them since the beginning.

“Now who’s not playing fair,” he murmurs into her hair as he gathers her close, the emotion heavy in his voice.

Knowing they have loved each other more everyday. Knowing it will always be so.

Chapter Text

“You want me to do what, exactly?”

Liz watches Raymond’s eyebrows rise to their maximum limit before making her request a second time. “Introduce Samar and I to Mosadek’s men. We need inside that warehouse to see what they’re up to.”

“We know what they’re up to, Agent Keen. Heroin distribution.”

“You know there’s more to it than that, Reddington. The only other option is for you to go with Dembe and make a deal in your name.” He switches from surprise to righteous indignation in an instant and before he can list the numerous reasons Raymond Reddington isn’t in the drug trade, she continues. “Which we’re not asking you to do obviously. You’ll be there to introduce us and make sure we’re not shot on sight.”

“How reassuring,” he mutters, and looks around the dining table, but if it’s an ally he’s seeking, there are none to be had. Even Dembe looks on impassively.

They’ve just finished breakfast, and received their daily brief from Aram, but are no closer to learning what sort of alliance the billionaire and drug lord have formed. Apart from the Napoleon necklace stolen by Blaise and later given over to the King Family by Mosadek, there is no discernible connection. They quickly moved on to strategizing their next plan for this last full day before the party where Blaise will hopefully make an appearance.

“The tracker I placed on Blaise has only proven he is more of a clothes horse than even you are,” Liz says, pointedly. “Mosadek has vanished so the next logical step is to go to what we believe to be his new base of operations and see if we can draw him out.”

Liz glances at Samar who nods in agreement and for a minute the only sound in the room is the soft keystrokes of Aram’s laptop as he combs through the surveillance footage.

“Two feds walking into a known drug supplier’s lair without invitation doesn’t exactly spell logic.”

“Liz and I are the least FBI here and with your introduction, we should be fine.” Samar says this with a small shrug toward Aram who has finally looked up from his laptop.

“Should be fine?”

There go his eyebrows again and Liz forces herself not to smile at his exclamation. He’s right to be concerned, but her impatience is growing to solve the case.

“I agree with Agent Navabi, Reddington,” she replies matter-of-factly. “There will be no need for a show of force. You are not a competitor, but simply introducing a possible new client. We will have operatives outside for protection which they will expect. Your name recognition alone will ensure our safety long enough to take a look around, and perhaps make a deal that we have no intention of going through with. What are your thoughts, Agent Ressler?”

The silence that follows drags on while Ressler attempts an answer that will in no way agree with his nemesis or contradict his natural pessimism. Raymond, on the other hand, narrows his eyes at her, knowing full well she is using some reverse psychology to get her way. 

“I think—”

“Yes, Agent Ressler, I quite agree. Agents Keen and Navabi appear to have the most feasible plan,” he interrupts with an air of knowing this battle is lost and best to prepare for the next. “I will send a message this morning as a show of civility, and, if they are in agreement, we shall go this afternoon.”

He doesn’t meet her eye, makes a point to calmly sip his tea, with a smirk that she’d almost swear was a result of getting his own way. However, it softens into that smile she loves as her foot brushes up his leg under the table. Once. Twice. Until he can’t help himself and he glances over so briefly, she almost misses the wink before he looks away again. 

“Raymond, I need to ask you something.”

“Now?” he murmurs as they step from the Mercedes and he dons his fedora. Samar is on the other side of the car and out of earshot for a moment as she and Dembe turn to signal Baz who is driving the second car in their convoy.

“What’s the last thing you smuggled?”

“Internationally or into America or—”

“Don’t mess with me right now,” she warns him, hoping like hell they haven’t made a mistake in coming here. 

“Hmmm, I’d say it was a shipment of flatscreens I liberated on their way from Asia.”

Her expression isn’t altogether approving, but there is a hint of amusement and most definitely relief within it. “Good.”

He chuckles, placing a hand at the small of her back until they join Dembe and Samar, then proceeds to lead them to the door of the warehouse on the outskirts of Paris. Slipping off his fedora, he throws a glare toward the security camera and the door is opened almost immediately by one of Mosadek’s men. He assesses their firearms but does not ask for them, and makes a point of looking toward Baz and the other operatives they have brought as protection. It is all part of the show. In truth, they’ve had a camera on them for several blocks now. 

They are ushered into the warehouse and are left alone as the man walks to the back of the building, out of sight, leaving them to study the unexpected contents.

“This is a little less drug den and a little more museum than I was expecting.”

“Very curious, indeed,” Raymond agrees. 

There isn’t a kilo in sight, or stacks of cash, or anything else that usually denotes an operation of this type. Instead they are staring at a collection of Middle Eastern antiquities. Massive stone columns and carved reliefs. Statues and vases of all shapes and sizes. Even sections of what were once a wall in some ancient dwelling that have been cut away for the beautifully adorned murals painted there. 

“Reddington, this is a surprise.”

They turn and watch none other than Zarek Mosadek stride toward them and Liz hisses under her breath, “You know him?”

“I know everyone, unfortunately,” he replies quickly and accepts the handshake that is offered a moment or two later.  “Zarak, you’re looking well for a dead man.”

He seems to find this immensely funny and claps Raymond on the back. “I never realized how convenient an untimely bomb could be. Before I knew it, the rumor of my death had been widely circulated so I let it grow. You should try it sometime.”

“One never knows,” Raymond mutters, glancing around the warehouse. 

Unbelievable, Liz thinks. Mosadek has been presumed dead for months now, but one hastily scrawled note from Raymond and he rises from the grave. However, there is definitely something in the air around them and brewing beneath the forced civility. Perhaps it is the six armed soldiers flanking the drug lord or the calculated way Mosadek studies the group. Perhaps it’s Raymond’s mouth that has drawn into the thinnest disapproving line.

“Are you a collector?” he asks with a wave of his fedora toward the antiquities. “Or simply selling off a people’s culture?”

“Supply and demand, Reddington, as you well know,” Mosadek responds carefully. “Now, since our interests have never coincided and I somehow doubt you’ve decided to sell me your shipping route through New Orleans, I have to wonder why you are here.”

“That shipping route belongs to me,” Liz interrupts impulsively and clears her throat when all eyes, whether friendly or foe, turn in her direction. “Reddington lost it to me on a bet. He’s here to guarantee safe passage for my associate and I.”

Mosadek looks from her and Samar to Raymond who shrugs nonchalantly. “Very true, I’m afraid, and it's a thrilling tale if we only had the time. As it is, it’s their show.”

“And what sort of production are you seeking?”

“The Afghan variety. Pure. 100 kilos,” she answers, hoping it sounds somewhat authentic. 

“So, Molly, that would put the purchase at approximately ten million dollars,” Raymond remarks casually, looking at her pointedly before turning his attention to a wonderfully preserved clay tablet nearby. “Sounds better if you do the Euro conversion, I’d imagine.”

Liz only hopes no one sees her swallow rather forcefully and curses herself for not first doing the math in her head. 

“When can we inspect the product?” Samar asks, stepping forward.

“What I have here is spoken for. Besides, there is first the question of your authentication.”

“My presence here is your authentication.” Raymond's tone leaves no room for argument. “Molly and Yvonne have been vetted.”

“Ten Million. Do we have a price?”

Mosadek studies them with a calculating air before continuing, “I have no interest in flooding the American market and driving down prices.”

“Reddington, we don’t have time for this. Have him contact us should he wish to proceed,” Liz states and walks toward the exit and is relieved Samar follows. 

Raymond and Dembe are close behind and they proceed quickly to their cars and are soon winding their way through the busy Paris streets. 

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stand to be in his presence any longer.”

“Not to worry, Agent Keen. He is a businessman and his greed will likely win out. Besides, we have gotten what we came for.”

Liz isn’t exactly sure what that is but lets it go for now, wanting only to gain a little distance from the heroin dealer.

“He is cannibalizing the Islamic state,” Dembe remarks quietly, and glances briefly at them in the rearview mirror. “This should not be tolerated.”

“It will not.”

There is most definitely an edge in Raymond’s voice at the unexpected archeological treasure trove they have stumbled upon.

“Perhaps that is the connection to Blaise. The antiquities,” Samar muses, turning around from the front seat.

“I was thinking the same,” Liz replies. “If nothing else this may prompt a meeting between the two. We know where Mosadek is now and can track them both.”

“Really, it’s too bad I didn’t utilize Aram’s surveillance skills last summer. If I had, we would most likely not be here in Paris, although that part would be a shame.”

There is silence following Raymond’s words until, finally, Liz turns to face him, watching as he gives his sleeves a little tug before relaxing back.

 “Do you mean last summer when a bomb went off in Mosadek’s warehouse, that reportedly killed Europe’s largest heroin supplier?”

“It was more a controlled explosive device.”

“Reddington, were you the one that put out the hit?”

“The hit, Agent Keen. You’ve been watching too many crime dramas.”

“And you never thought to tell us?” Samar asks.

“Well, there wasn’t much to tell. It didn’t succeed, after all. Although quite a large quantity of his product was destroyed so it wasn’t a total loss.”

Samar’s eyes shift to Liz for a moment before she faces forward again and they say no more. And probably never will. The understanding passed between them in a second, of what will and will not eventually be reported to the FBI and any other agency that may become involved. At that moment they must surely all be thinking the same thing. It really is too bad Raymond didn’t have Aram’s surveillance skills at the time.

They’re quiet for the rest of the drive to their hotel, choosing to mull over the events in silence until some later discussion. Once they have arrived in the lobby, Samar makes the suggestion to meet in Raymond’s suite in an hour.

“You go ahead then,” Liz replies as casually as possible. “I may take a walk, clear my head.”

“I’ll stroll with you as far as the fromagerie on the corner, Agent Keen.”

They waste no time and are soon lost in the bustle of the busy Parisian streets. Liz really was serious about a walk, but Raymond was equally serious about investigating the nearby cheese shop. She can’t seem to resist his enthusiasm and follows him inside the warm and cozy shop where she soon finds herself a little overwhelmed by the selection. The chatter of the customers is a buzz in her ears and her mind drifts off.

“Lizzy, how can you be scowling surrounded by this much cheese?”

With a blink, she is back and gives him a look. “I have a question.”

“Now? The gouda section alone is astonishing.”

“Yes, now. Samar gets Yvonne and I get Molly?”

She's gotten his attention and he turns, grinning at her in an instant. “Is that what’s bothering you? One would think you’re a little—“

“Don’t say it.”

“Jealous.”

“I am not jealous.” But she’ll admit to feeling rather irked about it. “You couldn’t have given me something more…”

“What?” He has lost all interest in the gouda as he rocks back and forth on his heels.

“I don’t know. Intriguing, perhaps.”

“I assure you, Molly was incredibly intriguing, not to mention—”

“Raymond, I swear to god if you’ve been choosing aliases from your stash of old girlfriends.”

More the one customer turns in the direction of his laughter, just in time to see the gentleman run his fingers down the woman’s arm until he finds her hand. They will watch for a moment as he brings it to his lips before placing her palm over his heart. There are a few smiles seeing the one that passes between them. This is Paris, after all.

“Molly Milshanks, my third grade teacher. How I adored her.”

He is absolutely incorrigible and Liz somehow thinks Ms. Milshanks felt the same sense of exasperation as she does at this moment.

“I bet you won every argument, even then.”

“I certainly gave it my best.” With a quick glance at his watch, he gives her hand a squeeze. “You want to go for a hot chocolate? We still have time.”

Incorrigible and irresistible as she nods and they set off into the wintery afternoon. 

“Can you believe this week?” she asks after they are settled into a corner table at a cafe nearby. “We’ve crashed a gala in London, stolen a Rembrandt, tracked down a drug dealer—”

“Offered him ten million dollars for a pile of heroin.”

“We can forget about that part.”

“It doesn’t matter, LIzzy,” he says with a small smile as she scoots closer. “We’re closing this case tomorrow, starting with the party and ending lord only knows where, but definitely away from our friends with the FBI. We’ve earned a bit of a break, don’t you think?”

“Yes, and about damn time.”

He gives her a little toast with his mug and she does the same, taking a sip to seal the deal, as they enjoy one last reprieve.

Chapter Text

“Agent Keen, if you persist in sneaking into my room, the task force will begin to get ideas.”

“Good thing I’m not here to see you then.”

Lizzy scrunches her face at him as she breezes through his bedroom, straight through the door at the other end.

“It’s not there,” Raymond calls to her as he finishes tying his shoelace.

He looks up in time to see her return a second later, having found only the en suite. 

“You told Blaise it’s in your dressing room.”

“That was before we had arranged to have the party here.”

“Was it?” she asks in confusion. “It’s been a long week.”

“The longest.” He gives her a rather meaningful glance which makes her smile. “In the absence of a dressing room, I had Dembe display it in the library.”

She spins on her heel and is gone, not waiting for the chuckle that follows or to see the shake of his head. With a final tug of his vest, he slips into his jacket and pauses at the window a moment. Such a shame it isn’t spring yet. Mr. Kaplan always has the loveliest gardens here and it would have made for a wonderful outdoor gathering.

Ah well, he and Lizzy will just have to return in a few months time. Perhaps when they attend their private rehearsal of Don Quixote at the Royal Ballet. It’s strange thinking of having her to share the performance with him, something he has never done. He has always been alone, apart from Dembe who is there at the periphery. The ritual was only for him, some small remembrance of his child. For reasons unknown he thinks of it now. How he told her of it, this private painful truth. And now he can’t imagine it any other way. Yes, they will come back when the season turns and he lingers a moment enjoying the anticipation. 

Taking one last look at the fading day, he goes downstairs to join her. The house is abuzz with preparations, but he pays no attention to the bustle. Heddie is somewhere abouts seeing to the last details, with Smokey close at hand. Dembe and Baz will have seen to the security details. Agent Navabi has reached out to a contact with Interpol after their surveillance team reported the antiquities being removed from Mosadek’s warehouse and tracked northward toward the sea. Everything is in motion now, but there is only one thought on his mind.

It’s quiet in the library when he slips through the door, softly closing it behind him, and he hopes they’ll be given a few minutes more as he goes to stand beside her.

“Lovely.”

“It really is,” she breathes out, studying the Rembrandt that has been locked safely in Raymond’s apartment since they stole it several days ago.

“I was talking about you.”

There is a smile when she glances over. “Very smooth, Reddington.”

“Just stating the facts, Agent Keen.”

He doubts he’ll ever remember the particulars of the dress. Something appropriate for this little cocktail party they’re hosting, but it is the color that will stay with him. A certain shade of gray, bordering on silver, that matches this winter’s day. There is a flash of steel there like the one behind her eyes, a little charge of electricity that seems to hum around them.

“It’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“Which part, Lizzy?” as his mind whirrs in a thousand directions. 

Envisioning them here again in the warmth of the sun. The cozy pub in London they promised themselves to find. Waking to the feel of her next to him in his apartment near the cathedral. Someplace else he has never shared, somewhere almost sacred to him after holding it close for so long. Another line they will cross.

“Everything,” she murmurs, finally turning to face him. “Everything that’s about to happen.”

God, how he wants to touch her, gather her close and never stop, fall even deeper into that look in her eyes. There really aren’t words for it though. Yes, a thousand times over, but he doesn’t have to say a word when her hand brushes his in this small habit they have formed.

A few seconds, that is all, until Aram erupts into the room carrying his laptop open before him. The contact is broken, leaving the familiar ache. A sigh and a smile as he bangs into a chair, not having taken his eyes off the screen. 

“We have something. This just came in so I haven’t had time to sort through it or…oh sorry.”

They share an amused glance when a side table topples over. Liz steps forward to guide him to the desk and all three gather around the small screen.

“Well, would you look at that,” Raymond murmurs when the video begins to play. “And here I thought we’d only have the set-up to bring Greyson down, but this will add a nice flair to the proceedings.”

“What the hell are they saying?”

Raymond asks what everyone is wondering as they lean closer to Aram’s laptop, where they have watched the clandestine meeting between Blaise and Mosadek several times. 

“It fairly windy today and the audio is distorted,” Aram explains, typing away as he attempts to isolate the muddled conversation. “I’ve sent the clip to a woman I know who is a whiz with cleaning up tracks. She once took a recording of a—”

“Aram.”

Liz places a hand on his arm and he refocuses in an instant. “Right. I’ll keep working on it and let you know.”

“Now if only there was a way to tell us what is contained in the envelope Mosadek gave him. I doubt he’ll have it with him tonight,” Liz muses. “it will have been handed off to an employee by now.”

“Then we shall proceed with the plan we have.” Raymond leans back to check the time on his watch and continues with disdain fairly dripping from his voice. “The guests will be arriving shortly, although Blaise will make sure he is fashionably late to ensure everyone’s undivided attention when he walks in.”

Lizzy has only spent a few minutes in Blaise’s company to understand the accuracy of the statement, but eventually she does begin to wonder if he will come at all. Much of her time is spent watching the front entrance hall and trying to keep tabs on Raymond who is the life of the party. As if he could be anything else, she thinks, with a smile. He’s center stage near the fireplace with a small gathering listening to some raucous tale and their laughter rings out when he comes to the end of it.

“Darling, there you are,” he calls out to her, leaving the group to disperse for more champagne. “Have you tried the mushroom puffs? They’re a revelation.”

“I don’t like mushrooms,” she replies absentmindedly, with another glance toward the front of the house before turning back to see the shock on his face. “What?”

“How can you not like mushrooms?”

“Very easily.” She rolls her eyes at his genuine surprise and dismay. “You do realize we have more important issues at hand?”

“But I was planning to make you my specialty. Portobello stuffed with gruyère and—”

“Please don’t do that.”

“So all those times I brought you the mini quiches and you set aside the mushroom ones for me—”

“I know they’re your favorite and because I don’t like them.”

“Oh my god,” he mutters. “Are there any other surprises I should know about?”

“Many.” Her hands take hold of his jacket and she draws him just a little closer, not caring in the least who may be watching. “Is this a deal breaker?”

“Well, no, but it will require some getting used to, I must say.”

“Am I interrupting?”

Red and Lizzy spin around, both wondering how someone so tall could’ve snuck up on them. 

“Greyson,” Raymond exclaims, clapping him on the arm. “We’d quite given you up, but now you’re here, you may be able to settle an argument. We were discussing the dynamics and complexities of human relationships. Let me ask you, what are your thoughts on mush—“

“Sweetheart, let’s not bore him with our little squabbles,” Liz interrupts, spotting Ressler waving at them from the edge of the room. “Besides, I think the caterer needs a word.”

Raymond follows her line of sight and gives Blaise’s arm another pat. “Make yourself at home and do try the mushroom puffs. You can have Molly’s share.”

“But the Rembrandt?”

“Oh not to worry, we’ll get around to that. Be back in a jiff.”

They stop long enough for Ressler to point over his shoulder. “They’re in a washroom past the kitchens. I’ve watched it so I’ll stay and keep an eye on Blaise.”

Apparently that’s all the information they’ll be receiving and they make their way through the partygoers toward the back of the house.

“Who are all these people,” she finally asks.

“Friends, Lizzy, I assure you. Mr. Kaplan would have my head if I let a party here get out of control.”

He isn’t joking and she thoroughly enjoys the notion that Mr. Kaplan might be the only person truly capable of frightening the Concierge of Crime.

They eventually arrive in the kitchens and she stops at a dessert tray left unattended. “Again with Molly?” 

“For continuity’s sake.”

“Uh huh.” 

But the delectable assortment has caught her attention and he watches fascinated at how intently she studies them before choosing a lovely little chocolate creation. 

“Lizzy, the case.”

“I know, I know.” She doesn’t move, however, deciding to take a bite instead. “Wow.”

His thoughts exactly when her eyes close for a moment and there is the softest moan of pleasure. Yes, he couldn’t agree more and probably would have repeated it had he been able to speak.

“Do you want a bite?” she asks, when she looks at him again and sees him swallow.

He nods but doesn’t reach for the dessert when she holds out her hand, doesn’t do anything but gaze at her with what can only be taken as a challenge. One that she accepts, even if they’re in the kitchen surrounded by the harried wait staff. Her hand moves closer until he takes hold of her wrist to guide it the rest of the way, and damn him, he makes a point to nip her fingertips when he takes it into his mouth.

“Delicious.”

“See, there are plenty of things that we both like.”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Come on, stop distracting me,” she says, taking his arm and loving that soft throaty laugh close to her ear.

“This is cozy,” Raymond remarks dryly when they squeeze into the bathroom where Aram is sitting on the lid of the toilet with his laptop facing outward, propped on his knees. 

“We’ve had word from the surveillance team tracking Masadek’s men,” Samar informs them as soon as the door closes. “The antiquities were driven north out of Paris but are now tracking west toward Le Havre.”

“Not surprising,” Raymond remarks quietly. “Blaise has a foothold there. They will probably be loaded onto a shipping liner for god knows where.”

“Should I have Interpol stop them?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Liz shakes her head as she runs through their options in her mind. “We should be able to keep tabs on them and confiscate later. Right now the focus is Mosadek and his ongoing drug operation.”

“Speaking of, I have a cleaned up version of his meeting with Blaise. It is probably the best audio we’re going to get for now.” 

Aram tilts the screen and they watch the footage again, still missing some segments of conversation from the wind whipping between the building where the men met in secret.

“What was that he said?” Lizzy asks.

“Sounds like Mosakek only used five of something without further damage.”

They continue watching, picking up the odd word or phrase. At the end, the mysterious envelope is handed off to Blaise and they go their separate ways.

“Go back to the middle so I can listen again,” Raymond says to Aram.

They run through it one more time until the screen goes black. “Mosadek mentions a syndicate but I can’t hear what comes before it.”

“The Nash Syndicate, Agent Navabi.”

Raymond is looking more and more grim as he steps back to lean against the sink, but doesn’t continue. 

“Are you going to tell us what that is?” Liz finally asks impatiently.

“The largest drug cartel operating on the east coast of the United States.”

“Why haven’t we heard of it?”

“Because the cops protecting it make sure no one hears of it.”

“Oh no,” Aram concludes softly and they all nod in agreement.

“Oh yes, Agent Mojtabai. It seems your blacklister is just a wealth of criminality.”

“So Mosadek made a deal to use Blaise’s waterway to transport his product to America. In return he smuggled looted artifacts from his homeland of Afghanistan,” Liz muses. “But where is the heroin? Unless…”

“Unless what?” Raymond asks.

“He’s using the antiquities to hide the drugs. Remember what he said when Samar wanted to see the product? What was in the warehouse was spoken for, but all we saw there were the archeological relics. That’s what he was telling Blaise, who is the only person in all this that would care that they not be destroyed. They’ve been altered somehow, hollowed out,” she states, sounding more certain. “And some of them are massive. There’s no telling how much he is trying to move. I guarantee as soon as they reach New York, Mosadek will take possession of the heroin and Blaise the antiquities.”

“Then there are two possibilites for the Nash Syndicate’s involvement,” Raymond continues. “One, Mosadek is trying to move his operation to the US which will lead to an all out drug war or, two, he has formed some sort of partnership to supply the cartel with his top grade Afghan heroin.”

“I don’t like either of those possibilities.”

Again, they are in full agreement with Aram’s summation.

“Okay, I think both of you and Ressler should fly to Le Havre immediately. Reddington and I still need to deal with Blaise and the set-up, plus try to locate the envelope. You can take the jet.”

Samar and Aram look from Liz to Raymond, who simply nods. “Sounds good to me.”

“But we should only intercept in America. If we can catch Mosadek meeting with a member of the cartel and if that individual is in law enforcement…”

“We will follow your lead, Agent Mojtabai,” Raymond agrees with a small smile. “I love when a plan comes together.”

“Greyson! There you are, been looking everywhere.”

They have found him in the living room studying a very nice Seurat Mr. Kaplan picked up years ago. 

“Just admiring your collection, Reddington. Everything but the Rembrandt, that is.”

“Business before pleasure, I always say.”

“And what business would that be?”

“Only the most profitable,” Raymond continues with ease. “Molly and I are looking to diversify. Isn’t that right, darling?”

Liz has been standing off to the side in a detached manner and it takes a second to realize she’s been brought into the performance. “It seems an excellent time for a merger.”

Raymond watches her take a slow sip of champagne as she studies him over the rim of her glass. He takes a sip of his own and goes on rather quickly, “We’d be completely silent partners. Our goods run through your ports and if we’re caught, we disavow. If not, you get five percent of the profits.”

Blaise mulls this over a moment before countering. “Ten percent and you have a deal. If you show me the painting.”

“Done,” Liz says and raises her glass. “This calls for a toast, doesn’t it, honey?”

“To our impending merger. May it satisfy every desire.” 

He is looking only at her and she swears she can feel a flush rise in her cheeks that has nothing to do with the heat from the fireplace or the champagne. In another moment the spell is broken and he has turned his attention back to Blaise.

“The Rembrandt is in the library. Straight ahead to the left.”

They follow a few steps behind and she can’t help leaning in closer to whisper, “You’re not one for subtlety, are you?”

“You started it.”

Their soft laughter draws a curious glance from Blaise, but they only smile as if nothing is amiss. When they arrive at the library, Raymond steps ahead to lead the way inside.

“My god,” Greyson says when he sees it at the furthest end of the room and continues past them to slowly approach the masterpiece. 

“Storm on the Sea of Galilee. Just as promised.”

Liz knows what’s coming and grows quiet, letting him play out this last part. They’ve agreed to it. In fact, she’s certain had she said no, he would have found another way. It doesn’t lessen the sting though and she holds her breath. Waiting. 

“It is truly a wonder.”

“It is and will look lovely hanging in your home in Paris, or London or wherever,” Raymond replies with a wave of his hand. 

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m giving it to you. A gift to commemorate our new partnership.”

“I couldn’t possibly.”

“You can and you will. Besides, Molly has been wanting something a bit more cheery in its place.”

She can only nod and stand off to the side in a daze as Raymond signals to Dembe and Baz to wrap the painting and transfer it to Blaise’s vehicle. They exchange a few pleasantries and she nods again when he makes his goodbyes to her as they pass out of the room, leaving her alone. It is a few minutes before Raymond returns to slip a hand around her side to draw her close.

“I promise nothing will happen to the painting, Lizzy.”

“Our painting.”

“Yes,” he agrees quietly. “We’ll take a trip to Boston to see it once it is returned. Spend another night in the museum.”

“I’d love that.”

“So would I. Now are you ready to finish this?”

“Only if I can drive.” Her smile is back when she turns to face him and holds out her hand. “I saw Dembe pass you the keys.”

With a sigh, he hands them over without argument. 

If Greyson Blaise hadn’t suddenly found himself detained by Interpol a few miles from the chateau, he might have glanced over to see Raymond and Molly zip by. He was, however, otherwise occupied and had no idea the chaos his new business partners were about to rain down upon him.

He would certainly hear about it later though.

By the time his contact within Interpol had alerted the staff of their boss’s arrest, Raymond Reddington, The Raymond Reddington, was already on their doorstep having said the very same thing. No, there was no time to adhere to their protocol and shred documents or hide any stolen art the agents might stumble upon. Better to hand it over to Mr. Reddington and his partner, who would see it safely transported from the premises.

How the hapless assistant will later explain all that occurred is anyone’s guess, but what could he do when they were at a tier three crisis?

“I’m only here because Blaise has been arrested and law enforcement will soon be doing a search of the entire property. We are all at risk.”

“Less than fifteen minutes,” the woman called out as the staff congregated in the entrance hall. “I need the security feed for the last hour destroyed immediately.”

“Ok people, Sugarfoot has been arrested,” Reddington informed them. “I need anything with a chip or hard drive and any ledgers taken to my vehicle. All incriminating material must be taken off site until we establish a new base of operations.”

Everyone scattered at his commanding tone, leaving only the assistant to lead them to Yankee Bobwhite, or the safe as had to be explained to him. And there it was, nestled within. An unassuming envelope received from Mosadek only a few hours previously. The assistant will recall the satisfied smile after Reddington made a cursory glance at its contents, but there was no time to inquire further.

They were gone as quickly as they came, with boxes of their employer’s personal papers, passports, anything that shouldn’t fall into the hands of the agents that would be arriving shortly. There would be no explanation for any of it, least of all how that evidence came to be located in a building linked to a known drug lord.

But that would come later, long after Reddington and the woman drove off into the night.

“Raymond.”

“Yes, my love.”

“There’s a Picasso in the backseat.”

“That was a nice surprise, I must say.”

“It could fall under the heading of planting evidence by taking all of this to Mosadek’s warehouse,” Liz remarks ruefully.

“We’re not planting evidence, only relocating evidence that already exists and safeguarding it until Interpol can retrieve it.”

“I suppose so. What was in the envelope?”

“An inventory of the antiquities and the cargo manifest from the shipping company.” He takes a hand off the steering wheel long enough to retrieve it from his jacket pocket and passes it over. “The name of the vessel as well as the freight company is listed. I’m sure you’ll find a link to one of Blaise’s companies. That added to the surveillance footage will be quite enough to keep Interpol busy for a very long time.

“You know, it’ll take a week for the ship to cross the Atlantic, not to mention continued surveillance to see what connection there might be to the Nash Syndicate. And we still need to prove that is how the drugs are being smuggled. This is the case that just won’t die.”

“I’ve been trying not to think of those little wrinkles.”

“Hmmm, we’ll see about one wrinkle, at least,” she mutters, already taking her phone from her pocket.

“Aram? It’s Liz. We just left Blaise’s compound…..yes, the envelope contains a shipping manifest for the antiquities, definite proof of a link between Blaise and Mosadek…….what was that?......then you, Samar and Ressler should fly out tonight. You’ll need to get DEA involvement as soon as possible……no, don’t wait for us. We’re still on our way to the warehouse. Edward can rest up and fly back to pick us up tomorrow or the day after…...Okay, I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

She ends the call and tells him quietly, “Mosadek boarded the ship and it sailed an hour ago. Destination, New York.”

Raymond can only see her in profile but catches her thoughtful expression in the shimmer of street lights as they wind their way through the city.

“I wondered if you’d manage it.”

“Manage what?”

“Ditching the FBI,” he continues with a chuckle. “You handled that very nicely.”

“I feel a little guilty about it, actually.”

“Well, I can arrange for a charter tonight out of Charles de Gaulle or—”

“I don’t feel that guilty.”

Another laugh and he reaches for her hand. It isn’t exactly as they planned or even close to what they had hoped for, when what they have longed for are days and days of getting lost in one another. But it will do for now. A small interlude before she must return for the final act of this particular drama.

“You need not worry about the task force. You and Aram have done well with your blacklisters, to say the least. Ressler is probably camped out in my seat on the jet as we speak, which should give Samar and Aram a little privacy.”

“You don’t miss a thing, do you?”

“I try not to,” he returns softly, and plants a kiss on the back of her hand. “This warehouse caper should take only a few minutes. Since it’s early and we’re dressed for the occasion, how about I take you to a nice long dinner and we’ll share an equally nice bottle of wine.”

“And maybe another?”

“Yes, Lizzy, and then another.”

There is something in his voice that she can’t quite name. A yearning that matches her own, as deeply rooted as the emotion that has grown between them.

It’s easy to forget the days ahead when dawn seems so far away. How simple it is to linger over dinner and let their fingers intertwine across the table, to talk about everything but the case or anything else associated with that other life.

“Lizzy, shall we stroll a bit,” he suggests once they have left the restaurant. The last to leave, as a matter of fact, and they step out under a cloudless sky. The gloom from earlier in the day has gone and it is clear and cold. 

They think it is beautiful. They think they will always dream of wintertime in Paris.

“Where are we?” she asks in a block or two, when he stops and begins patting his pockets, looking for something.

“My apartment. Ah, here we go,” he mumbles, as he finally locates a rather ancient looking key for an equally ancient looking door. “They keep talking about installing a new keycode system but no one has bothered as of yet.”

Who they are, she has no idea. From the outside, it is one of a thousand beautiful apartment buildings on a meandering quiet street that probably doesn’t see much traffic except for the locals. Somewhere in keeping with his need to hide away at times. She is trying to get her bearings, thinking back to the route they took to the restaurant. A few blocks from the river and Notre Dame. Now she understands. He wanted to be close.

“I would have brought you sooner, but it never seemed like the right time and I wanted you to see the view. The cathedral in the morning light is really quite dazzling.”

She would like to see everything at once, but she won’t really get a sense of this hidden place until later, when she can walk the rooms and take it in. When she will notice the contrast from his cozy little apartment in Bethesda, packed with treasures. Where he goes to heal what damage has been done. However, this is something quite different, sparse by comparison, with rooms large and airy, and a view of an ancient church that somehow quiets the soul in one who finds it difficult to believe in things not seen. 

But those thoughts will come tomorrow, because every thought leaves her when she steps into the living room and sees The Storm on the Sea of Galilee waiting for them.

“I don’t understand,” she whispers and walks forward to where it rests.

“I promised you nothing would happen to it.”

“Did you give him a copy?”

“No, simply made a little trade. Grayson will indeed find himself under arrest for being in possession of a stolen masterpiece. Van Gogh’s Poppy Flowers, a painting he absconded with years ago from a museum in Cairo. I’d have loved to see his face at the moment he realizes.”

When she turns, there are tears in her eyes that she can’t quite blink away. “That’s where you went the other day. You knew where it was and left to make a deal for it.”

“I’ve no doubt the Rembrandt would have been handled with care and eventually returned to Boston, but that is a tradition I think we should keep and let Interpol have the Van Gogh.”

“Thank you.” She walks forward into his arms that immediately wrap around.

“It was meant as a surprise,” he whispers into her hair. “It wasn’t meant to make you cry.”

“I cry when I’m happy, remember.”

It must be true, he thinks, recalling her emotion only a few days ago in her apartment in DC. When it all came to light and it was all so very new. 

“And you don’t like mushrooms. Anything else?”

She pulls back with a smile. “I get cranky without enough sleep.”

Something he has already experienced. “I might be in trouble tomorrow, then.”

“Probably.”

“I’ll risk it.”

“You know, I’ve learned a few things about you too,” she says, stepping back to unbutton his heavy wool coat. “You’re a bit cold natured.”

“Well, it’s cold out.”

“Yes, but you’d be wearing this if it was 65 degrees.” The coat is tossed on the sofa and she begins unwinding his scarf. “You like surprises and you’re sentimental.”

Her own coat and scarf land on the sofa next. “And you’re very patient.”

Because he has loved her longest. Because he stayed without any hope it might ever be returned. Because she can’t imagine a life that would have taken her somewhere other than this Paris night.

“Some things are worth waiting for, Lizzy.”

But they are tired of waiting and when he reaches for her hand, she takes it and lets him lead them from the room.

“How many apartments did you cobble together here?” she asks after a turn or two, when the layout seems to go on forever.

“A few. We’re at the end there.”

He’ll tell the tale tomorrow. All about the grande dame who lived here first and somehow became his friend. Who entrusted her home to him, that eventually became his sanctuary, but for now he stands quietly to the side as they enter his suite of rooms and she circles the small sitting area before walking through to the bedroom.

When she turns, he is leaning against the doorframe, watching her in that way of his and god how he can make her pulse jump with a simple look. 

“And you have a lot of layers,” she says, resuming the game as she steps closer, running her hands up his chest to slip off his jacket. “So many layers.”

She takes her time, folds it with care, and lays it across the arm of his reading chair, before returning to unbutton his vest.

“And sometimes you get just a little nervous,” he murmurs, placing his hands over hers, to still the subtle tremble there. 

“Sometimes.”

“There is one thing you should know, though.”

“What is that?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not the least bit fastidious about my clothes.”

In a few seconds, his vest and tie land somewhere over his shoulder.

“That really is going to make life so much easier.” She smiles and closes the distance in time to feel his soft laughter rumble through her body.

He draws her into a kiss and they fall deeper. Closer. Breathless need until she pulls back, tugging his shirt free, wanting to touch him more than she has wanted anything. 

“Lizzy?”

“Hmmm,” as she finally reaches the last button.

“How does this work?”

When she glances up to see his amused frustration, she realizes his hands moving across her back have been searching for the same thing. 

“Raymond.” She can’t help herself when she takes his face in her hands, lightly brushing her lips against his. “I really do love you.”

“Something I will never get tired of hearing but…”

And then he understands as her hand goes to the hidden zipper at her side and the dress falls in a silver puddle at her feet.

“Better?

“Infinitely better,” he murmurs. “I told you we’d make a great team.”

“Is this what you had in mind?” when she comes to rest above him on the bed, when at last there is nothing left to separate them.

“No, Elizabeth.” Their breaths are quickening, as he loses himself in the feel of her, as they both let go when the intensity builds with every touch. With every new discovery. “It isn’t at all like I imagined it.”

A smile before everything blurs. “Better?”

“Infinitely.”

Chapter Text

It really is dazzling in the morning sun. Almost like a dream.

Tiny ice crystals frame each window pane like its own work of art causing Liz to stop time and again to admire the city beyond, bright and cold on this early morning. There are certainly better views to be found, grander avenues that he could have chosen, but she thinks she understands why Raymond has kept this apartment hidden away. It is there in every aspect as she walks through the rooms. Something about the quiet street and the rooftops stretching out in all directions, the one perfect break in the buildings where the cathedral sits on the other side, turned gold in this time after sunrise.

She wants to stay forever.

Or at least longer than today, but today is all they’ve been given. Aram’s messages to her prevent any thought of delaying her return. It is their case afterall and so she put in a call to Edward so that Raymond wouldn’t have to. They will fly home tonight and, with a last look at the church’s spire sparkling in the distance, she pads softly back to where she left him sleeping.

“Where are you going?” he murmurs, his voice barely above a husky whisper.

Her fingers hesitate only a moment before continuing to unbutton his dress shirt she’d found in a heap on the floor when she slipped from the room.

“I’m returning.”

“Good.”

The shirt lands nearby and she slides back into the warmth of the bed, pulling the covers up around them.

“Even better,” he continues when she arrives at his side, their legs automatically tangling together. “What did Aram say?”

“No shop talk.”

“How long until we leave?”

“Raymond.” She raises up to look at him, coming to rest on his chest. “Let me explain how this works. No questions, no case, no task force. Not until we reach international waters, okay.”

“I like to be prepared.”

She moves higher, close enough to drop a kiss lightly against the corner of his mouth and the smile at play there. “Prepared for what?’

“All the possibilities.”

“There’s only a few possibilities you need to be thinking of today.”

“Breakfast?”

“Maybe later,” she whispers, nipping him under his jaw, enjoying the way his hands have begun trailing down her body and the familiar glint she catches in his eye. “Much later.”

“We’ll eat on the plane.”

Her soft laughter ends in a sigh and neither gives another thought to the city that never sleeps outside their window or what awaits them an ocean away.

It’s been weeks since she set foot in her apartment. It seems like a year.

There is always a bit of melancholy waiting to greet her. The cold emptiness of the place after sitting so long in stillness, a reminder of why she hesitates to buy even the hardiest of houseplants. The days it will take to settle in again.

Always the same.

Until now.

“Honey, I’m home,” she can’t resist calling out.

Only steps inside and everything feels different. It’s toasty warm compared to the late winter chill she’s just come from and she can already tell there’s a fire going, giving off a lovely glow.

Raymond appears around the corner from the kitchen, wiping his hands on the apron he’s wearing. “I expected you an hour ago. If the risotto is mushy, don’t blame me.”

He’s teasing her and god she wants to go to him, touch him, but she bites her lip, leaning back against the door, drawing out the anticipation a little longer.

“I had to run by the Post Office and take care of something.”

“Lizzy, does the FBI understand the concept of a weekend? After all-”

“I didn’t want to wait to put in my time off request,” she interrupts with a smile. “Remember we have a date this spring in London and anything else we get a mind to do.”

“How long?”

“Two weeks.”

“It’s a beginning.”

“I hope so,” she says thoughtfully, already impatient for the months to pass.

“You know what I’ve just realized?” he asks suddenly, reaching behind to untie the apron and lift it over his head, placing it on the hall table with slow deliberate movements.

“What’s that?’

“The last time we were here, I was waiting for you just like today, late in the afternoon, blistering cold outside and much too quiet within.”

She can’t believe she hasn’t thought of it. The day that changed everything and the one cut short by their case that took them to Paris and her to New York.

“Is that a roundabout way of saying you missed me?”

“It’s a roundabout way of saying I’m very glad you are home.”

And he closes the distance then, framing her face with his hands, and pausing a moment to study her before drawing them together. Just as he did then, until all thought is gone and the weeks of separation no longer matter.

“Hey,” she whispers more than a little breathlessly.

“Hey.”

“I could get used to coming home to this.”

“Come on,” he says, dropping a hand around her waist, leading her the rest of the way inside. “We have mushy risotto, wine and a delightful dessert I pickup up from-”

“Oh my god.” Her steps halt suddenly as they round the corner leading to the kitchen. “Raymond, I completely forgot about….”

“Well, you’ve been busy and besides-”

“I know but,” she goes on with a shake of her head. “There’s a stolen Rembrandt in my dining room.”

“I didn’t want to risk it near the fireplace and it seemed too imposing for the bedroom so here it sits.”

“That does….make sense,” she mumbles, agreeing that The Storm on the Sea of Galilee is indeed too imposing for the bedroom. “We have to return that to the museum tomorrow.”

“Lizzy, you’ve only just gotten back. It’ll keep for a week or two.”

“Tomorrow, Raymond. Call the curator and tell him to get ready.”

“And knowing you’d say that, I’ve already contacted Emile and arranged everything,” he replies with a smile. “We’ll take a quick flight to Boston and have dinner at a little place I know before we head to the museum.”

“That almost sounds like a date.”

“Now that is something I could get used to,” he chuckles softly, leading her toward the table. “Have a glass of wine while I deal with dinner.”

He putters around a bit while she sips a very nice chardonnay before finally joining her at the table. With a flourish, he pours a glass and clinks it with hers.

“At the risk of sounding condescending, I’m proud of you, Lizzy. The news reports didn’t quite do it justice, I imagine.”

“I’m just happy it’s over.”

“Who made the arrests?”

“Aram and I,” she replies with satisfaction. “You should have seen Ian Garvey’s expression when I read him his rights.”

“A US Marshall as head of the Nash Syndicate. Even I had no idea who actually controlled that cartel.”

“Yes, it was an excellent ending to our little case.”

“Little case,” he repeats with an amused shake of his head. “In one fell swoop, the task force managed to expose an illegal smuggling operation between Europe’s primary drug supplier and a playboy billionaire. You realize that was the largest stash of heroin ever confiscated on American soil?”

“I’m aware.”

“Not to mention the Middle Eastern antiquities used to hide it that were recovered and can be returned to their countries of origin for preservation.”

“Yes.”

“Plus catching Mosadek in the very act of selling to the most powerful cartel on the east coast and the US Marshalls running it,” he continues in nothing short of astonishment. “Have you seen the coverage? You’ve shaken law enforcement to its foundation and, speaking as a criminal, that is saying something.”

“I’m sure you were thrilled with that part.”

The roll of her eyes makes him laugh. “Honestly, I’m not sure how we’ll top this one.”

He’s teasing her again and she takes a sip of wine, pushing the unsettling thought from her mind. The one that knows the truth of it and the one that will return one day and may not leave.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t be with us in New York. DEA and Interpol involvement meant we couldn’t risk exposing your ties to the task force.”

“Not to worry,” he says, leaning back with a satisfied smile of his own. “Aram kept me updated with a daily brief.”

“And I wanted to call more, but we were on a stake-out schedule Ressler came up with that was nothing short of brutal.”

“You can hit the highlights while we eat.” He tops off her glass and they sit a few moments with their hands linked across the table.

“Raymond, how mushy will the risotto be if I take a nice long shower first.”

“Extremely mushy bordering on-”

“And perhaps you could join me so I can tell you about the raid while you wash my back.”

“The risotto will be fine.”

“I’m sure it will be,” she agrees, returning his smile and rising to walk with him toward the bedroom, surprised once again when she catches a glimpse of the looming figure of Rembrandt’s masterpiece propped against her wall.

“I was wrong, you know. Even with everything that has happened, it isn’t complete until we bring this home to Isabella’s museum.” Her voice breaks off just as his arm circles around to gather her close.

“I know, Lizzy,” he whispers into her hair. “We’re almost there.”

Almost.

She won’t sleep.

Not with her thoughts rushing about as she listens for the sound of the door. It is well past midnight, but she refuses to look at the clock, simply waits for the sound of his key. Or perhaps he’ll take the opportunity to pick the lock as he still does on occasion, never ceasing to find amusement in the game that led to so much more.

She doesn’t quite know what to expect after the strange turning of events today. There is only the certainty that they seem to have arrived at some sort of crossroads without either being aware of its approach. It was the first thing she thought of after returning to her office following a conversation with Director Cooper that she hadn’t any idea would occur. She sat there in a daze wondering what on earth she had just done, wondering why it took her so long.

The buzzing of the phone interrupted her thoughts and with a blink she looked around at the gray walls of the Post Office that seem to close in around her, everyday more so.

“Lizzy, I’ll be returning late tonight or, I should say, very early. Either way, please don’t shoot me when I come through the door.”

“Raymond, are you-”

“Everything is fine, simply a small change of plans. I didn’t want you to think someone was breaking in.”

“You’re the only one who breaks in,” she said with a laugh, not understanding what was happening.

“That’s very good to hear.”

He was gone and she sat there wondering about him as well as herself. Why she suddenly and impulsively went to Cooper a few days from her long awaited vacation and extended it. Indefinitely. Why Raymond suddenly cut short this latest business trip when he’d barely had time to cross the Atlantic.

Hours later she is no closer to an answer.

Or perhaps she doesn’t want to acknowledge it until he is here and she can see if it is there in his eyes. The same restlessness she senses, laced into everything around them lately.

If she hadn’t been listening for the soft click of the lock, she would never have heard it. He must have chosen the key tonight for it takes only a second before he makes his way to the kitchen where he pauses, listening. A moment more and he enters the bedroom, stopping again.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” she asks softly, the amusement evident in her voice as she turns to face him.

“I knew you were awake.”

The light she left on for him in the sitting room casts him in shadow, making it difficult to see his expression, but there is no denying the relief in his voice. Or the exhaustion.

“That’s because I can no longer sleep alone.”

“It is rather difficult, I’ll admit.”

“Come here.”

He peels off the layers one by one, letting them fall where they may before crawling into bed, seeming content to relax back with his eyes closed. But that won’t do, not at all, and she makes a point of stretching across his chest to switch on the bedside lamp. She takes her time sliding back, grabbing hold of his undershirt as she goes to pull him onto his side facing her.

“Okay, out with it.” His smile is immediate as is her exasperation. “You know what I mean. What happened?”

“I can only say that absolutely nothing happened, Lizzy.”

“You flew all the way to Paris for a business meeting but turned around at the airport.”

“I wouldn’t exactly put it like that.” His hand has found her arm and he traces its path to her hand before bringing it to his lips, before holding it close to his chest. One of his many small rituals. One of the many ways he tells her he loves her.

“And how would you put it?”

“I had Edward divert to Lisbon and we turned around there.”

“Quit stalling,” she returns quietly, scooting a bit closer.

“The meeting was likely to become contentious and I decided to…”

“Come home instead.”

A small nod, that is all, but it is enough. She has the answer she seeks in the depths of his gaze. The weariness that runs between them, part of the price they’ve paid in service to the list.

“Raymond, I have something to tell you. It’s serious.”

He draws back, enough to bring her into focus, before hearing whatever it is. “Alright.”

“I’m on vacation which means that, by extension, so are you.”

It’s a full ten seconds before he asks in confusion, ”What day is this?”

“It’s still Tuesday. Well actually, now it’s Wednesday.”

“Did I get the dates wrong?”

“You did not get the dates wrong. I decided to move it up.”

“That’s the most alluring thing you’ve ever said to me.”

She laughs softly, pulling her hand free to place it along his cheek, letting the stubble lightly scratch her palm. “There’s more.”

“My god,” he breathes, unable to escape the tantalizing prospect of an honest to goodness vacation from the Post Office days earlier than expected.

“I’ve extended it a bit.”

“How long?”

“I have no idea,” she concludes, returning her hand to rest over his, until their fingers link together between them. One of her many small habits. One of many gestures she hopes conveys her love for him.

“What are you telling me?” he asks, growing serious, knowing something momentous has occurred but not fully understanding what it is.

“I’m telling you we have some extra time. I also called Mr. Kaplan and asked if she knew of a good place we could hide away for a bit and think. Turns out she does.”

“Think about what?”

“About why you decided to turn around on the very day I took a leave of absence from the FBI.”

“Lizzy, I do think you need a rest and-”

“No, Raymond,” she interrupts quickly. “No. It’s more than that. You must have felt it since we returned from Paris.”

The slightest nod. Of course he senses its presence, this awareness that they can’t remain hidden indefinitely, at least, not here.

“I don’t know what we need yet so I want us to do all the things we’ve planned. The Royal Ballet next week and then Paris and the apartment. You talked about Rome afterwards if there was time and now there is. It’s also a convenient stopover before our next destination.”

“Wait, did Mr. Kaplan offer you the villa?”

“On Lake Como? Yes, she did.”

“She has never let anyone near that place. I only did a quick walk through with her the day she purchased it and afterwards I was cut off.”

He is rather indignant and she is rather amused. “She said you’d say something like that.”

“And she’d be correct.”

“She also said to tell you the timing was never right, but it is now. And she warned me that we would never want to leave and that could be arranged.”

“And?”

“And what?” she asks in confusion.

“And what do you have planned now?” He relaxes back as the amusement returns in an instant. “You’ve spent hours of your spare time working on our itinerary down to the last minute.”

“Not exactly to the last…”

He raises an eyebrow at her and she finally admits, “Fine. We’ll be stopping in Nova Scotia on the way.”

“I knew it.”

“Well, we have to pick up the keys from Mr. Kaplan. Besides, we can’t go and not spend a few days with her and Mary.”

“And?”

“And so they are putting together a little tour.” She ignores the chuckle that follows and continues matter-of-factly, “I talked to Edward and we thought day after tomorrow would be a good time to travel.”

“You talked to….Lizzy, I was with Edward all day flying back and forth across the Atlantic.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“I suppose Dembe knows too?”

“He says to call periodically so he won’t worry and that he’s always wanted to stay at the villa.”

“It seems it really is all planned out,” he grumbles, pretending to be offended at not being consulted.

“I wanted to surprise you.” She leans forward to lightly brush her lips against his and lets them linger. “Surprise.”

“There’s nothing I enjoy more.” Another kiss. And then another. “There’s a few things I enjoy more.”

“The thing is,” she says suddenly, pulling back to look at him with a small shake of her head. “It isn’t all planned out. Well, yes, I suppose I went a little overboard with the travel blogs, but that is only up until Lake Como. After that…”

“What comes after that?” he prompts, wanting to know what it is she is thinking that has softened her features and taken the worry away that only he would be able to discern behind her eyes.

“After that, nothing. It’s all a little hazy. It is just us and the days blending together until we’ll wake up one morning and won’t know if it’s a Sunday or a Wednesday.”

“I take it back,” he murmurs, sending a delightful thrill through her as his voice drops to that certain timbre reserved only for her. “That’s the most alluring thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“The last time I saw you, I was leaving for a negotiation on port fees and you were going to the Post Office and now…”

“We’re not.”

And may never again.

But she leaves it unsaid. Leaves it until she is ready and it’s almost as if he can read her thoughts.

“You need to really consider what it is you’re contemplating.”

“I intend to, but I can’t do that here.”

“Then we’ll wait and talk about it in Italy.”

It sounds a bit magical. It sounds completely right.

“You still haven’t told me what you’re thinking, Raymond.”

“I think it’s a beginning, Lizzy.”

“So do I,” she whispers, laying her head against his chest, remembering the day she discovered his secret and the one when he was ready to tell her.

They see it then. Something altogether new, as bright and clear as that first Paris morning. Each memory, every moment, added to the rest that brought them here, to all of this and more.

To all the days after.