A/N: This is set up sort of like an episode of the blacklist; so it wont be terribly long, I don't think. Enjoy! :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the characters I've made up and added to the original storyline of the (fantastic) drama series, "The Blacklist".
Red
Chapter One: Raymond Reddington makes a house call
The asphalt crunched beneath the dark vehicle, as it pulled to a stop before a small home.
"We're here, Raymond."
The african american man's deep voice was carried easily into the back of the car as he looked into the review mirror. The other man reflected there looked up from his copy of the New York Times. His blue eyes glanced briefly back at the driver in the mirror, then turned to look out the window.
"Aw! So we are. Excellent. Come, Dembe. I believe we're just in time for a divine plate of cinnamon pancakes." Raymond Reddington smiled widely at Dembe, and neatly folded away his newspaper.
The home itself was rather run down, but the owner seemed to be attempting to keep it nice by planting white rose bushes and lavender in front of it's unfortunate windows. It helped, but the sense of neglect was still quite strong. The grass was browning in the autumn air, and it folded beneath the shoes of the two gentlemen that approached the house.
Red pressed his sunglasses a little further up his nose, and with his black fedora, black suit and black overcoat, he was the very image of expensive classical elements made practical. Dembe behind him was dressed simpler, but with the same expensive taste. He studied the neighborhood with a sharp eye as Red knocked on the door. The neighborhood studied them back through closed curtains and wide eyes. Nothing interesting-and no one interesting ever came through here-so who were these two strangers, and what business could they possibly have here?
The front door creaked open a moment later to reveal a thin, lovely woman around twenty-six. She was having some trouble with the door, however, because at one moment part of her face was visible before it vanished again and there was a dull 'thunk!' sound. The door closed almost entirely with a loud, "Sorry, hang on!" and a few, disgruntled, choice words later.
Red chuckled, "Should I come back at another time?" He called.
It went silent on the other side of the door briefly, and then there was a hurried shuffling and the door at last opened the entire way to reveal her grinning face, and the large black boot brace covering her right leg from the knee down. "Raymond!" She half limped, half stumbled forward and they embraced. "Oh! I haven't seen you in ages!" He chuckled. "How are you, Amelia?" She returned the hug, and as he released her she winced when she took a step back. He looked down at her feet as she spoke, "I know, it's been a while. I got married, and had a few kids."
"And a few injuries, it appears." He said concernedly. "Are you alright?" Raymond helped steady her when she teetered precariously. Amelia smiled but it seemed a little forced, and she waved her hand dismissively. "It's fine, I fell off of a ladder-it was stupid, really."
She looked away before Red's shrewd eyes could discern more; and before he was able to press the issue, the woman gestured inside. "Would you like some breakfast? I'm just mixing a batch of cinnamon pancakes now. Some sausage and eggs are sitting on the stove, too."
Raymond's blue eyes pierced her own-for less than a half-second longer-and then he smiled, "Thank you, that would be delightful." They all stepped inside, and Dembe closed the door behind them.
Amelia's house on the inside was clean but a little disorganized-the disorganization mainly consisting of the children's toys-which were strewn about rather haphazardly. Amelia made a small, embarrassed laugh, as she hobbled along and used her boot to move a few toys aside. "Mind your step-it's a bit of a mine field in here." They entered the kitchen, and Amelia set them both a place there at the worn table.
Through the course of the meal, Amelia explained to Raymond her life over the past six years. Her marriage, and how her husband Marcus was gone almost all of the time on long business trips. She told him about her children, Julia who had just turned three, and Max who was five. Both children liked Red very much, and were a little shy towards the quiet Dembe at first. They soon warmed up to him, however, when Red told them stories about the mysterious man, and Dembe would add something in his deep voice here and there that would make them giggle. Once the children had finished eating, they bundled up and ran outside to play. Amelia was flipping the last of the pancakes onto a plate while Red and Dembe finished.
"That was delicious, Amelia! Wasn't it, Dembe? We appreciate it, immensely." Dembe nodded, and Reddington wiped his mouth with the cheap paper napkin from the table, making it look for all the world as though he had just finished a meal in a little cafe in Paris. The ex-FBI agent could make the most boring thing interesting if he wanted to.
His hat, sunglasses, outer coat, and suit coat had been removed and placed on an obliging chair beside him, making even the old wood chair look classy.
At last he slid his plate away. "Now, on to business. I have a job for you, my dear, if you have the time." He leaned back in his chair leisurely, and sipped his orange juice. Amelia looked from Red to Dembe, who sat near the back door, keeping watch on both her children and the perimeter as he ate his own breakfast, balancing his plate on his knees. She bit her lip lightly and returned her gaze to Red's friendly eyes. They'd always been on good terms, and she hadn't any plans to jeopardize that. Her only worry was her husband, Marcus.
He was abusive; and if his job didn't take him out of the country for days on end, she would most certainly be dead by now. Amelia paled and cast another worried look out the window at Julia and Max. They were playing on the swing set, oblivious to her concerns-and she would keep it that way, for as long as possible. Marcus was coming home later that night from his latest over seas business trip, and he'd be extra cranky from the jet lag. It didn't bode well for her. The woman's lips pressed together in a frightened line.
"Amelia."
Red's voice was concerned but firm-was he pressed for time? She started and leaned away from the window. "Right, sorry. What do you need me to do?" He set the glass down seriously, his blue eyes calculating as he stared at her. "Is something going on between you and Marcus that I should be aware of?"
Amelia became still, then shifted slowly, self-consciously, from foot to brace-booted foot. Dembe turned his head to look as well, and they both watched her closely. The brunette felt her heartbeat quicken fearfully and her face flush as she flashed her teeth in what was hoped to be a reassuring smile. But there was a sliver of fear in it, and she avoided Red's frowning eyes by turning to the kitchen sink and putting dishes inside. "No. Why do you ask?" Her voice sounded so unconvincing, that even she cringed at it.
The heavy silence that followed was broken by the sound of Red's chair sliding back, and then heavy footsteps. "Because you seem distressed. Did he do that to you?" Red's voice was suddenly much closer, and despite knowing he was approaching, Amelia nearly dropped the frying pan she was washing into the sink with a clatter. She clenched her jaw, angry with herself. If Marcus found out someone knew, it would be bad. She peeked over her shoulder at Raymond where he stood at the counter a few feet from her with his arms folded across his chest. His expression was carefully cool in a dangerous way that usually promised future violence for whomever he was displeased with-in this case Marcus.
Amelia swallowed and turned firmly back to the frying pan, scrubbing it furiously with a sponge. "Amelia." He pressed, "If you let him go unchecked, it could be your children who get hurt next. Is that what you want?" He spoke it quietly and fervently, and the woman's hand convulsed around the sponge, the blood draining from her face. Horror and a sick feeling filled her stomach at his words, and her voice was fierce as she replied. "No."
"Then talk to me." He implored. She hesitated, then put both the sponge and pan down slowly in the sink, wiped her hands on her apron, and at last turned to Red. She struggled for the right words, and crossed her arms over her chest, until at last she found them. "It was Marcus. Almost every injury I've had since our marriage began, has been by him, or was caused by him." Hesitantly, she lifted her left sleeve to expose her pale arm. A long white crescent shaped scar near her elbow stuck out, and she swallowed. "I dropped a glass pan that was his mother's. He said because I broke something precious to him, he'd break me." Red's expression had grown deadly quickly, and he leaned away from the counter to inspect her scar. "He broke my arm. The children were at my parent's when it happened."
"And you've never considered leaving the man?" He asked, but it was more of an affirmation then an actual question, and Amelia frowned. "I've tried; but he always seems to know when I'm going to leave, and then he makes plans for our family that day. It's to the point where I can't leave with the children without it being obvious." Red smiled slightly. "Then you need a distraction."
"Who is she?" Agent Elizabeth Keen of the FBI held aloft a close up shot of a woman called Amelia Barton to study it.
From across the room, Red tilted his head to the side to examine the painting before him. "A friend-in desperate need of relocating." Elizabeth shot him a look, "And you're expecting me to provide your criminal friend with a new life?" Elizabeth put the photo down hard onto a box-covered pallet in front of her, and the sound echoed in the warehouse, turned storage space. "I don't think so."
Red spoke to himself and straightened up. "The reds in this painting are really very exquisite." Elizabeth, becoming impatient, glared, "Look, I didn't have to come here. There are plenty of other cases that I've got piling up. So unless you're about to explain to me what it is exactly that you want from me, I'll be leaving."
Elizabeth turned to the exit, when Red's voice carried over to her. "Amelia Barton." Lizzy came to a stop, and slowly moved around again to face him. "Who?" Red stepped away from the painting and turned to the FBI agent. "Amelia Barton-formerly known as Amelia Porter-she used to work for the Museum of Modern Art in New York as an appraiser. She could spot a fake painting a mile away. Her career was looking up, before she married that scum masquerading as her husband." Elizabeth's eyebrows rose. "Is that why you want me to relocate her? Because her husband's a jerk?"
"No, Lizzy," Began Red, suddenly quite serious. "Because he's abusing her." Keen's brow furrowed and she approached the palette again. "He's already broken one of her arms and just recently a leg, and Lord knows what else he's done to her. She has two young children who thankfully know nothing of the abuse." Red met her at the palette, his eyes dark. "I promise you this, Lizzy. Unless you look into her protection, I'll have no choice but to take matters into my own hands-and the only place you'll be finding Marcus Barton, is on a flyer for missing persons." A long silence stretched between them. Then at last Elizabeth pursed her lips.
"Fine."
Red smiled but it failed to reach his eyes. "Excellent! I expect to see Amelia and her children soon. Call me once you've secured them a home. I would like to speak with her-and I imagine you will too."
"Why would I want to speak with her?" Elizabeth queried irritably.
Red's eyebrows rose a fraction and he gestured behind him at the painting. "Because that painting behind me that half the art world is raving about? Is a fake." The woman looked at the canvas with new found interest. "If you want my help in discovering the forger, then you'd better bring her in as well." Red finished.
A/N: Well there's chapter one, I hope you enjoyed it! Review and let me know what you thought of it. More to come soon.
Disclaimer: The only things I own are my characters.
