Late November 2013
Red barely had time to hang up his coat before Liz cornered him. The last couple weeks had been a logistical nightmare. A terrible sense of foreboding settled over her when they couldn't reach Sam right away. She'd become more and more desperate with every passing day and today… today had been especially bad.
"Do you have any news? When can we leave?"
"Lizzy, come here. Sit down with me." Offering her a pained smile, he held out his hand. With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she took it.
He led her to the sofa, sitting with a leg tucked under him so he could face her fully. He cradled her hand in his, traced the bright, red lines of her tattoo as he was wont to do as of late. It was a reminder, she thought. A reassurance. She hadn't chosen him on a whim any more than he'd chosen her.
"There's something I have to tell you. About Sam."
Her eyes slid shut for a moment; she braced herself, screwed up her courage, and met his eyes again.
"The cancer came back, didn't it?"
Red nodded, unsurprised that she guessed so quickly. She took a slow, deep breath. Truth be told, she thought she knew as soon as Red did. The emotions they shared, they didn't come with an instruction manual, but the two of them were pretty good at working on instinct, especially where the other was concerned. She had developed a knack for deciphering what he was feeling. Earlier that day, he'd been awash with nothing short of despair.
"It's terminal," he said, solemn, apologetic. "I thought about waiting until we got there, letting him tell you himself, but…"
"But he'd downplay it. I'd end up having to weasel the truth out of the doctor like last time."
The tears would come, later. Right now she was… numb. She didn't know how many more shocks she could take before it started to affect her aversely.
"Why didn't he tell me he was sick? Why doesn't he ever tell me when he's sick?"
"Out of some misguided attempt to protect you?"
She gave an indignant huff. "All the men in my life are idiots," she said. "No offense."
"None taken."
She turned his hand over at the wrist, traced the veins up his forearm idly. She needed the contact, sure, but it felt like he needed it more than she did lately. For the most part, she was calmer these days when he was away, at least in regards to the separation. Red didn't take the distance nearly as well; she had two pet theories as to why that was the case, each of them equally likely and possibly both true.
"How is this going to affect our visit?" she asked, after a while.
"I'm not going to lie to you. It would have been easier if he wasn't in the hospital. We could have met discreetly at a location my people could ensure was secure. That's no longer an option. There's always a chance your old task force has Sam under surveillance on the off chance the reports of your kidnapping were… greatly exaggerated. Anything out of the ordinary might tip them off."
"Can't you find out if they do?"
"I have Grey on it, but we can never be one hundred percent certain."
They were blindsided. Totally and completely.
Set up. Sold out. Betrayed.
It was over and done with almost as soon as it began. Too quick for them to escape, to come up with a suitable back-up plan.
Liz could have lived the rest of her life without seeing the sharp, animal panic in Red's eyes as the agents swarmed them and led them off in different directions before they even made it past the nurses' station. To add insult to injury, they weren't even in the right hospital. Someone must have alerted the FBI and Sam had been moved quietly in anticipation of their visit.
The rush of blood in her ears drowned out the chaos surrounding them as their eyes locked, and she knew in that moment if Red hadn't been afraid she'd be injured in the fallout, he would have torn through anyone and everyone who stood in his way in order to get to her. That kind of devotion… It was alien to her. She hoped he kept a cool head once he was alone with them and the separation started to whisper its hideous lies into his subconscious.
There was a mole in Red's organization, leaking plans, schedules, locations… Someone would pay for those transgressions dearly. If she and Red ever got the chance to see the light of day again, that is. If anything happened to Red before they got out of this, she'd do it herself.
She'd make sure whoever was responsible suffered.
"Where's my father? Is he getting the care he needs or did you guys just dump him in whatever rat-infested little shithole was the most convenient for—"
Ressler's sigh was the long suffering sigh of a man who had spent the last hour listening to Liz turn the interrogation room tables on the last two agents. Too bad. He should have had the backbone to do it himself in the first place.
"For the last time, Keen, your father is safe. He's a civilian, we're not going to treat him as if he's guilty by association. Unless there's something you want to tell us. You seem to have a talent for attracting criminals."
Liz pursed her lips. That was a low blow. Well, two could play at that game.
"Where's Meera? Or does Red get the bad cop first?"
She should watch her tone, she knew she should. Taunting Ressler like that, showing such a blatant disregard for his authority wasn't wise in the least. Liz kept a tight rein on this side of herself since she was a teenager, locked away and boarded up in a battered corner of her mind, buried beneath her good grades and her degree and her FBI academy sweatshirt. It was amazing how easily she slipped back into this persona—the sharp-tongued gutter punk who could talk herself out of any situation working off of nothing but sheer adrenaline and nerve, and who would pick your pocket for good measure.
"You can interrogate me all you want," she said, when he refused to rise to her bait. "I won't talk unless Red's here with me."
Ressler gave her an unfathomable look, before he shook his head and rolled his eyes. "You two are impossible. He's been saying the same thing. God knows what the hell you've done to earn that kind of loyalty from him. Anyone else he'd sell out for a new Zegna tie and a Cuban cigar."
"Speaking of selling people out," she said, "do you have any idea who sold him out?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Ressler, come on. Surely you don't think after five years of evading you day in and day out, he'd suddenly slip so badly that you'd catch up to him in less than a month?"
"Who says anyone sold him out? Maybe we caught up to him because he was distracted this time."
"He doesn't let anything distract him enough to put his freedom in jeopardy."
"Not even you?"
Liz suppressed a wince. No. It wasn't true. Ressler had a source, she knew he did. One of Red's people was compromised.
Ten minutes went by. Fifteen. Twenty. Ressler paced the small room, quickly losing patience with Liz, with her stubborn silence.
"Why would you run with him? Why throw your career away like that? And, let's face it, your freedom. Because we both know where this is going to end up."
"It's complicated."
"That'll do you fuck-all in front of a jury, Keen."
"I don't give a shit what a jury thinks about me."
"Well, that's good. We'll charge you under the Patriot Act, you'll never see one."
"Gee, thanks, Ressler. That really puts me in a sharing mood." She leaned back in her chair, handcuff chains clinking as she went. "Let me see Red. Prove that he's OK. Then maybe I'll think about talking."
"Keen, Reddington's a cold-blooded killer! He's an opportunistic sociopath, he's toppled governments, financed wars, facilitated terrorist attacks… He has the blood of tens of thousands of people on his hands, all collateral damage on the way to making sure his business thrived. Just in case you have any illusions about him."
"I'm not an idiot, Ressler. I know what he's done. Do you realize what I've done? I'm sure you've put the pieces together by now."
Ooh, that struck a chord. He looked uncomfortable, as if he didn't want to believe what he was thinking. His shoulders slumped and he gave up what little was left of his attempt to appear physically intimidating. Whether it was because it was obviously not working or because he didn't have it in him anymore, she couldn't say.
"If you have any information on the whereabouts of the man who called himself Tom Keen, we'll be happy to take that into consideration while deciding the severity of your charges. Helping us bring in a wanted assassin will reflect well on you and your willingness to cooperate."
"I can't help you with that. I have absolutely no idea where Tom Keen is," she said, "but I am sure of one thing: he's dead."
Ressler clenched his jaw, visibly steeling himself before he asked what needed to be asked. "Why are you so sure he's dead?"
"Because I killed him."
"He was a dangerous man," he said, losing more and more confidence as he spoke. "I'm sure it was self-defense. No one would convict you for—"
"He was tied to a chair. I shot him point blank in the head, while he begged me not to."
Ressler's face grew more drawn with every word, as if there was still some small part of him that recoiled at the thought of her being capable of doing something like that. And, oh, how quickly he went from threatening her with life in prison to assuring her she would be cleared of her husband's murder! He couldn't seem to make up his mind whether he thought she was a naive innocent corrupted by Red's influence or the co-conspirator the FBI had always suspected her of being.
"Just in case you had any illusions about me," she added; Ressler looked ill.
"You still could have come to us," he said, weakly. "You didn't have to run. We could have worked something out together."
"You guys used my dying father as bait to catch me. Why the hell would I trust you to have my best interests at heart?"
Ressler frowned; he motioned for someone behind the mirror.
"Bring him in," he said.
Butterflies danced in Liz's stomach as the door creaked open and two heavily armed guards escorted Red into the interrogation room. He looked fine save for some swelling around his jaw. He hadn't put up too much of a fight, then, thank God. They shoved him roughly onto one of the chairs, yanking his arms around while they attached his restraints to the ring bolted to the table, but he didn't react to the shoddy treatment, no, he didn't even blink. In fact, he hadn't taken his eyes off Liz for one second since he shuffled through the door.
As soon as the guards stepped out of the way, Red and Liz leaned forward; the handcuff chains rattled through the steel ring as they reached out and clasped each other's hands. The lack of privacy didn't matter in that moment—the only thing that did was the physical connection.
Ressler scoffed, noticing the way their agitation started to fade at the contact. "Geez, the way you guys act, you would think you were…" He trailed off, realization dawning slowly. "Oh, for fuck's sake. I should have guessed. That's why you didn't want me to see your tattoo."
Neither one of them reacted.
"Hello? Keen? Reddington? Hey, I'm talking to you!"
At long last, Liz tore her gaze away from Red's. "What'd you say?" she asked, blinking up at Ressler like she only just noticed he was in the room.
He shook his head. "Well, I'm gonna have to see it now."
"See what?"
"Your tattoo."
"What does that have to do with—"
"Oh, give it a rest. How much of an idiot do you think I am? That's a rhetorical question, Reddington."
Red gave him a tight, amused smirk. Ressler rolled his eyes.
"Look, it's this simple—if you're not soulmates, showing me the tattoo would prove it. But you can't do that, because you are. There's no other logical reason to refuse. And don't go spouting anything else about privacy, Keen. You're a prisoner. You don't get to dictate that anymore. We didn't document every square inch of your skin when we brought you in out of respect for the good you did when you were on this side of the table. That courtesy can easily be revoked."
"Who's to say seeing her tattoo will even prove anything, Donald? I doubt you have every word I've ever said memorized. If you do, I have to say I'm flattered, but I'm already taken."
"Fine," he said. "We can handle that."