Reddington absently swirled his wine glass as he reviewed the events of the past 48 hours. Overall his venture had been a success. Zamani had been dealt with, he'd proven his value to the FBI, and he'd managed to secure adequate accommodations, courtesy of the US government. Though his proposal had not been officially accepted by the top tier of the FBI, he took the fact he'd been returned to the hotel as a promising sign.
Admittedly everything had not gone according to plan. Elizabeth was more of a wild card than he'd anticipated. His neck was still sore from where the doctors had sown up the puncture wound. The physical pain was nothing compared to the shame that accompanied it. It had been years, if not decades, since anyone had taken him by surprise. He had underestimated her.
In his defense nothing he'd learned about Elizabeth from the years of surveillance had suggested she would attempt such a bold and violent strike. Her profile suggested the she was exceptionally bright, indeed more intelligent than her FBI class ranking would indicate. She was well-liked by her peers and her instructors found Elizabeth to be a model student. Elizabeth had toed the line every second of her life until she'd stabbed him in the neck with that pen. The question was, 'Why?'
There had multiple external triggers at play that might explain the change in behavior. Elizabeth had lost the girl, her home had been invaded, and her husband hospitalized. His re-appearance after two and a half decades was another factor to consider. Emotional stress had a way of revealing a person's inner nature. Elizabeth had depths of which both he and the FBI had been completely unaware. Beneath the standardized federal agent exterior lurked a force to be reckoned with. What a pleasure it would be to liberate Elizabeth from the rules and protocols that stifled her true potential.
Reddington smiled, sipped his wine and moved out onto the suite's balcony. He noted and then dismissed the sniper positioned on the rooftop opposite. Apparently the FBI still had their collective panties in a twist from his little field trip this afternoon. The idea that they could contain him was absurd, but the alphabet agencies were notoriously bad at admitting defeat. He raised his eyes to the night sky. He couldn't make out the stars, but the moon shown bright and full. Nights like this always reminded him of the night his life had ended.
In his youth Reddington had possessed fanciful notions of patriotism and honor, much like the ones Elizabeth currently labored under. He served his government faithfully for ten years, right up until they'd tried to kill him. He'd found out later that his superiors had done a deal with the son of a warlord he'd killed on a sanctioned hit. The son offered "critical information" in exchange for the head of the triggerman.
Pure dumb luck had saved Reddington's life. He was leaving the airport in a rental car when he received a call from one of his informants. He'd been so happy to be heading home early he'd nearly ignored the call. If he had or his CI had waited another minute, Reddington would have died a fool, a sacrifice on the alter of his country's 'the greater good'.
Visiting Amanda and Elizabeth that final time had been a risk, but he couldn't bring himself to disappear into the night without a word. He'd soothed his conscience with the knowledge the government had never known about his family. No marriage or birth certificate existed that would tie him to the woman he'd loved or to his child. He'd taken every precaution so that no one knew where he disappeared to between assignments. Reddington had been right to assume his job would bring him dangerous enemies, he just hadn't realized at the time the United States of America would be one of them.
Two hard knocks pulled Reddington from his thoughts. Someone was at the door to his suite, an irritated someone, if he wasn't mistaken. He walked over to the suite's entrance and put his hand on the knob. Reddington paused just long enough to make it apparent he hadn't rushed, and then opened the door. Elizabeth stood before him, her arms down at her sides, and her hands balled into fists.
"Agent Keen, what an unexpected surprise. Please come in." Elizabeth strode past him, into the suite without a word of greeting, leaving Reddington to close the door behind her. Her eyes swept the room, taking in the luxurious accommodations and snorting in disgust.
"I've hidden all the complimentary writing utensils, if that's what you're looking for." He didn't really believe her intentions were homicidal, but humor was an effective tool when diffusing a potentially tense situation. He wanted it made clear to Elizabeth that he wasn't holding a grudge over their altercation.
"Assistant Director Cooper wanted me to deliver the news. The higher-ups approved your deal." She'd didn't face him as she spoke, so he couldn't read her face, but her voice sounded tense. She walked further into the hotel room, leaving him the option of following or being left behind. Was this a psychological move on Elizabeth's part?
"Of course, they're not complete idiots." Elizabeth suddenly stopped in front the lamp that had replaced the one she smashed less than 24 hours ago. A new camera had been mounted to the top. As she turned to face him, Reddington realized she had deliberately obstructed the lens. All anyone watching would be able to see was the back of her head. She pulled a small metal device out of her pocket and placed it on the table. An audio scrambler. She wanted to have a private conversation. Interesting.
"The room IS bugged then?" He'd been operating under the assumption that the suite contained both audio and visual surveillance equipment. It was unpleasant to know his every move was being observed by some dull government drone, but the lack of privacy was a necessary evil. More concerning was the limitations it placed on his ability to connect to the outside world. Information was power, and if the FBI discovered his sources, he'd lose his value and things would get very ugly very quickly. Naturally Reddington had come up with a way around this little obstacle, but that facet of his plan had had a temporary…hiccup. He'd made certain adjustments this afternoon after shaking the Feds and he'd know soon enough whether further alterations were necessary.
Reddington watched as Elizabeth reached inside her jacket. For a split second he thought she might be going for a concealed gun, but thankfully she removed nothing more threatening than a photograph.
"What the hell is this?" Elizabeth hissed, her voice low and angry as she held the photograph up from him to see. He didn't need to examine it closely; after all he was the one who sent it to her.
"It seems to be a photograph of me and your husband." The photograph had been taken over three years ago on a bench in one of DC's many public parks. The image captured Tom siting, enjoying a morning coffee while a few feet away Reddington read a newspaper.
"Don't bullshit me. If this is your way of threatening me-" He choose to interrupt before Elizabeth could reach the end of her sentence.
"I give you my word, little though it may be worth to you, that I am not, nor would I ever, threaten you in any way. I would also take this opportunity to apologize for my thoughtless comments last night and to wish your husband a full and speedy recovery," Reddington's mind performed a quick calculation before continuing, "I understand he has regained consciousness." He had no actual intelligence on the state of Tom Keen's heath, but odds were good that if her husband was still in critical condition she would still be at his bedside. Elizabeth's mouth opened slightly in surprise, confirming what had only a moment before been only an educated guess.
"Who told you that?"
"You just did." Elizabeth pressed her lips together, angry at herself and/or him.
"Pick someone else. There are hundreds of other agents for you to run your mind games on." Elizabeth didn't seem to understand how important she was to his plans.
"You're looking at this all wrong, Lizzie. Think of what an opportunity this is for you." It took years for rookie agents like Elizabeth to get near a task force, let alone one of this importance. He hadn't been lying when he'd told Elizabeth he would make her famous.
"Opportunity?! My husband is in the hospital because of you!" Reddington felt that accusation was unfair. Yes, in small way he was culpable for Tom's beating, but he wasn't the only one.
"No, your husband is in the hospital because of you." Elizabeth's eyes narrowed into slits.
"Excuse me?"
"You chose to join the FBI. You chose to wage war on the most dangerous men on the planet. You knew the risks." Those who pursue a dangerous line of work shouldn't be surprised when danger follows them home.
Reddington thought Elizabeth would explode again, but surprisingly his words had the opposite effect. The balloon of anger inside herself deflated before his eyes and left her looking weary. He suddenly realized she probably hadn't slept since he'd turned himself in.
"Why are you doing this?" The invisible barrier Elizabeth had erected between them vanished and Reddington saw a glimmer of the little girl she'd once been. Memories he'd spent years repressing flooded his mind, and prompted him to answer more honestly than was his custom.
"I made a promise." This wasn't the whole truth, she wasn't ready for that yet, but it was an important truth.
"That promise was way past its expiration date."
"I said as soon as I could." Did she really believe he'd wanted to spend those years away from her? That he wanted to watch her grow from child to woman through the photographs and video recordings? That he'd never had the chance to play any role in shaping the life he'd created?
"Did it ever occur to you that I didn't want you to come back?" That fear had flitted across his mind at least ten times a day in these past months leading up to Elizabeth's graduation from Quantico.
"The thought did cross my mind when you drove a pen into my jugular." Her anger had been…astounding. He would admit to more than a twinge of jealousy toward Tom Keen, whose injuries had whipped Elizabeth into a violent fury.
"I'm not that six-year-old girl anymore. I was over it. I AM over it." Despite Elizabeth's protestations and her recent attack, Reddington knew she was lying.
"No, you're not. You could have done anything with your life. You could have been a doctor, or a lawyer, or a teacher, but you chose to become an FBI profiler, someone whose job is finding people like me." He didn't add that he knew how diligently she'd researched him throughout the years, that at Quantico she'd pour through his dossier at least once a month.
"And putting them in prison for the rest of their lives." Was that was she was telling herself, that she wanted to track him down and arrest him? If it was true, what a disappointment this turn of events must be for her.
"The point is, you were looking for me and here I am." An undefinable expression flickered across her face. She picked up her scrambler and returned it to her pocket.
"The guards will be driving you to the office at 7:30. Be ready to go." Elizabeth began walking toward the door.
"Care to join me on balcony for a glass of wine? There's a full moon tonight." Elizabeth's step faltered on as he said 'full moon'. She did remember. When she looked back over her shoulder her face was hard once more.
"7:30. Sharp." She yanked the door open and marched out before he could respond. Apparently Elizabeth was fond of having the last word. It was something they had in common.
Reddington decided to finish his wine and head to bed. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. Anyone bothering to observe him now would assume he had drifted off. It would have been pleasant to actually succumb to a peacefully slumber, but he couldn't nod off just yet. He focused on the hard object he could feel in the center of his pillow. In a few hours' time he was expecting a very important call.