December 1998
Rosalie left with her guards the night after Marcelo's charity event. She would be spending half of the end of year holidays with her mother and the remaining half with Florian and Marietta in Marseille. The break came at a good time, giving Raymond and Rosalie the space to sort out their conflicting emotions. Or so they thought.
When Christmas morning came around, Red and Dembe woke to a stack of gifts each under the tree at the safehouse in London. The men had smiled and laughed, the house a bit more cheerful. Rosalie had done the requisite books the pair enjoyed so much, but she had also given a few more personal items.
Dembe received a large box of lemon kolaches, a beautiful new prayer rug which was both lightweight and easy to pack, and a new pair of his favourite boots. The quiet bodyguard had grinned broadly upon opening each gift and guarded his baked goods most jealously.
He needn't have bothered, as Raymond received an identical box bursting with blackberry pastries. He also received a couple of rare records and three very soft cashmere sweaters. Red roared with laughter upon opening each box. He had forgotten admiring Rosalie's sweater their last time in London. She had remembered though, and came through in spades. Red now had three of the incredibly soft sweaters. One in oxblood, one in a deepest midnight blue, and one in a light dove grey.
Rosalie had her own stack of presents from the boys, Horace having been recruited to sneak them into the house unnoticed. The young woman awoke Christmas morning with the secret stash perched on the foot of her bed.
Dembe had gotten her a book on Mandarin, having promised to teach her in the coming year. He also gave her a new leather overnight bag which was bursting at the seams with fun-patterned socks and scarves.
Raymond had made good on his plans from their altercation with Altan. A smartly wrapped box held a small of the back holster for her Colt .45, in a leather which matched her shoulder holster perfectly. Another box held a beautiful silk kimono in a periwinkle blue. The woman cooed over the beautiful fabric, recognizing the ivory flowers decorating the garment as Spanish bluebells.
When Rosalie opened the largest box, she gasped as she pulled out a beautiful brown leather jacket. The leather was very lightweight and of course, fit like a glove. Rosalie beamed at her reflection as she moved this way and that in the mirror of her room, admiring the fit. It was much like Raymond's iconic coat, just a shorter cut to suit the young woman's stature. The jacket's versatility and ample storage made it perfect for a criminal, and she had secretly envied the garment since she first saw Raymond in it.
A jarring jingle issued from one of the many pockets. Rosalie sifted through several before pulling a burner phone from the depths of the jacket's interior.
"Merry Christmas, Raymond." she grinned upon answering.
The deep, comforting chuckle she was growing terribly fond of issued from the phone. "Merry Christmas, Rosalie, I take it you've located your contraband?"
Red was standing in the office of the London safehouse, smiling at nothing as he talked to her. A tinkling laugh echoed from the phone, making the smile broaden. He could hear her shifting about, examining her reflection.
"I love it." She sighed happily, zipping the garment closed. "How did you know I envied yours?"
"I didn't." Raymond answered truthfully, pleased she was enjoying his gift. "It's practical, that colour always looks good on you."
Rosalie's cheeks turned a vibrant pink in the mirror. The jacket had a rich hue to it, the exact colour of wildflower honey, and it certainly did look good on her. However, knowing he was thinking such things brought the woman's mind back to treacherous waters.
Red could tell by the silence Rosalie was blushing. He hadn't meant it to sound quite so intimate, though he had bought the jacket with the assumption she would look adorable in it.
"What about you?" She asked, diverting the conversation. "What contraband did Santa bring you and Dembe?"
Raymond let out a barking laugh, "I didn't realize Santa visited the safehouses. Imagine my surprise when there were pretty trinkets under the tree."
"They're probably filled with coal." She quipped, her nose scrunched in amusement.
"I'll have you know, Santa and I are on excellent terms." Red intoned, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek.
"Santa and Dembe, more like." The woman chirped with barely contained mirth.
"You wound me, my dear." He pouted, making her giggle openly.
"I'm sure you'll find a way to salve those wounds."
The young woman couldn't stifle the brazen thought that she would be happy to tend them for him, but she certainly couldn't say such a thing aloud.
Raymond's tone turned playful, "I'll have to drown my sorrows in Hank Mobley and blackberry kolaches. Since my usual source of comfort and general skulduggery is God knows where."
Rosalie grinned, "You're sure you won't come to Marseille?" She asked again, feeling lousy for Red and Dembe being at the safehouse just the two of them.
"No, we'll leave you to Florian's, we have plans for Chinese take away and relaxing over New Year's." He laughed, "Besides, I think Florian is still quite unhappy with me. Best not to intrude upon his hospitality."
Rosalie stopped pacing her room immediately. "What on earth could he have to be upset about?"
"You were shot just a month ago, darling." Raymond reminded, his demeanour darkening at the unpleasant memory.
"That was hardly your fault." She insisted, setting about packing her new overnight bag.
A dry chuckle left Red's mouth unbidden. "In a way. It was your association with me which had you in there in the first place."
The little innkeeper's temper flared, "My association with Florian got us into that warehouse. We needed a location and I knew it was available. It's my fault for not ensuring it was secure."
Raymond shook his head, "Rosalie, Florian has every right to be upset about you being shot. The issue is an outside threat. We're dealing with it, but working with me creates a certain level of risk for you neither Florian nor I are happy with."
An angry bubble burst inside the woman at his words, recognizing them as sounding more like Florian than Raymond. "What did you and Florian discuss at Marcelo's?" she asked sharply.
Red grimaced, still pacing the office. "Nothing of import." He evaded, a little unnerved at how quickly she had sensed the truth of the matter.
"Don't lie to me Raymond," Rosalie grumbled, her mood souring further. "What did Florian say to you?"
Raymond had to bite back his amusement. He secretly enjoyed her fiery little temper, and having her outraged on his behalf made the man's entire body radiate a pleasant warmth.
"He said he wants better for you than being shot at in warehouses, and if I cared one iota for you, I would too." Red recited, deciding not to keep the discussion from her.
Rosalie bristled, practically growling into the phone. "He shouldn't have said such a thing."
Raymond sighed, perching himself on the window sill. "He's right, Rosalie, and I do."
"Do what?" She snapped, tossing errant articles of clothing into her bag, completely missing his meaning.
A bold recklessness took over Red, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble. "I do care for you, Rosalie."
The woman's mouth fell open at the statement. The shock buckled her knees, dropping her onto the bench at the foot of her bed with a thump. She had not expected it. She would have been fine, really, had he not admitted it. Somehow, hearing the words soothed the ache from what transpired in Munich while simultaneously replacing it with something new that made her body tremble.
"I care for you too, Raymond. Very much." She admitted, her fingers fidgeting with one of the bench's tufted buttons.
"I can't put you in such danger." He reminded her regretfully.
"I know."
The man's voice stayed low, an impossibly comforting sound. "I would be remiss, though, if I let you think for one moment I don't want to pursue that particular avenue."
"Raymond…" she breathed, her entire being erupting in goose bumps. "We can't keep doing this."
"I know," he murmured, "I just needed to say it. Just once." Red rubbed his face gruffly, striding out of the office. "I'll let you go. Give my regards to Florian and Marietta."
"Raymond?" Rosalie called, stopping him from hanging up.
He was silent, listening patiently for her response.
"Don't think for one second I don't want that too." She whispered.
A small smile twitched at Red's mouth. "...I'll see you soon, Rosalie."
The call ended with a soft click.
December 30th, 1998 - The Armel Estate - Marseille, France
Rosalie arrived in Marseille early the morning before New Year's Eve. Marietta fussed about, deploring she didn't call often enough. The young woman made it up to her by taking her out for a girls' day at a nearby spa, followed by shopping and dinner. By the time the women returned in the evening, Marietta was in excellent spirits.
As they entered the house, Rosalie could hear the sound of Florian's booming voice echoing from the library. The sound, usually so comforting, had dropped a stone in the young woman's stomach. Turning to Marietta, she said, "Maman, I'm going to see what he is up to." Rosalie jerked her head toward the sound of the blustering man.
The older woman nodded, smiling and toting her purchases toward her room.
Rosalie made her way down the hall and knocked softly on the open door of the library.
"We need to talk."
Florian looked up from his discussion with Cedric to give her a steely look which the young woman returned with interest. The mobster asked the younger man to give them a moment.
Cedric left with little ado, recognizing Rosalie was in no mood to be trifled with.
As the heavy oak door closed behind him, Florian gestured toward the open seat, which Rosalie took.
"I heard something of concern from my business partner Christmas Day. It seems you felt it necessary to chastise him for what happened in Munich."
The man pulled the stopper from a bottle of cognac, "You were shot because of him."
"That wasn't Raymond's fault." she defended.
"There is an issue within his organization." Florian insisted, pouring two glasses of the amber liquid and handing one to her.
Rosalie took a sip and shook her head pointedly. "It's an outside issue."
The old mobster scowled disbelievingly. "How would you know?"
"It was why we were in Munich. One of his associates was killed."
"So you aren't the only person associated with him who's being shot." He shrewdly observed, peering over his glass at her.
"That was far from the first time I've been shot at, Florian."
"You know what I mean, Fille, I want better for you."
"And this 'better' you speak of, does it take into consideration what I want?" Rosalie's tone was icy, determined to alter Florian's sudden change of opinion on Raymond.
The man's frown deepened at her questions. "Rosalie, you know I wish you to be happy."
"I'm happy with Reddington." She snapped defensively, "I was happy before the mess in Munich and I'm happy now."
"That's not what Otto tells me." The old mobster retorted, "According to him, you were quite upset the night of Marcelo's party."
Rosalie's slate eyes hardened, the older man smirked triumphantly. "Otto needs to learn to keep his mouth shut." she stated bluntly, "Raymond and I were confronted with the fact that something in our friendship changed, and due to circumstances bigger than either of us, we can't explore those possibilities."
Florian frowned in confusion, "What circumstances?"
"There's something coming for him. Something big." Rosalie growled, her sharp eyes meeting Florian's icy blues. "If we were to become romantically involved, I would become a point of weakness. His enemies could use me to destroy him, and I can't allow such a thing to happen." Her gaze fell to her fingers which were fidgeting with the zipper of her new jacket. "Likewise, he knows what's coming and refuses to drag me into the fray."
"You're protecting each other by staying apart." stated Florian, the hard look on his face softening as he comprehended the situation.
"Yes." agreed Rosalie in a quivering voice, the emotions pressing in on her once more. "Frankly, this past month has been terribly unpleasant because of it." The young woman stood, "I should be going. I've got business to attend to in New York. You can have Otto back, I've no use for a guard whose loyalty is so obviously split."
"Ma Fille-" Florian began, ready to chastise her.
Rosalie wasn't having it. "No, Florian. He went behind my back and blabbed about a private matter. How could I trust him after that? Between Horace, Ted, and Dembe, I'm sure we will get along just fine."
Rosalie stopped to bend and kiss his cheek, shelving her anger for a moment. "I love you, Pére. Very much."
The man stood to walk her out, seeing her decision was cast. She hugged him once more, promising to call once she landed.
"And Pére," Rosalie added, stopping in the doorway, "Don't ever tell Raymond Reddington what he should want for me."
New Years' Eve - Soho Safehouse, New York City
The afternoon of New Year's Eve, Dembe was surprised to hear the lock click on the door to the safehouse. He was reading in the kitchen when he heard the sound, immediately leaping to his feet, gun in hand. A head of blonde hair poked through the doorway, raising an eyebrow blithely at him.
"Room for one more?"
Dembe dropped the weapon immediately, tucking it back into its holster. Her question was worded softly, timidly, in a manner most unlike the innkeeper. The young bodyguard eyed her bags quizzically.
"We didn't expect you for a few more days at least." Dembe explained his less than friendly welcome. He beamed, seeing her toting her new overnight bag and wearing the jacket Raymond had gotten her. The young man gallantly took the bag from her and walked with her to one of the guest rooms.
"Yes, I'm a tad early, I hope that's alright." She fidgeted slightly upon entering her room.
The younger man smiled softly at her. "Raymond will be pleased. I am happy you are back, too."
The innkeeper's expression lit with warmth, reaching to squeeze Dembe's shoulder in thanks. He smiled back at her and left so she could unpack in peace.
After settling into her room, Rosalie went in search of a drink, unsure where Red was.
She took a heavy crystal glass from the bar cart in the lounge, loading it with ice, tonic, and her preferred gin. The bottle had just been put back in its place when a pair of large, warm hands grasped her shoulders.
The grip was gentle, moving to rub up and down her arms. Soothing thumbs kneaded the tight muscles, coaxing a soft sigh from the woman.
"You're home early." Raymond's voice purred against the shell of her ear.
The feel of his warm breath on her neck tickled, "I hope you don't mind," she shivered, "I was ready to come back."
Red gently turned the little woman around, his hazel eyes searching her features. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she lied, reaching up to stroke the soft cashmere of his sweater. He was wearing the dove grey one she had gotten him for Christmas. "I just needed to come home."
Her eyes belied the truth, though, telling Raymond everything. She had gotten into an argument with Florian over what was said at Marcelo's, and didn't want to talk about it.
Red hadn't meant for her to take up the issue with the old mobster. Though he should have known she would. Sensing her consternation, he leaned forward, wrapping his strong arms around her lithe frame.
Rosalie relaxed into the embrace, pressing her body tight to his and nuzzling into Red's shoulder. The frustration of the past few weeks melted into the ether, replaced by the comfort and affection radiating from the man holding her. They stood wrapped up together for several long moments before the sound of Dembe walking the hall pulled them from their solitude.
When the young man poked his head into the lounge, Raymond didn't budge.
"Yes?" He murmured, cheek still resting atop the head of blonde hair.
"I'm ordering from Nom Wah's shortly." He held up a menu, "Rosalie, do you want your usual?"
"Yes, please." the woman's muffled voice issued from Red's chest.
Dembe smiled knowingly and closed the door, his footsteps retreating back down the hall.
Rosalie lifted her head to look at Raymond. "Is this okay?"
"Is what okay?"
"Dembe. I think he might have noticed." she laughed gesturing between them.
"Oh he won't say a word." Raymond sighed, still holding her tight. "If there's anyone we can trust with these moments, it's Dembe."
"Really?" She whispered, her smile widening in surprise.
He smiled back at her, reaching to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. "Of course. Dembe is the only one who knows about our little sleepover in Munich. He may have teased me about it later on in private, but he hasn't told a soul what we got up to."
"How did he find out?" asked Rosalie, aghast.
"We left the door open," chuckled Raymond, enjoying her surprised expression. "He closed it for us."
The woman held a newfound appreciation for her young friend. It meant quite a lot for him to keep their confidence, not even telling Horace what had transpired. When Dembe returned to inform them of when the takeout could be expected, Rosalie hurtled across the room and hugged him tightly.
Dembe was surprised to say the least, hesitating a millisecond before returning the affection, a serene smile lighting his features.
Raymond stood, hands in pockets, watching the proceedings with unguarded affection.
The trio spent the next few hours enjoying their rare quiet evening in. There were boxes upon boxes of heavenly smelling food from Nom Wah's, which they had devoured until fit to burst. The time between dinner and ringing in the New Year was filled with raucous stories, several competitive board games, and one very well-loved record player.
As it neared midnight, the three had settled onto the sofa, Dembe in one corner, Raymond in the other, with Rosalie nestled in between, her head resting in the crook of Red's shoulder.
The pair had stayed within touching distance all night. A brush here, a squeeze there, they took full advantage of the nearly empty house and Dembe's trustworthiness to satiate a bit of their need for physical contact.
When the grandfather clock in the lounge chimed 11:45, Rosalie dropped her hand to squeeze Red's knee and extended a slender leg to prod Dembe's torso with a sock-clad toe.
The impish smirk on her face fell when, to her immense surprise, Dembe reached with cat-like reflexes and snagged her foot. A mischievous grin overtook his features as his other hand reached to tickle the bottom of the appendage.
Rosalie squealed with laughter, desperately attempting to get away.
Raymond was of no help, wrapping his arms around the little woman, holding her fast and cheering his counterpart on in his pursuits.
By the time 11:50 rolled around, all three were roaring with laughter and breathing as though they had ran a mile.
Red beamed at the other occupants of the couch, his closest friends. Dembe's deep chuckle mixed jovially with Rosalie's tinkling laugh, creating an infectious duet that made the man's spirits soar.
"I'm going to the roof to watch the fireworks, anyone else?" the woman gasped, eyes streaming and heart still pounding. Her cohorts nodded, pushing lazily off the couch. Red nabbed the portable turntable and a couple of records while Dembe pretended to chase Rosalie into the kitchen, sending her into peals of laughter again.
The young woman stopped to make them each a hot drink while the men headed up to the rooftop deck. Raymond propped open the floor-to-ceiling windows with the cantilever, positioning the record player near the opening so the music would echo out into the night. He and Dembe stepped onto the cold terrace, zipping their jackets and donning their gloves.
"You two seem to be getting along." intoned Dembe knowingly.
"I could say the same for you." countered Raymond, having noticed the camaraderie blossoming between the bodyguard and the innkeeper.
"I like her," agreed Dembe, "She is good for all of us. Kind, warm, caring. She was very upset when she came home. I think she is much happier now."
A tender smile appeared on Reddington's face, recognizing how he and his counterpart had banded together to brighten her mood.
Rosalie appeared moments later with hot toddies for her and Raymond and hot chocolate for Dembe. She had also donned one of Red's fedoras. He had forgotten the item and was already feeling the chill.
The man laughed appreciatively, plucking the hat from her curls and popping it on his head with a flourish before taking his drink.
Rosalie handed Dembe his usual knitted hat before pulling on a pair of her own fluffy earmuffs.
The trio sat on the edge of the roof listening to the music and waving to the few neighbours willing to brave the chilly rooftops around them. All were silent, waiting for the sounds of the New Year.
As the clock ticked over to midnight, a lone golden firework burst into the sky, its fiery trail pointing to the location of Times Square in the distance. There was whistling and cheering all around as the revellers wished each other the happiest of New Year's.
Dembe stood, setting down his cup and murmuring, "And that is my cue, 'To All a Good Night!'"
Rosalie stood on her tiptoes and kissed Dembe's cheek warmly, making the young man flush with amusement. He turned to hug Raymond, the men giving each other a firm pat on the back before Dembe nodded, leaving the other two to their own devices. As he stepped through the opening below, they heard him switching the records, laughing merrily as 'Auld Lang Syne' came crooning out into the night.
Raymond cocked his head to the side, chuckling and beaming at the woman who was beaming back at him. Without a word, he held out his hand, which she took. He pulled the feminine frame tight to him, leading her into a dance.
It felt right, swaying and spinning her around the rooftop. The fireworks thundered in the distance, lighting the New York skyline with a riot of colour. Raymond looked down at the bundle in his arms, her face alight with warmth as she swayed with him.
When those dancing grey eyes met Red's playful hazels, something called to him. A vital promise of comfort and affection beckoned to him. Like a siren drawing a sailor to the sea, her gaze pulled him in, coaxing all manner of lies.
Red told himself her lips were made for him, that if he kissed them, just once, it would be enough. He convinced himself he'd be able stop at one. He was certain he could sail these seas alone for the rest of his days if he could taste her lips, just once.
Rosalie watched Raymond's gaze darken, volatile and wanting. Why did he have to be so handsome? So caring? He held her, steadfast and warm, bringing her attention back to those sensations she had been sorely missing. He was the only fixed point to which she could cling on this spinning blue ball. He was the only thing that calmed the chaos. The only thing that made sense in this world. She was certain, if she could kiss the lips that spoke so gently to her, the world would cease to move. Everything would be calm and quiet.
Surrendering to the tempting notions, they leaned closer, their noses brushing teasingly against each other's before finally giving in.
Their lips met in one gentle, chaste caress.
It was quick, too quick for either party's liking, yet the kiss held a searing, burning electricity. Like a lone streak of lightning flashing across a starless night, it was white-hot and blinding. The small affection held so much more than either was prepared for.
Raymond was hit with the overwhelming truth that just once would never be enough, that it seemed her lips truly were made for him, and most unsettlingly, he had no desire to sail any sea where she couldn't follow. He opened his eyes to see Rosalie's face mirroring the shock he felt.
Instead of the calm and quiet she had expected, the simple touch had brought forth a roaring inferno within her. The world seemed to speed up, hurtling at breakneck speeds as she tried desperately to hold on.
The pair's eyes met in stunned silence. They were in deep, deep trouble, and they knew it.
Raymond and Rosalie had crept back down the stairs, scurrying to their separate rooms, still reeling from what had happened on the roof. Rosalie changed in a hurry, donning one of her usual silk pyjama sets and the new kimono with the bluebells on it before steeling her resolve and tiptoeing down the hall.
It was a small kiss, it shouldn't have felt like anything. So why did it feel like everything? The young woman wasn't certain what had passed in that kiss, all she knew was that all she wanted was in the room at the end of the hall. Rosalie's mind went silent as she pulled up to Raymond's room, tapping on the door with a lone digit before entering.
Red was seated on his side of the bed beneath the blankets, his eyes wide and a lone brow quirked in question.
"We can trust Dembe and Horace won't be here until late tomorrow." she whispered, closing the door. "I want to sleep here, with you. Just for tonight." She allowed the kimono to slip from her shoulders, pooling like water on the floor.
Red's mouth went bone dry.
"Please?" she added, sweetly.
Raymond didn't have the strength to deny such a request. Especially when she said it like that. Her voice was soft and soothing, imploring the man within to acquiesce just this once. Without hesitation, he pulled back the blankets, the white sheets showing brightly in the moonlight. "Come here," he rasped, beckoning her to him. Rosalie wasted no time in moving over to the bed. The moment she slid into the cool sheets, Raymond pulled her body flush against his, cradling her head to his shoulder and burying his face in the nape of her neck with a broken sigh.
They weren't certain what would happen in the coming year. They weren't sure how long they could fight what was happening between them. For now, just tonight, they surrendered to their need for closeness. Just for tonight, they would sleep ensconced in their favoured sanctuary.
Unbeknownst to them, Dembe lie awake in his room, feigning sleep. A broad grin broke across the man's face as he heard the little footsteps scuttle from one end of the hall to the other before disappearing behind Raymond's door. 'Slowly but surely,' he mused, turning onto his side, 'the universe always finds a way.'
Four months later - The Liberty Safehouse - Washington D.C - April 1999
The next few months passed with little change.
Raymond and Rosalie settled back into their pre-Munich state; enjoying each other's company while pretending to be blissfully unaware of their mutual attraction. They accomplished this admirably, mostly due to the nights where one of them would break and sneak into the other's room, echoing the 'just for tonight' sentiment they had taken up on New Year's.
Dembe was still the only one to know about their late night wanderings. As was his way, he hadn't breathed a word to Horace or Ted, but had greatly enjoyed giving Raymond a good ribbing when they were alone. He had even teased Rosalie about it, chuckling at the vibrant blush that always graced her cheeks when he did so.
When Raymond left for Havana, however, the pair were forced to return to their original sleeping arrangements. They had parted in rather glum spirits in Washington D.C., staring down a long three weeks in separate countries.
Two weeks into the stint, Rosalie had just finished a new acquisition, and was heading back to the brownstone she affectionately dubbed, 'Liberty'. It was a lovely freestanding brownstone in classic red brick with dark black trim. Though Rosalie didn't particularly like D.C., it was the seat of the U.S. government, and therefore a hotbed of criminal activity. She had a handful of properties and had just been prevailed upon to purchase another as client after client was booking.
Red had been busy dealing with business in Havana, but he called a couple of times a day to check in, provide updates, and most importantly, to laugh with his business partner.
Ted and Horace had just walked her into the safehouse and plopped on the couch when a loud jingle erupted from Rosalie's jacket. She pulled out the burner, smiling at the sight of Raymond's most current number. Rosalie flipped the phone open and had just opened her mouth to speak when Raymond's voice rang clearly out of the speaker. "Rosie, dear!"
Rosalie halted, her blood running cold.
"I've been looking for that kolache recipe from the last time we were in Havana. Do you know where it is?"
Dread. Cold, biting dread filled the woman's stomach as she realized what the man was asking.
'Rosie, dear' was their code phrase.
Raymond was in trouble, and needed to get out of the safehouse in Havana. Rosalie mentally shook herself, her mind firing into action.
"Is the recipe on the fridge?" she asked, her tone concerned.
"No" he said genially. 'Ok,' she thought, 'he can't speak freely.'
"You need a black site?" she asked softly.
"Yes, and another pan." he emphasized.
Rosalie pulled out a pen and paper, her mind working feverishly. A pan?
"An exit?" she tried, unsure if she had come to the correct conclusion.
Red cocked his head, beaming at nothing in particular, "Yes, dear."
Rosalie's brain hurtled along, formulating a plan. Red needed a black site and a way out of the house which wouldn't draw suspicion. There was just one loose end.
"Doesn't Dembe knew my recipe by heart?" she asked, hoping he would understand. He did.
"You know; he might remember it but he's all the way out in the car." Red sincerely hoped nothing had happened to the young man in his absence. There were still two guards out front.
Rosalie would need to contact Dembe once Red was safely out of harm's way.
The path forward clear, Rosalie quickly and precisely guided him on what to do. "In the lounge, there's a copy of 'The Wheel Spins'. Middle bay, third shelf from the top, eighth book in. Coordinates are written on the binding."
Rosalie heard him jovially making his excuses to the individuals in the room and turn toward the hallway leading to the room in question.
"When you walk into the room, a key is hidden in the frame, at your eye level. Press the circle."
Red looked surreptitiously up at the door frame as he walked into the lounge, quickly prodding the inlay without missing a step. He caught the key which sprung out, making a beeline for the bookshelf.
"The key goes into the same bay where you'll find the book. Take both with you when you leave. The tunnel leads to a hatch by the main road."
Reddington plucked the book she had indicated from the shelf and slid the key into the lock. He slid behind the bay and closed the opening just in time to hear footsteps coming down the hallway.
"That's my clever girl." Raymond's voice purred affectionately in her ear as she heard him taking the tunnel's stairs two at a time.
Rosalie pulled another satellite phone from the kitchen table. "I need to call Dembe-" she began, but Reddington interrupted her.
"No," he barked, "if you call him, they will smell something is off and he'll become a target."
"You don't think they already have an inkling something is up after you Houdini-ed out of the lounge?" she snapped. Reddington's amused chuckle reverberated through the line as she dialled the younger man.
Dembe picked up immediately, his voice steady and calm. "I'm already on the move. Where is he?"
"Left at the bottom of the hill, on the main road. 200 yards from the turn."
Rosalie held her breath as she waited, listening to the sound of Dembe driving the sedan hard down the hill. Tires screeched through the connection as she heard a heavy metal thud from Red's line. The man was out of the hatch.
"On your left, Dembe." She whispered, still clutching both phones anxiously.
The young innkeeper's knuckles were white as she squeezed the devices, listening to the sounds of screeching tires and running feet.
Horace walked up to her confused as to why she was clutching two phones like the last life rafts on a sinking ship.
Her wide grey eyes looked panic-stricken as she mouthed the words 'Havana' and 'HUGE problem'. She turned to wave at Ted, gesturing him to bring the car back out of the garage. If Raymond and Dembe were hurt or captured, they would need to head to Havana immediately.
Tires screeched through both phones, and Rosalie let out a sigh of relief as she heard a car door open then slam shut, Raymond's voice echoed through the lines, breathing heavily. "Go. We need to make the airport before they do."
"Rosalie?" His voice echoed, losing some of its bite. "You need to take Horace and head for the black site."
Horace nodded at her, moving to pack up their things.
"How far do you think you can get?" she asked, whipping the black site folio from her bag.
"We can get state side, as long as we're on the plane in the next five minutes." Red tapped Dembe's shoulder softly, urging him to punch it.
The engine roared through the phone's connection as Rosalie scanned the folio feverishly. "The book, you need to separate the pages from the binding. The coordinates are there."
She no more than got the words out when she heard a tell-tale rip on the other line. Red read out the coordinates, "37.104894 x -83.323248?"
"Good," she said, "give those to Edward and stay below radar range." She heard the sound of Red and Dembe exiting the sedan and striding quickly to the plane, engines already roaring.
"Rosalie, we'll need to find an airport first." Red reminded looking in the distance for any tails.
"Oh no you won't." She sing-songed in his ear, "The property is nearly 300 acres, and it has a cleared landing strip."
Reddington emitted a barking laugh as Dembe hurtled through the plane's door, slamming it closed behind him. "Oh Rosalie," he sighed appreciatively, "When we land I'm either marrying you or giving you an obscene raise."
"My, my, what dictates your decision?" She purred as she heard him relaxing into one of the seats, safely airborne.
Raymond didn't miss a beat, "Whether or not there's kolaches." His tone was completely serious, and the man found his bodyguard nodding in agreement beside him.
"Dembe says if they're all lemon, he'll marry you." Red teased, holding the phone out of the other man's reach.
"I said no such thing, Rosalie." Dembe called in his smooth voice, then added, "But I would very much appreciate the lemon ones."
Her tinkling laugh cascaded out of the phone, warming both men considerably. "Are you telling me you wouldn't want to get married Dembe?" She whinged, her voice tinged with mock outrage.
"You couldn't keep up with me." Dembe teased, earning a roaring laugh from Raymond.
"If I feed you too many baked goods you won't be able to keep up with anyone." The woman quipped right back, making both men beam at each other.
"I'll see what I have, I'm not sure if I have blackberries either."
"I think she's trying to let us both down easy." Red intoned sullenly.
"Her loss, we are quite the catch." Dembe muttered sagely.
"Hold on now, I didn't realize you came as a two for one special." She teased, her interest obviously peaked.
Dembe chuckled deeply at the scowl that darkened Raymond's face.
"All joking aside, Rosalie, you need to take Horace and head for the black site as well. I don't trust Castro's people not to go after you. He seemed to know that was your house."
"Damn, I'll have to burn it then." He heard her grumble irritably. "Wait...did you say Castro? As in, the Castro?"
Red tilted his head back and forth, "The very same. The man is exceptional at rallying support, but when it comes to extra-legal activities, he's incredibly short-sighted."
"Is it really that bad, Raymond?"
He pondered the situation for a moment, "...No, I just fear Dembe and I will go stir crazy if it's just the two of us."
The woman laughed again, Red could hear her packing up her things and calling to Horace.
"Think of it as an impromptu vacation," he sweetened the pot, "Wherever we're headed we will actually be in one place for longer than two days."
Rosalie bit her bottom lip to keep from grinning, failing miserably.
"I'll take that as an emphatic and resounding yes." chimed Raymond, recognizing the sound of her overnight bag zipping.
"Yes" she all but squealed, causing a roar of laughter to issue from the device.
Rosalie and Horace packed hurriedly. Ted was bringing around the car and would fly out with them. Once Red's plane landed, Ted would board and escort the pilot to safety while Raymond and Dembe remained at the black site.
Raymond would be there in four hours, which meant the trio needed to leave immediately to get there before them.
A horn issued from the front of the house, alerting them to Ted's presence. Horace took the bags out to the car while Rosalie closed down the safehouse. Her guards came to flank her on either side as she exited the brownstone, intent on getting to the airport as fast as possible.
Rosalie's suv was heading down the highway at a steady clip when Red called again.
"Are you in the air?"
"Not yet," she said, watching as Ted navigated traffic. "We should be up in fifteen minutes."
"Good," sighed Raymond, his nerves calming slightly.
Rosalie's head turned towards Horace, a gasp just barely escaping her mouth before a loud crash sounded through the connection.
Reddington stood stock still in front of the aircraft's bar, listening to the sound. "Rosalie?" There was nothing on the other end.
"Rosalie!" Red called, his concern growing by the second.
Shouting echoed from the other line followed by a barrage of gunshots. Red's eyes were narrowed in anger as he strode quickly to the cockpit.
"Edward, there's been a change of plans. Take us to D.C."
"No can do, sir." said Edward, polite yet firm.
"What?" snapped Reddington.
"I'm under strict orders from your innkeeper. Black site protocol is in place, I can't deviate from the flight pattern." The man looked apologetic as he turned to look at Raymond.
"What do you mean black site protocol?" Red growled. He heard Rosalie's voice echo out of the phone.
"Raymond!"
"Rosalie, what happened?"
"We were side-swiped by someone. Horace took out the driver, I got their tires, but we aren't sure who else might be following us. We need to go dark."
"Are you okay?" He asked, concerned less about where they were headed and more about the sickening crunch he had heard coming out of the phone.
"Yeah, the windows were blown out, but we're fine." She sighed, "Raymond I've got to go, it's not safe for either of us to be on the phone. I'll see you soon, alright?"
The man pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "Okay, but when we get there you and I are talking about this black site protocol business." he groused.
"Deal." she laughed, closing the phone with a snap.
Five hours later - Black Site #5 aka "Break Maiden" - Undisclosed Location, Kentucky
Edward landed the plane on the dirt tarmac long enough for Raymond and Dembe to disembark and Ted to board before taking off again.
Horace stood at the gate to meet them, his expression sombre.
"Where is she?" barked Raymond, tossing their bags into the rear of the truck.
The older bodyguard held his hands up in a placating gesture. "She's fine, she's got a couple scrapes from the crash, but other than those she is absolutely fine. She's not out here to meet you because she's in the bath."
This did little to appease the high-strung fugitive. He waved the other two to follow him, quickly boarding the vehicle so they could get to the house. Horace smirked knowingly at his younger counterpart, whose eyes were glinting with suppressed amusement.
The truck rumbled up a long open stretch of pea stone road bordered by live oak trees and white split-pole fencing. There were dark shapes moving in the moonlight on the other side of the fence, but Raymond paid them no mind. He could see soft lights at the end of the lane. A magnificent farmhouse with an enormous wrap-around porch emerged like a crown at the top of the hill. It loomed tall above the trees, somehow alive and cheerful even in the dead of night.
The truck came to a stop in the horseshoe driveway, Red barely waited for the vehicle to cease its momentum before stepping out and striding purposefully through the home's double doors. He didn't stop to admire the warm, comforting atmosphere before he took the staircase, two at a time, up to the second floor.
Dembe laughed softly to himself, assisting Horace with the bags.
"One would think he missed her." Dembe commented smoothly in an undertone.
"Oh she missed him." Horace replied, beaming a mischievous grin. "She was pacing a rut in the floor waiting for you. It was driving me insane. I made her go take a bath and conveniently forgot to tell her when you had landed." The guard's amusement was barely contained as they brought the luggage into the house.
Dembe shook his head, thinking Horace would be very lucky to survive Rosalie's wrath once she found out.
He found Raymond in the upstairs hallway, leaning with his back against the master bathroom door. His eyes were closed as he breathed in deeply. From the confines of the bathroom, Dembe was surprised to hear a velvety voice issuing a gentle melody. He watched as Raymond's mouth twitched a soft smile, unaware of the bodyguard's presence.
"What's she singing now, Mustang Sally?" Horace teased loudly, coming up the stairs.
Reddington placed a lone digit in front of his lips and shushed him with a scowl. "Gershwin." he murmured, lying his head back against the door as the woman's voice crooned the opening bars.
Red's soul hummed a quiet contentment. She was fine. Rosalie was perfectly safe, singing away in the master bath, most likely entrenched in a horde of bubbles. The last thought left a tantalizing image in his mind which he struggled to remove.
Dembe arose from the stairs a moment later with an ice cold bottle of beer in each hand, holding one out to Raymond.
He took the beverage gratefully; it had been a terribly long day. The men stood in communal silence, listening to the impromptu concert with soft smiles written on their faces. Raymond had not been the only one missing the young innkeeper's presence. Dembe had obviously missed her as well.
The pair had developed a close camaraderie since New Year's, and could often be found deep in discussion whenever there was a free moment. They shared a love of languages and the written word, endlessly discovering new phrases and literary recommendations to share with each other. The sight always warmed Raymond considerably, pleased that they had found friendship in one another.
A few minutes later, they heard the sound of the bathtub draining. Dembe pushed off the opposite wall, clinking his bottle with Raymond's before taking his leave, giving them a moment.
Deciding not to linger too long on how that understanding came about, Raymond turned to stare fixedly at the door. The woman's humming could still be heard as she padded around the bath, completing her usual routine. Raymond had just set his bottle on a nearby piece of furniture when a drawn out sigh issued from within, the door unlocking with a click.
Rosalie stepped out of the steamy confines, not realizing Red was there. She called out to her guard, "Horace, if he's not here in the next ten seconds, I'm-" She stopped, seeing a pair of brown leather shoes in front of her. The slate orbs roamed up the familiar stocky frame, recognizing the waistcoat and crisp white shirt immediately. A soft gasp left her mouth when she met Raymond's gaze.
He looked at her with a mixture of surprise, concern, and hunger. The little woman was wrapped in naught but a fluffy white towel. Her blonde tresses fell in damp waves along her shoulders, which were a pleasant pink from the hot water. Red noticed a minor cut on the arm not holding the towel, and a small bruise on her left knee from the crash. As Horace had said, other than a few scrapes she was absolutely fine.
A tiny scratch on her left cheek called to him, but before Raymond could react, Rosalie was closing the space between them. A small hand reached out to touch him, skirting over his torso and unbuttoning the waistcoat that was covering his middle. Raymond was about to ask her what she was doing when, with a surge of emotion, he realized she was checking him for injuries. Her movements were frantic, fingers skating all over his body, rotating him so she could check every angle. Raymond gladly allowed her to bully him about in several circles, ensuring every inch of him was intact. Satisfied that he was in perfect condition, Rosalie stopped fidgeting and let out a shaky breath.
Red grinned, cupping her cheek gently and brushing a large thumb over the satin soft skin.
"You're okay?" She asked, the concern continuing to roll off of her in waves. Her anxious eyes still flitted critically over his broad frame.
"I'm fine, thanks to you." He took a step forward, his hand splayed on the wall behind her, thoroughly boxing her in with his large frame. "Have I ever told you just how incredible your network is?" he purred, eyes boring into hers.
"N-no" stammered Rosalie, her knees buckling. She was suddenly painfully aware of the heat coursing through her body, how little she was wearing, and how much his proximity was affecting her.
"You, my clever little innkeeper, have created something incredible." His thumb continued to stroke her cheek as a luminous blush flooded the porcelain skin. His praise seemed to rob her of speech, leaving a small 'o' of surprise between her rosy lips. "I have never had an exit go so smoothly after a negotiation going so wrong. There's not a scratch on either of us."
The young woman beamed with pride at his statement. "I'm glad you're both safe, Raymond." She breathed, the sincerity in her voice plucking at his heart strings.
Red struggled to hold himself in check, knowing he couldn't, shouldn't kiss her. They hadn't since that fateful night in New York. He settled for resting his forehead against hers, her nose nuzzling playfully against his own.
Horace stood unnoticed at the end of the hallway, one of Rosalie's scarves clutched in hand. It had managed to end up in his bag while they were haphazardly packing. His eyes were transfixed on his charge and her business partner. Horace seemed to have happened upon a private moment. If Rosalie's body language was anything to go by, he had stumbled upon a very private moment. The bodyguard remained paralyzed on the spot, gaping at his discovery.
Dembe, whose door had remained open, stopped his unpacking at the sight of the older guard blatantly gawking in the hallway. Realizing what the man was likely staring at, Dembe made a soft psst sound.
Horace's head jerked toward the noise, eyes the size of dinner plates. 'Oh My God' he mouthed.
Dembe's shook his head in exasperation. Acting quickly, he reached out with one large hand, angling four fingers to the ground and waving them toward Horace in a scooching gesture.
Horace cocked his head in confusion, jerking his thumb significantly down the hallway and waving the young bodyguard toward him.
Dembe's head shook back and forth again, slowly. He repeated the gesture with his hand, mouthing, 'Go Back!'
With one last glance at the pair down the hall, Horace took one swift, silent step back into his room. Safely hidden from sight, the large man put his hands on top of his head, still in shock.
Dembe continued to unpack, perfectly unphased, though a small smile was tugging at his lips.
Rosalie waited the appropriate amount of time after everyone had gone to bed before practically leaping out from under her blankets. Completely forgoing her usual silk robe, she opened her bedroom door and stealthily crept out into the hall. Being deep in the Kentucky countryside meant the house's interior was pitch black once night settled. This didn't bother Rosalie in the slightest. These halls were more familiar than the back of her hand, even in the dead of night. She effectively dodged the tricky little table next to the master bath and the navigated squeaky floorboard that marked the halfway point before running into something large.
Raymond had just left his room and began shuffling down the long expanse of impossibly dark hallway when he bumped into a small, warm bundle. Rosalie emitted a tiny squeak of surprise which Red quickly muffled with his hand. He rushed forward, clutching the woman tight to him so she didn't fall from the sudden collision.
A feminine giggle snuck out of her throat as his lips brushed her ear.
"You said you were good at sneaking out." He reminded, his hand releasing her mouth.
"I don't usually have to do it while playing red rover with the FBI's most wanted." She whispered hoarsely, trying desperately not to laugh.
Raymond sniggered at her wit, bending to capture her around the middle. He stood so she was draped over his shoulder, her little body trembling with suppressed laughter. "Come with me my little deviant," he purred, "I haven't slept well in weeks."