I don't own Blindspot or any of these amazing characters….
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"He did what?" Patterson asked calmly.
"Contacted Ice Cream," Tasha repeated.
"Why would he do that?" Patterson demanded.
"He said it was about the Gardner Paintings," Tasha explained.
"He doesn't have the paintings," Patterson reminded her, "So he wanted to tell Ice Cream he can't provide them?"
"He said he was trying to buy us more time."
"To…what?" Patterson insisted.
"Get the paintings."
"NO," Patterson was adamant, "That can only mean that he also contacted…"
"Me," Boston said from the doorway where he and Rich had just come in.
"RICH!" Patterson should have seen this coming.
"Calm down," Rich rushed over to her, "Calm down."
"Don't tell me to calm down," Patterson said with a tick in her cheek.
"Hey," Rich interrupted her, "The good news is that Boston still has the paintings!"
"The bad news is that I'm not willing to give them up to save Rich's ass." Boston piped in.
Patterson closed her eyes and began to silently count.
"Patty?" Rich took a step back.
"You know that Madeline is looking for us," She opened her eyes to accuse him, "And you RISKED the rest of us to contact Boston, knowing that your dysfunctional relationship would only make everything worse!" She was yelling by the time she finished.
"Hey!" Boston and Rich protested in unison.
"How did you even find him?" Patterson went on.
"Nobody knows him better than I do," Rich insisted.
At Boston's raised eyebrows, Rich was adamant, "Not even Chet."
"See," Patterson gestured between the two of them, "This is what I'm talking about."
"What's got your panties in a wad?" Boston asked as he moved over to look down at their set up. "Not bad."
"Oh, I don't know," Patterson's hands were clenched, "It could be that we're being hunted by numerous people that either want us dead, thrown in prison or held in a black site…"
"Is she always this dramatic?" Boston looked over to Rich.
"Dramatic?" Patterson repeated looking toward Tasha for strength.
"Okay," Tasha tried to intervene, "Boston, if you don't hand over the paintings Rich and the rest of us will just have to keep looking over our shoulder."
"What does that have to do with me?" Boston pointed out.
"You know him pretty well," Tasha looked at Rich, "So you can probably figure out where he hid them…right?"
"Probably," Rich admitted, "But he's going to tell us."
Tasha pulled out her gun, "Then he better start talking."
"Hey!" Boston protested, "You're not going to shoot me."
"You don't know everything we've been through," Rich insisted, "Hell, I might even shoot you."
"I'm not buying it," Boston denied.
Just then the door opened and Jane came in.
"What's he doing here?" She demanded in a hard voice.
"Rich contacted Boston about the Gardner Paintings." Patterson explained.
"Where are they?" Jane demanded.
Boston's cavalier attitude abruptly changed.
"I'm not turning them over." He said more hesitantly.
"You are one way or the other," Jane insisted as she advanced.
"Do you remember just how much these paintings are worth?" Boston hissed at Rich.
"Yeah," Rich agreed, "Our lives."
"Your life," Boston reminded him.
"Well," Rich looked over at Jane. "Ice Cream is looking for me…"
Boston got his meaning. Ice Cream was nothing compared to Jane/Remi.
"You suck," Boston hissed.
"You wish," Rich hissed back.
"Where are they?" Tasha pushed home the point.
"I hid them in a crawl space at a Bed and Breakfast just outside of Knoxville." Boston admitted.
"Was it that one we stayed at…?" Rich trailed off when he caught Patterson's glare.
"Yeah," Boston admitted, "I was there for two months."
"Alone?" Rich demanded.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Boston fired back.
"You hide priceless paintings in a public building?" Tasha said doubtfully.
"It's not exactly public," Boston denied defensively, "The old lady that runs the building isn't exactly going to be crawling through the walls."
"We need to go get them," Jane insisted.
"Road trip!" Rich was gleeful.
"No," Patterson denied, "The last thing we need is for you and Boston to go anywhere together. You draw too much attention to yourselves."
"As though I would even want to," Boston scoffed.
"Oh, you want to," Rich wasn't buying it.
"Where are Kurt and Roman?" Patterson turned to Jane.
"Kurt's still asleep and Roman is on the roof." Jane explained. Kurt had kept watch last night and Roman was just as obsessive.
"If we aren't going," Rich protested, "Who's going to get them?"
"It's not that far," Tasha noted, "I can head that way."
"You can't," Patterson reminded her, "You're contact is supposed to call you back and you're our only link to Reade right now."
"Kurt and I can go." Jane offered.
"Oh, no," Rich pointed out sarcastically, "You draw much less attention than we would."
"I'll go," Patterson ended the discussion. "I can be over there and back by tomorrow morning."
"You shouldn't go by yourself," Jane protested.
"I'll go," Roman offered as he came through the door, "Where are we going?"
Jane hesitated for a different reason. She wanted to trust Roman, but the truth was she didn't yet. Not with Patterson's life.
Patterson showed no reluctance. "A Bed and Breakfast just outside of Knoxville."
"Unexpected," Roman admitted, "Why are we going there?"
"I can take him," Boston blurted out, "I know where the paintings are hidden."
"Subtle," Rich scowled over at him.
"I take it you struck out?" Boston taunted.
"That's Jane's brother," Rich explained.
"You don't mean the," His voice dropped low, "terrorist…"
"Yeah," Rich agreed, "She only has the one."
"But I thought he was dead!" Boston protested.
"He is," Jane said in a hard voice.
"But..." Now Boston just looked confused.
"You should probably just sit this one out," Rich explained.
"Whatever," Boston huffed, "I have other places to be anyway."
"No you don't." Jane denied.
"You can't expect me to stay here…with him." Boston glared over at Rich.
"You're staying," Jane said flatly.
"Let's go," Patterson looked over at Roman.
"Are you really going to trust that they're coming back?" Boston said once the two had gone, "You know how much these paintings are worth?"
"They'll be back," Jane insisted, but turning to Tasha they shared a look of concern. They didn't even remotely care about the paintings, but Patterson was irreplaceable.
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"We should probably book a room," Roman told Patterson as they were driving.
"We shouldn't have to stay," She immediately protested with her uncomfortable feelings for Roman at the front of her mind.
"We do need some reason to get in," He gently reminded her.
Patterson couldn't really argue with that. Reaching for her phone she booked an online reservation.
"Looks like we got the last room," She admitted with a rueful smile.
Roman didn't say anything. She knew Rich would never have passed up the opportunity to rub something like this in.
"Did you want me to drive?" Patterson offered. She tried not to watch him too much, but she knew he wasn't sleeping.
"No," He denied, "I'm good."
"Why don't you ever sleep?" She worried without considering just how much the question exposed her weakness to him.
Roman looked over at her seriously. She half expected him to snap at her or tell her to mind her own business. At the very least simple denial, but he didn't do any of that.
"The same reason you don't," He said simply. "When I'm awake I can control what I think or do, but when I'm asleep…"
"Memories attack," Patterson finished for him.
With a shared look of understanding he turned his attention back to the road.
"I'm surprised Jane let us go," Roman admitted, "Weller definitely wouldn't have."
"We need those paintings," Patterson insisted.
"I don't doubt it," He agreed, "But in case you've missed it, they don't exactly trust me."
"They want to," She said softly.
"Well," Roman took a deep breath, "Then I guess I better do whatever it takes to get you and these paintings back ASAP."
"It'll be a piece of cake," Patterson said confidently.
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"This is in no way a piece of cake," Roman noted casually as he turned to where Patterson was bound to her own chair. The stew had been spiked, Patterson was just glad the little old lady hadn't accidently overdosed them.
Boston had been wrong. This little old lady was really into cleaning and she'd found the Gardner Paintings almost immediately. Now she was determined to keep them. Guess you didn't really know people.
"You can't just keep us here forever," Patterson tried to reason with her.
"I know dearie," The lady assured them, "I just need to figure out what to do with your bodies."
Her eyes flew to Roman's in alarm. He wasn't looking the least bit surprised. Somehow, Patterson found that reassuring.
"I have a flower garden out back," She explained, "But a hole big enough for the two of you would take weeks to grow back and I have a wedding scheduled here for next weekend. They'd probably expect a rebate if I put you there…"
Patterson was becoming more astounded by the second. This little old lady was not even wrestling with the idea of killing them. What was the world coming to? Had Boston set them up?
"Plus the next door neighbor saw us arrive," Roman said helpfully, "She looks like someone that would gossip."
"You're right," The elderly woman agreed with a scowl, "I've lived next to her for twenty years and she's always in my business!"
Patterson was struck mute.
"You seem pretty calm about all of this," Roman noted, "I don't suppose you've done this before?"
"What?" The woman asked, "Oh, you mean kill someone?"
"Yeah," Roman said casually.
"Well," She denied, "I haven't ever done the deed, but I watch TV and know what all the forensic shows look for."
The deed? Patterson thought in astonishment. Had she slipped into some alternate reality where everybody in the world was evil and corrupt?
"Why do you want the painting so much?" Roman asked her curiously.
"I want to sell them," The woman admitted, "I called my nephew and he told me that the paintings were really rare."
"Did he see the paintings then?" Roman asked her.
"He came by to pick them up," She explained, "Took them to a friend of his to be appraised."
"Then he returned them?" Roman encouraged her.
"No," The lady denied, "He's keeping them safe for me."
Roman nodded.
"You don't think he sold them?" She worried.
"Maybe," Roman said thoughtfully, "You should probably call him to check."
When the woman reached for the phone Patterson realized this was going to be a long night.
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"They went where?" Kurt demanded with a clenched jaw.
"To get the Gardner Paintings," Rich explained.
"Alone?" He turned to Jane.
"They can be back by tomorrow morning," She assured him.
"You should have woken me," Kurt worried.
"Roman's going to watch out for her," Jane tried to assure him.
"I hope you're right," Kurt rubbed the back of his neck.
"I do too," Jane stepped close to Kurt and he wrapped a supporting arm around her.
"If we don't hear back from them in a couple of hours," Tasha insisted, "We'll head that way."
As the worry permeated the air, the clocked ticked slowly away the minutes.
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"He says he still has them," The woman said in relief as she hung up the phone.
"Well," Roman insisted, "He wouldn't exactly tell you if he didn't."
"You think he lied?" She worried.
"If they're as valuable as he said," Roman reminded her, "I would think it'd be hard to resist."
Suddenly, she picked the phone back up and started dialing.
"You need to bring the paintings back here," She said into the phone, "Because I said to. Yes, right now."
Roman listened in satisfaction as arrangements were made for the pictures to be delivered right to them. Now all they had to do was stay alive long enough to take them.
Patterson knew that Remi and Roman were masters of manipulation, but seeing him work made that knowledge real somehow. The effortless way he controlled the situation from his confinement was truly both alarming and impressive.
"You seem like such a good boy," The woman told him, her voice softening.
"I just don't want you to get sucked into the curse like we did," Roman explained.
"What curse?" She worried.
"Everyone who's held the pictures either gets killed or kills someone else. I don't blame you, this is just what happens." Roman explained.
"It's the money," The woman agreed, "Living on a fixed income at my age is difficult."
"I get it," Roman empathized, "Why don't you just sell the statue of Venus on the mantle?"
"That old thing?" The woman walked over to look at it, "How much could it be worth?"
"If there is a stamp on the bottom that's in German with a date, thousands of dollars," He explained.
"Really?" She picked up the statue with shaking hands, "It is in German!"
"Then you could have the money without the curse," Roman suggested.
"My late husband died of a curse," She admitted, her voice low.
"Did you…?" He questioned.
"Oh, no!" She actually smiled, "It was that old bat from next door. He was mowing the grass too early one weekend and she cursed him out her bedroom window. He dropped dead before sunset."
"There you go," Roman agreed, "Curses are nothing to mess with. What good is having the money if you're too dead to spend it?"
"I hadn't thought of it that way," The woman admitted thoughtfully.
"We could take the pictures away for you," Patterson offered tentatively.
"I guess that would save me from having to give that refund… plus digging a hole big enough for the both of you would be exhausting. I'm actually not as young as I look." She said. "You want some cake while we wait for my nephew to get here?"
"I love cake," Roman's smile was angelic. Patterson felt the rope fall away and wondered what alternate dimension they'd just climbed into. Nothing about any of this was even remotely normal.
"Let's have some cake," Roman offered her his arm.
She threaded her arm through his with a little shake of her head and a rueful smile. Nobody was going to believe this…
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The phone rang just as they were getting ready to leave.
"Hello?" Tasha answered the first ring.
"We got the paintings," Patterson told her.
"Did you have any trouble finding them?" Tasha worried.
Patterson weighed her options, only to realize they wouldn't believe it anyway, "None, we should be back in a few hours."
"Drive carefully," Tasha worried.
"We will," Patterson hung up the phone.
"Why didn't you tell them about the little old lady?" Roman asked her.
"They wouldn't have believed me," She insisted, "I was there and I still don't believe it!"
"She didn't really want to kill us," Roman assured her, "She just wanted the money."
"That makes it better?" She asked him. "What's going to happen when she tries to sell that statue?"
"She's going to get a lot of money," Roman said.
"What?" Patterson turned to look at him, "You were telling her the truth?"
"Of course," He insisted, "I even gave her the number of a buyer that wouldn't cheat her."
"How'd you know it was valuable?" He continued to surprise her.
"Sheppard was very thorough," Roman said with a scowl.
"I'm sorry," Patterson placed her hand on his arm.
"It saved our lives," He pointed out.
"Yes," She agreed, "But that doesn't make it okay."
"We can't rewrite the past," He brushed aside her comment casually, but secretly his heart was racing.
"We can choose our future," She reminded him.
For the first time he wondered if that could actually be true. He'd always just figured none of this was going to end well. It was dangerous to expect any other outcome. She made him want to though and that made this situation very unstable.
She could feel the ripple of muscles beneath her hand and figured she should probably move it and give him space, but before she could he reached up and place his hand over the top of hers.
Her eyes flew from his hand to his face.
"I hope that's true," He admitted.
"You could do anything," She believed that with all her heart.
As darkness turned into daylight Roman began to wonder with her help if she was right. Suddenly, he hoped so…
