Blacksite #17 - a.k.a 'Kimbilio' - Undisclosed Location, Kenya - September 24, 1999

Rosalie leapt out of her seat, "What? Why? Did he say where he was going?"

Kate shook her head, "We don't know why. He didn't say anything, he just took one of the jeeps and left."

"Oh my God, we need to go, we need to find him!" Rosalie knew better than most what kinds of dangers might be lurking on the road between Kimbilio and Nairobi. Fisi's gang was not the only terror which could be waiting for Dembe in the dark.

"It's alright, I know where he went."

Everyone whipped around to see Raymond rising resignedly from the couch.

"Ted, please bring the other jeep around, we're going to Nairobi."

Teddy gave a curt nod and immediately left the room.

"Raymond, what's going on?" Kate questioned, concerned for the young man now out in the Kenyan wilderness alone.

"Dembe and I had a philosophical disagreement. There's nothing to panic over, but we do need to catch up with him before someone else does. Please go with Ted, we'll meet you downstairs shortly."

Kate uncrossed her arms and left the room with but one querulous look, the door closing with a sharp 'click' behind her.

"Why do you think Dembe would go to Nairobi?" Rosalie turned to Raymond in a whisper when they were alone once more.

Raymond chewed the inside of his cheek, his eyes remaining fixed on the bedroom door. "Nairobi is where I met Dembe, years ago."

Rosalie's mouth fell open, "Really?"

"Yeah," Red heaved a weary sigh before a laugh bubbled up from nowhere, "God, it feels like a lifetime ago."

A comforting hand cupped his cheek, brushing the stubble lining his jaw with a soothing thumb. Red's eyes lowered to his companion's, finding them, as always, alight with warmth.

"The two of you have been on the run together a long time, haven't you?"

Red cradled her hand in his, leading them out of the seating area and back up into the master suite. "November 3rd, 1992. I'll never forget that day."

"1992?" Rosalie balked, quickly doing the math in her head, "You're telling me Dembe was only fourteen when you met? How did it happen? Did you know his family?"

Raymond's lips pursed and his throat closed up tight. It was not his place to tell her the story of Dembe's family. The cold, bloody truth of his childhood was something the young man would divulge in his own time. When he was ready, when he felt as close and comfortable with Rosalie as he did with Raymond himself. As it stood, Red was the only one who knew about the Dembe's past, and he was not about to betray that confidence to anyone.

"That's his story to tell, when he's ready. Are you carrying?" He carefully steered them in a different direction, reaching out to palm the small of Rosalie's back. His hand met the hard metal handle tucked beneath the white cotton blouse she wore and nodded his approval. Warm lips brushed her temple as he whispered, "Your Browning, as well."

Rosalie flashed Raymond a wry smile, catching his swift change of topic but allowing it all the same. She wouldn't pry; Dembe was her friend, she was sure he would tell her in his own time.

Lifting her overnight bag and carrying it over to their bed, she rummaged through its contents to unearth the leather holster for her secondary firearm.

Red considered the leather duffle for a beat, "We ought to get you a hard-sided suitcase."

He chuckled when Rosalie snatched the bag up into protective arms. "Dembe gave me this," she stroked the leather fondly, "I love it, don't you dare try to replace it."

"I wasn't saying get rid of it," He assured with a smirk, truthfully amused by how thoroughly appalled she was at the mere suggestion of parting with such a treasured item. "I merely meant an addition."

He lifted his own black suitcase and slid it next to her bag, admiring the pairing.

Rosalie beamed at the familiar piece of luggage with its glinting brass closures. "Well...I am terribly fond of your globetrotter."

Raymond grinned, flipping the clasps without a word and pulling his Colt 1911 from within. He loaded the clip and slid a couple spares into his jacket pocket. "We'll take a gander once we're back in Paris or London."

Rosalie shrugged into a charcoal bomber and slipped a few spare clips into her pockets as well. "First, let's find our boy."

Two large, rough palms reached out and cupped Rosalie's face. Red rested his forehead against hers, green eyes scorching her insides with their fire.

Unlike Fisi, Rosalie's use of the word 'boy' in reference to Dembe meant something wholly different, something which stirred the very depths of Raymond's being with a palpable thrill.

As far as she was concerned Dembe was theirs. Theirs to care for. Their closest friend. The first, and for a long while, only person they trusted to know of their relationship. He was family.

"Ours." Red affirmed, sighing when her small, warm hands smoothed over his chest. He lifted Rosalie's long blonde hair from beneath her jacket, allowing the honeyed silk to tumble in waves down her back. She held his gaze, passion burning in the depths of her dark orbs.

Raymond kissed her roughly, backing them through the master suite and out into the hall.

Rosalie's Jeep - Road from Blacksite #17

The dark road between Kimbilio's compound and Nairobi was pitch black save for the jeep's headlights and the light of the moon.

Rosalie, having more experience driving the roads around the compound in the dead of night, had taken the driver's seat. Her hair whipped around her as she tore along the dirt path, the secondary jeep having no top to cover them. Despite the seriousness of their mission, she couldn't help a small, fond smile.

"This reminds me of my old Cabrio." She sighed wistfully, catching Raymond's curious expression. He had one hand on his hat, keeping the item from flying off his head as they sped along.

This bit of information seemed to amuse the hell out of him. "You had a Cabrio?"

Rosalie waggled her eyebrows and grinned, "1998 Mercedes G500 Cabrio, V8, soft topped, with the diamond-stitched leather seats."

Red had to bite back a laugh, "I knew you were too good to be true...that car is hideous." His attempt to smother his merriment failed spectacularly when Rosalie turned, looking utterly traumatized.

"I loved that car!"

Raymond quickly covered his mouth, which unfortunately sent his hat flying.

The fedora thankfully flipped straight into the backseat, smacking Ted Beaumont in the face. Teddy laughed and passed the accessory back toward the front, waving off Red's chuckled apologies.

Both men were thoroughly amused, despite Rosalie's scowl for the slight against her favored vehicle.

"So why haven't I been invited for a go in your hot ride?" Raymond teased, reaching over to thumb her chin.

Rosalie swatted his hand with a pout. "I had to leave it at an airport hangar in Argentina because you sent Kate after me."

She pointed an accusing gesture in his direction, which Red grabbed with a wolfish grin, brushing a placating thumb over her fingers.

The vehicle eased into silence thereafter, the group turning introspective as the night grew darker and they neared the outskirts of Nairobi.

Raymond recognized a battered old shanty at the city's edge, and Rosalie looked up to see his head whip around, watching the little shed disappear into the darkness.

Nairobi, Kenya - November 3rd, 1992

'I was- Well, I was younger then. Angrier...'

Raymond Reddington landed in a broken down dirt patch northwest of Nairobi off a three hour flight in a two-prop puddle jumper with a terrible backache and an almighty grudge to settle.

He was systematically hunting down the Taddiken brothers: a pair of Germans known the world over as ruthless barbarians, whom Raymond had foolishly contracted for an incredibly important operation involving kidnap, ransom, and one spectacular farce.

The operation took months of preparation and planning. Red was in need of a powerful ally, the kind of criminal titan which would make his competitors think twice about interfering with his affairs, the kind of money spinner which would set his empire up for a long and prosperous reign.

With these aspirations in mind, Raymond set out to make Werner Von Hauser his ally by utilizing a very old bit of criminal ideology: to make a friend of an enemy, create for them a problem which only you can solve. With that plan in mind, he hired the Taddiken brothers to kidnap Hans Von Hauser and hold him in one of their hidden warehouses. From there, they were to send a $10 million ransom demand to Hans's father.

This created a very big problem indeed for old Werner, and for Red.

Raymond was supposed discover the Taddiken brothers' location and who they had taken. His 'formidable' reputation would precede him and Jünger and Karl Taddiken would release Hans to his custody, safe and sound. He would then personally escort Hans in a private jet back to Lucerne, whereupon Werner would be so grateful, he would hear Red out on the potential of an alliance between their two enterprises, one which would prove to be of benefit to them both.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Jünger and Karl were negligent. In their eagerness to complete the job and further solidify their international reputations as heinous, despicable masterminds, Hans Von Hauser was suffocated in transport to the meeting point.

Upon discovering their promised cargo was now not only useless to their employer but would garner a bounty on their heads from Von Hauser, the Taddiken brothers fled, leaving Reddington to clean up the mess.

The sight of that young man, no more than twenty-two years old, laying cold and still in a battered shipping crate… It sent Raymond into a blind rage.

He was livid, utterly horrified at what those savage imbeciles had done. Their recklessness had taken a young life without any reason or purpose. If it got out that he'd had a hand in any of it, Werner not only would have no interest in building a partnership, he would more than likely devote endless manpower and resources toward acquiring Raymond's head.

Thus Red immediately set about salvaging his plans, cutting away the loose ends and killing the men responsible. Jünger Taddiken was the last remaining target, and had fled to Nairobi two days ago after Raymond had come to reckon with him and his brother in Mogadishu. He had ambushed the pair and their newly acquired security in the dead of night at a neglected safehouse near Asalooti.

Jünger escaped in the scuffle, but Red managed to take down the rest of their little group, laying waste to everything in sight before sending Karl's head to Switzerland in a box the following morning.

He would complete the set today and deliver the last Taddiken brother to the Von Hauser residence in person, along with his condolences.

With any luck, he would still be able to salvage his plans for a deal with Von Hauser Senior. Raymond's life, Elizabeth's life, both depended on him building an untouchable empire. The kind of criminal enterprise which bore the type of wealth and reputation which would demolish any threats before they could even sink their teeth into either of them.

A piece of Raymond's soul thrummed with remorse at what this alliance would cost and the lie which he would have to feed Werner about the loss of his beloved son. Deep down he knew the boy's death was his own damn fault. He should have hired less notorious snatchers. He should have known the Taddiken brothers were careless.

Hell, he should have just sought Werner's alliance without the theatrics.

Yet Red knew he couldn't garner the man's favor without it. He was too young, too new to the criminal underworld to command the interest of one of its most formidable players, and Raymond needed to become just as formidable as Werner Von Hauser, if not more so.

The sun continued to beat down on Raymond's head, making him sweat and serving to feed his anger. He leaned against the back of the cab on the beater truck he bribed into taking him to Nairobi, hoping to catch a few more minutes of sleep.

Red woke with a jolt an undetermined amount of time later. A dilapidated shack passed on his left hand side, a thin woman with a bundled up babe were standing in its doorway.

They were entering the slums of Nairobi.

The shacks and shanties grew more and more run down the further they drove. The exteriors and their occupants became steadily more depressing. Children and adults alike were malnourished, walking skeletons heavy with only the weight of exhaustion and despair.

They reached the street where Jünger was rumored to be, and Red hopped from the vehicle, thanking the man who had given him a lift and passing him a stack of shillings.

Halfway down the bustling street, Raymond found what he was looking for. A crooked, crumbling building with a blinking red light above its door, denoting the only brothel on this road.

He quickly stepped into the musky, dark interior, his upper lip curling in disgust.

Women lined the walls of the entry in various states of undress, some battered, some terribly thin, all looking as though any hope they'd had in this world was gone.

Raymond could well sympathize with that feeling.

The keeper of the brothel sidled up to him the moment he entered. She was truthfully a beautiful woman, tall and slender with glossy ebony hair falling in a long, elaborate plait down her back. When she spoke, her voice was a warm, sultry purr.

"What interests you, traveler?"

Red considered her for a long beat, his gaze drifting from her toes to the top of her head. "You."

The woman was obviously flattered and intrigued by the notion, her obsidian eyes glancing coquettishly at the other women before meeting his unflinching stare with one of her own. "I am not for sale."

"Your hesitation tells me you are most certainly for sale...for the right price." Raymond challenged her, sensing if he proceeded carefully, she would bend to his will.

The brothel keeper bit the inside of her cheek, aroused and annoyed in equal measure. "Five large."

Red removed his hat and ushered her toward the hall leading to the rooms.

The woman seemed surprised at his ready agreement, hesitating another moment before taking his hand and striding the long length of hall with her chin held high.

When she reached a door she found acceptable the woman immediately turned, giving Raymond a lascivious once-over, her interest in what he was offering quite evident. Her hands clutched him and pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him with a fire which admittedly took the fugitive by surprise.

He allowed the kiss, lifting her lithe frame with one arm and stepping over the threshold, slamming the door shut behind them.

Setting her down, Raymond reached behind him and locked the door.

The woman leapt away from him with a gasp when she felt warm metal meet her chest.

Red held his firearm firmly in hand, completely unfazed by the sudden change of mood. His head tilted to the side and he leveled the brothel keeper a scrutinizing glare. "What is your name?"

She scowled at the firearm, seeming to consider whether or not he would actually use the thing.

He pulled a photo of Jünger Taddiken from his shirt pocket. "I'm looking for an old friend of mine. He's hiding somewhere in your establishment. If you can divulge what room he's in and keep my business here quiet, you'll escape with your life and seven large for your troubles.

The woman's mouth swung wide, "Show me."

Raymond rolled his eyes and pulled out a wad of cash, tossing it to her without a word.

She opened the clip and quickly flipped through the crisp stacks of hundreds. "Fanaka. My name is Fanaka."

"Where is he, Fanaka?" Red kept the gun trained on the woman, demanding an answer.

"Two doors down the hall, next to the basement." Fanaka pointed to her right and took another step away from him.

"Thank you my dear, you've been very hospitable." Raymond turned and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him and turning down the hall. He tucked his gun back into his holster and closed the distance between himself and Jünger's room in two strides.

Red leaned back and kicked the door in without another thought, sending the room's occupants ducking for cover.

Jünger was in his boxers, scrambling to locate his pants and a weapon.

His pursuer tore through the room at an almost inhuman pace, fueled by the rage which had been consuming him since discovering Hans's dead body.

Raymond came level with Jünger and landed a hit square to his jaw, sending the man sprawling on the floor.

The prostitute in the room screamed and ran out into the hall, wrapped in naught but a bed sheet.

Red lifted Jünger's gangly frame and slammed him bodily into the nearest wall.

Jünger pushed off the cracked plaster and swung at his opponent, catching him high on his cheekbone.

Raymond snarled and thrust his arm out, clutching the man's throat in a vice grip.

Jünger struggled and gasped for air as Red charged forward, backing him against the hallway's crumbling face before ripping open the basement door and throwing him down the long flight stairs. His body flipped end over end down the steps, landing with a sickening thud on the dirty basement floor.

Red stepped through, flipping the light switch and closing the door with a snap. "You knew I'd find you eventually, Jünger." His voice rumbled low and deep in the poorly lit stairwell, his lungs heaving from the fight.

His nostrils filled with the scent of sweat and decay which seemed to permeate from every corner of the underground room. Each step down pulled him deeper into the dark abyss below, where he could hear Jünger's gasps of pain.

Reaching the lower level, Raymond moved toward the room's center, seeing the hazy outline of a light fixture on the ceiling. He pulled the thread he discovered dangling in midair and the lone light bulb in the center of the space flickered slowly into life, casting a yellow haze over the dirt floor as it dangled back and forth, throwing random corners of the room into stark relief.

Jünger lay writhing not far from the stairs, his left leg at an unnatural angle.

"He was twenty-two." Raymond snarled, "Twenty-two years old, and you and your brother snuffed out his life with your stupidity. Your carelessness killed that boy. What the hell did you think would happen, Jünger? Did you think I would just let this slide?"

"Nein, nein, ich war es nicht!" Jünger attempted to crawl away, but Raymond placed a well-heeled boot to his broken leg, causing the man to howl in pain.

"You have created a monumental mess for me to clean up, a colossal lie for me to tell. You robbed one of the world's most dangerous criminals of his legacy, his only son!" Red punched him again and again, blow after blow landing against Jünger's already bruised and bloodied face.

The rage he felt consumed him, leaving his mind a hazy blank until he stood over Jünger's almost unrecognizable body, his knuckles bloody and a stitch in his side screaming at the exertion.

"Who else knows about the boy?"

Jünger gave a feeble sort of lurch, not giving an answer.

Raymond kicked him over and stood with one foot on either side of the man's chest. He screwed a silencer into the muzzle of his Browning and pointed it between the other man's eyes and snapped with a vicious snarl. "Who else knows, Jünger?"

"N-Neimand," sputtered Jünger through a mouthful of blood, "No one."

Red nodded, and without so much as a blink, leveled the firearm to Jünger's chest and fired three muffled shots.

The man's body jerked when each bullet tore through him, falling completely still thereafter.

Raymond doubled over, his hands on his knees as he fought to regain his breath, an angry tear in his soul making itself known. He told himself it had to be done. Now the trail leading back to him was safely buried, he only needed to deliver Jünger to Werner Von Hauser and complete the lie.

Once his pulse was no longer hammering, Red pulled a burlap sack from his pocket and a long knife from a sheath alongside his ankle. He quickly handled the messy business of separating Jünger's head from his body and stashed it in the burlap sack. He fought back a dry heave as he cinched the bag closed with a small bit of rope and set it at the foot of the stairs.

It was only then that Raymond took a good look at his surroundings. The edges of the room were cast in darkness, but he could make out a few shelves and ragged cots lining the space. He searched for a sink or a stand pipe with which he could wash the copious blood from his hands.

A groan issued from the farthest corner, so softly Red would have missed it had he not been listening.

"Who's there?"

No answer came, and Raymond cautiously raised his weapon as he moved in silent steps toward the source of the noise.

There was a large mass huddled at the base of the standpipe he had been looking for. His head tilted to the side when the bundle moved.

"I said, who's there?"

Still no answer came. Red took another tentative step forward, recognizing the mass on the floor as a body. Two hands were lifted above the bundle, tightly chained to the standpipe.

He lowered his weapon, seeing the still body was not a threat. "Hey," he nudged the body with his foot, "Are you alright?" Raymond vaguely wondered if it was one of the house's prostitutes, his stomach turning sour at the thought.

The bundle groaned again, trying to shift away from his prodding foot.

The sound was too deep to be a woman.

Red crouched down and pulled what felt like a shoulder, opening the curled up body to his gaze.

It was a young man.

He couldn't have been more than fifteen. He was quite tall, and if he'd had a decent meal in the past month he would likely be pretty broad as well, but this boy had been put through the ringer. He was horribly thin, beaten and bloodied. One of his eyes was completely swelled shut, his bottom lip was busted, and the portion of torso Red could see was riddled with dark, angry bruises.

"Who did this to you?" He asked, peering curiously at the quaking young man.

The boy shook his head in terror, wincing in pain and trying to scoot away from him.

Raymond held his arms up in surrender, "I'm not going to hurt you." The man grimaced when he remembered his hands were positively covered in blood. He turned to glance around, seeing a large wrench laying just out of reach. "Are you thirsty?"

Apparently the young man knew some English, because he nodded with vigor, pointing repeatedly at the wrench.

Red nodded and reached for the item. "Okay, okay, I'm going to open this enough so I can get this blood off my hands, then we'll get you a drink." One swift turn of the wrench had a small stream of water pulsing from the covered opening, which he quickly used to clean off his hands.

The captive beside him strained to get his mouth near the liquid, his throat rasping with desperation.

"Easy, take it easy," Raymond cupped his hands and filled the valley with cold water before lifting them so the boy could drink.

It must have been days since he'd had anything to quench his thirst, as he buried his face in Red's hands and practically inhaled every drop.

A wave of compassion consumed Raymond's insides as he filled his hands once more. "Drink it slowly, you're going to get sick if you don't."

The boy drank a hair more slowly, his one good eye watching Red suspiciously. It was obvious he did not trust the man before him. He was waiting for some kind of betrayal to make itself known.

Red looked back at the boy and saw so much of himself, it rendered him speechless for a long beat. So much anger, so much pain lived behind that gaze. The boy had been savagely beaten...even burned. Red caught sight of a healed brand on his right shoulder, alongside a myriad of other angry welts and bruises. The chains around his wrists were tight, digging unforgivingly into his wrists.

It struck him that the boy had been left in this dark pit to die.

The two men considered one another for a long beat, both quietly wondering if the other could be trusted.

Raymond knew in that moment he was not about to leave without him. He pulled a lock picking kit from his pants pocket and met the young man's eyes.

"I'm going to take you as far away from here as possible, okay?"

The boy stared in shock as this complete stranger picked the locks which had been holding him to the standpipe for weeks, not daring to believe he was actually being freed.

The chains fell with a muffled clink to the dirt floor and he held up his hands, turning them over and over, marveling at the sensation of finally being able to move them again.

"What is your name?" Raymond asked, tucking the kit back in his pocket.

The young man held out a large scraped-up hand and held his gaze, his voice coming out in a barely audible rasp.

"D-Dembe. Dembe Zuma."

Nairobi, Kenya - Present Day

"You're sure he's here?" Rosalie looked up at the tall, rickety building with its cracked windows and tattered curtains. The red lights on its awning flashed in the night, casting everything around it in a sickly ruby glow.

She and Raymond exited the jeep, looking around for any sign of Dembe. The latter caught sight of the missing jeep parked beneath a tree nearby.

The dark streets were riddled with boisterous drunken men, some high as kites, stumbling in and out of the equally tragic buildings flanking the brothel.

Raymond turned toward his companion with a rueful expression, "I want you to head back to Kimbilio."

Rosalie's eyes narrowed to slits. "And leave you here alone? Absolutely not."

"I want you back in the safehouse as quickly as possible, the slums of Nairobi are not a safe place to linger. I know he's here. See? There's the other jeep."

She turned to confirm the vehicle was there, but still wasn't swayed. "It's okay for you to stay but not for me?"

"Yes." Red was careful not to grin at her fiery temper.

Rosalie's scowl deepened, "Why?"

He couldn't help a small smile, "Because I'm rather fond of you."

His companion blushed when he cupped her cheek, guiding her eyes up to his. She loved to hear him say such things, but she still disliked the notion of leaving him there without backup.

Red obviously wasn't budging on this, his body language serving to convince her.

"You have a satellite phone?" she finally relented with a sigh, "You'll call when you've found him?"

Red nodded, patting his jacket pocket.

The street noise was deafening but Rosalie's voice was a soothing caress as she leaned in, kissing his cheek and whispering in his ear. "Bring him home, love, and don't keep me waiting."

Raymond's chest flooded with a surge of warmth, her words igniting a barrage of emotions inside him. He kissed her cheek and shooed her back into the vehicle with a promise.

"I'll be hot on your heels as soon as I find him."

Once Rosalie and the others were safely en route back to the blacksite, Raymond turned toward the brothel with a sigh.

He had promised himself and Dembe they would never have to set foot inside this hellhole again, yet here they were.

Steeling his resolve, Red stepped into the depressing interior.

The same tattered, run-down room from 1992 greeted him. Only the brothel keeper and the women were different.

The new keeper was a man, dressed in fine robes and an array of gaudy jewelry. His black beard came to a point, the dark curls framing a set of startling white teeth.

"Hello, traveler. What interests you this evening?"

Red scanned the room, then pointed at the youngest girl in the group.

"Oh, you do not want her, sir. She is inexperienced, s-"

The man was silenced with a handful of crisp hundred dollar bills. He counted the cash with wide eyes before gesturing at the young girl, snapping at her in harsh Swahili.

She stepped forward, her dark eyes nearly all pupils and her body taut with abject terror.

Red placed a non-threatening hand on her shoulder, guiding them in the direction he wished, down the hall and to the right, alongside the room adjacent the basement.

"Do you have somewhere to go?" He asked, looking down at the girl who looked to be all of sixteen.

"We can go upstairs, there are many rooms…" she trailed a finger haltingly along his lapel, batting her dark lashes up at him, trying to do what she believed was expected of her.

Red caught her hand and placed it back at her side. "You misunderstand, my dear. I mean do you have somewhere to run to. Let's say I gave you, ten thousand dollars...Would you have a safe place where you could go?"

The young girl's mouth fell open and her eyes watered fretfully, "I- I do not. I have no one."

Raymond nodded, peering thoughtfully down at the doorknob. He pulled out the wad of cash anyway and handed it to her. "Walk right out of this building and go to the bar across the street. In there you will find two men named Gakere and Odongo. You are to tell them the man in the hat sent you. They will protect you should you be followed, and will take you to one of my people who will help you get a safe job and will give you a place to stay. Okay?"

The young prostitute was in near hysterical tears as she thanked him over and over, hugging him once, then tucking the money in the pocket of her ragged dress before slipping through the nearest window and taking off into the night.

Raymond waited a moment, listening to be certain she wouldn't be caught. There were no sounds of distress, so he turned the handle on the basement door and slipped through.

The lights on the staircase and in the lower level were already on, confirming his suspicion that this was where Dembe had gone.

Red descended the steps, his sharp eyes searching feverishly for his companion.

Dembe stood in the far corner of the room, his head bowed.

Raymond breathed an audible sigh of relief, seeing he was perfectly unharmed. He cleared his throat upon reaching the foot of the stairs, "What happened to your prostitute?"

Dembe did not lift his head, "I gave her a bundle of cash and sent her to Gakere."

Red would have laughed were the mood not so dour. "Good, she'll have a comrade then..." He glanced around the familiar room, taking note of the few small differences between now and all those years ago.

"I know it's hard to see the forest for the trees right now, but if you want to help rid these people of Fisi and his gang for good, you have to find a way to reconcile with the guilt."

"I do not understand how you can reconcile with this." Dembe's voice was hard as steel and deathly quiet.

Raymond chewed the inside of his cheek, working to remember what he and Rosalie had discussed at the safehouse a mere hour ago. "I can stand by my actions today because as far as I'm concerned, not one member of Fisi's gang is worth losing you."

Dembe did not turn around. "You should not place my life above others'."

Red couldn't fault him for his opinion, but he knew damn well why he would always consider the younger man's life of utmost importance. "I'm selfish, Dembe. Your life means significantly more to me."

Dembe have a woeful shake of his head, "I do not consider my life as more significant than any boy in Fisi's band."

Raymond scoffed, "Yes, well, that denotes the difference between you and I."

"You don't understand what their lives are like, Raymond. Letting that man live-"

Red sat on a stack of cinder blocks with an exasperated sigh, crossing one leg over the other and flicking a bit of dirt from his suit. "You're right, I don't understand, Dembe. How could I? Only someone who's actually been in those boys' shoes, someone who has lived that life and all the horrors which come with it can truly speak to what their world is like. You, Dembe. I rely on you to remind me every day how I can and should use the wealth and status that comes with being Raymond Reddington to take out rabid dogs like Fisi. I'm also relying on you to recognize when I'm tackling the larger issue."

Dembe whipped around, ready to fire off another retort, but Raymond stilled him with a lone hand. He held the younger man's gaze with every ounce of sincerity he possessed, willing him to hear and believe his words.

"I can put a bullet in Fisi right now, and the attacks may stop for a few weeks...or I can wait. We can wait. You are absolutely right. Lives will be lost, more children will be taken, more families torn to shreds, but we could save thousands, Dembe. Thousands."

Dembe ran a finger over the rusted standpipe. He could still perfectly hear the clink of those chains, could still feel their weight on his wrists, even after all these years. "I know what the long game promises, but it does not change the fact that we are resigning a handful of boys to this," he gestured angrily at the jagged curve of metal, "We are condemning those innocent boys to this possibility, putting the value of their lives below those of the others."

Raymond sat in poignant silence, truthfully at a loss for words. He often forgot how young Dembe was. His intelligence and compassion, his goodness and his tempered soul endlessly contradicted the youthfulness of the young man before him.

He was only twenty-one, just entering his prime. He hadn't been thrust into the kinds of decisions Red was forced to make every day. He was not used to these kinds of impossible situations. The fugitive did not relish being the one to tear the blinders from his idyllic view, but he believed it must be done.

Perhaps he expected too much of his comrade. Perhaps there was another way.

He couldn't be entirely sure about any of it.

"We can't-" Raymond heaved a sigh, "We can't stop them from being branded, and I won't promise you we can save their families, but the faster we set about removing Fisi the right way, the more likely we are to save those few boys from fates like yours. We can ensure they live through it, and we can ensure the rest of the young men in this community never learn what it's like to be a piece of property. I can't promise you more than that, Dembe."

He stood, placing a firm hand on Dembe's shoulder, feeling a sob shake his frame. "I need you to trust me to do the right thing when it counts. I need to know you aren't going to go heedlessly barreling in on every scenario like this, because I couldn't bear it if I lost you. I swear to you I will do everything in my power to bring people like him down and avoid as much slaughter as humanly possible in the process, but I can't do that if I'm worried you're going to get yourself killed at every turn."

The two stood there, glaring morosely at the familiar old standpipe. Several minutes passed before Raymond spoke again.

"I was never going to allow that little boy to be harmed. The same way I was never, ever going to leave you in this basement."

Dembe nodded, biting his bottom lip. He gave a hearty sniff, then turned and flung his arms around Raymond.

Red reciprocated the rib-cracking hug, cradling the man's head to his shoulder and kissing his temple once. He allowed Dembe a long moment to gather himself, then released him and cupped his face in both hands.

"Let's get you out of here. I pulled you from this pit of human misery once...It has no place in your life now."

Rosalie's Jeep - Road to Blacksite #17

The three remaining members of the group were hustling back to the compound in the smothering darkness. The moon was getting higher in the sky, slowly providing more light as the jeep sped back along the path to Kimbilio.

Six miles from the safehouse, Rosalie saw something moving in the dim light down the road.

"Do not stop." Kate snapped, glancing suspiciously out the vehicle's sides as it began to slow.

"There's a child in the road." Breathed Rosalie, her eyes focused on the sight of a small boy standing dead center in the road up ahead. "He's so small, what is he doing out here all alone?"

A weary sigh poured from the backseat, "Keep moving, Raymond insisted we don't linger."

"Come on, Kate, he looks like he's all of six years-old." Ted agreed, removing his seatbelt. The small boy tottered in the road, eyes wide as the large jeep slowed to a halt ten feet from him.

Rosalie put the vehicle in park and stood above the open top before smiling kindly down at the little boy. He was no more than three feet tall and awfully thin. His soft brown eyes winced in the brightness of the jeep's headlights. Rosalie knew her Swahili was not fluent enough to carry on a coherent conversation with an adult, but thought she might get away with her stilted grammar when speaking to a child.

Before she could utter a word, however, the small figure went haring into the nearby elephant grass without a word.

"Hey!"

The clearing was silent, but a chill seemed to sweep the vehicle's interior. A rustling sound began to whisper in the night as a ragtag band of men appeared from the bush, carrying a slew of mismatched firearms Rosalie recognized.

A man with a bleached mohawk of a hairdo and ragged clothes emerged from the group, sidling up to the driver's side of their jeep and purring in a flinty rasp.

"Madam Innkeeper, I was hoping to find you on this road."

Raymond and Dembe left the brothel and hurried to the jeep parked quietly beneath the tree on the other side of the street.

Red slid into the driver's seat and handed his companion the satellite phone. "Call Rosalie, let her know we're on our way. She's been beside herself worrying about you."

Dembe glanced ruefully up at him, "I was not polite earlier."

The other man sing-songed his head, starting the engine. "She won't hold it against you. You will allow her to mollycoddle you as penance, though."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Dembe's mouth while he dialed. "There are worse ways to spend an evening."

He lifted the phone to his ear as it began to ring.

"Hello?"

"Rosalie?"

"Dembe! Thank God he found you... Are you okay?"

"I am fine, I'm sorry to have worried you."

"Don't worry about me, listen, I can't go into detail now but there are bodies in the road between Nairobi and the safehouse. Do not stop."

Red could hear her frantic voice over the line, his expression instantly concerned.

Dembe remained perfectly calm, "What happened, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, we're all fine. We can discuss when you get back. Keep your eyes peeled and weapons out, the road is not safe. Come straight back to the safehouse, do you understand me? The jeep is equipped with run flats, don't hesitate if someone tries to stop you in the road. Just come home as fast as you can."

Blacksite #17 - a.k.a 'Kimbilio' - Undisclosed Location, Kenya

Half an hour later, Red was barreling along the dirt lane leading back to the blacksite.

As Rosalie warned, there was a body in the road six or so miles from the direct road to Kimbilio. When they shot past, Raymond and Dembe recognized a familiar head of hair: cornrows running the sides, the center left long and bleached.

It was Fisi face down in the dirt.

He had been shot in the head and multiple times in the torso. Raymond recognized the tattered remains of the exit wounds as being caused by hollow-point bullets, which he and Rosalie carried exclusively. A handful of Fisi's older men were scattered in the brush framing the road. A battered truck was left idling in the bush up ahead, but no straggling rebels could be seen, no boy soldiers either.

Red floored it past the bloodbath, his stomach in knots over what could have happened.

They knew Rosalie and the others were fine, but the desire to get back to the safety of the blacksite increased tenfold upon encountering the scene with Fisi's men.

The pair kept their weapons out and ready, eyes searching for any sign of another attack.

When they were a half mile from the safehouse, Raymond killed the jeep's lights, using the moon to light their way, thus keeping them out of sight.

Kimbilio emerged like a pearl from its secluded glade, alight with warmth and the promise of safety.

Armored guards were at the entrance to the compound, the heavy iron gates opening immediately on their arrival and closing with a bang once they were safely inside.

Raymond threw the vehicle in park and leapt out of the driver's seat, Dembe following closely behind.

Rosalie was at the base of the home, speaking to another contingent of tall, broad, Kenyan men wielding large rifles and wearing bulletproof vests.

"We will be out of the compound tomorrow morning, if you could just guard the inner perimeter until then, it would be deeply appreciated. If you need coffee, food, anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask. Rehema and I will have breakfast waiting for all of you in the morning."

Raymond walked toward the group, his stomach plummeting when he noticed a blood-streaked cloth in her hand.

"Rosalie?"

She immediately turned, her dark eyes wide and fretful.

It was Dembe who closed the distance first, wrapping his arms around the innkeeper and hugging her tightly.

Red was left standing horror struck, wondering why the front of Rosalie's shirt was spattered with blood.

"Are you okay?" Dembe asked, releasing his friend so he could ascertain the state of her.

Her shirt had a number of bright red stains on it, her arms and pants were flecked with blood as well. She had obviously tried to wipe the remnants from her face and neck, leaving pink and red streaks along her skin. "We're fine, Ted has a cut from the windshield, though. I'm so sorry, Dembe. I'm afraid I've quite literally shot the plan for Fisi straight to hell."

"What exactly happened?"

Rosalie's lips pursed, "He ambushed us, words were exchanged, I lost my temper."

"Why are you conferring with a battalion of security?"

Rosalie waved a hopeless hand at her men, "I don't know who in Fisi's acquaintance knew he was coming here. He somehow knew the two of you were on the move with me. Kimbilio is damn near impossible to find, but the general location of the road leading to it has been a source of speculation for the locals. He was taking a chance that it might be the right one. Now I'm unsure who else might know he was testing that road."

Raymond turned toward a familiar face coming up along on his right. "I have a group of soldiers in the area if you wish to utilize them alongside your own men."

Ndwiga inclined his head, "Ms. Rosalie is the reason our sons and daughters are safe this night. In gratitude for the small reprieve from Fisi's gang, we will guard her life."

Red nodded, insisting the man call Odongo if they encountered any troubles.

He turned to find Dembe leading Rosalie toward Kimbilio's entrance, a gentle hand at the middle of her back.

She turned back in search of Raymond, who nodded, indicating he would be up in a moment.

Ten minutes later, Red ascended into the safehouse's quiet interior. Upon reaching the main living area, he turned the corner to see Rosalie and Dembe waiting patiently for him on the chesterfield. The young man's head lay nestled in her lap, taking comfort in her presence, seeking out her companionship, which she freely gave. To the untrained eye, he looked as though he were already asleep.

Raymond, however, knew Dembe was wide awake. He was in fact offering what Rosalie desperately needed to patch the newly minted tear in her own soul. She needed to fuss over someone she cared about, needed to feel as though she were keeping them safe. So she sat brushing her fingertips in soothing circles along his shoulder, a watery smile lifting her features as she watched the tension slowly bleed from Dembe's hulking frame.

She looked up when Red approached.

"You killed more than one man tonight."'

"I know." Her voice was a tentative whisper, her guilt at not feeling guilty for taking out Fisi and his men quite evident.

Red's tense posture did not relax"Are you going to be alright?"

"What must Dembe think?" She sighed, peering despondently down at her friend.

Raymond couldn't help a dry chuckle, "Everything that happened today and you're concerned about what my bodyguard thinks of your murderous tendencies?"

"You know what I mean," she bemoaned, "It's different with you, you understand. We see eye to eye on these things, on the occasional and unfortunate necessity of taking a life. I am disappointed it did not work out as originally planned, but...Knowing you and Dembe would be driving up the road at any moment, knowing Fisi would be there waiting. He talked about what he...what he would do to Dembe, to you...I lost myself. I couldn't let him live, Raymond. There was no universe in which I allowed that man to take another breath, knowing he would use it to inflict pain on the two of you. I just-"

A snarl tugged at Raymond's features, a dark piece of his soul thrumming with pride at his companion. Despite her kindness, despite her goodness and warmth and empathy...when the wolves came prowling at the door seeking those she cared for most, the criminal in Rosalie didn't hesitate.

"I assure you I am more concerned as to why it was necessary," Dembe murmured, a gentle hand patting her on the knee as he rose from her lap. "What happened?"

She took a deep breath and began from the beginning. "There was a little boy in the road alone..."

Rosalie's Jeep - Road to Kimbilio - Two hours earlier

Rosalie considered the stranger for a long moment, a number of rumors from the local community coming immediately to mind at the sight of him. "You must be Fisi."

"You've heard of me. Excellent... You know, I've heard of your hidden stronghold. Kimbilio." Fisi uttered the name with utmost contempt. "Refuge, sanctuary, this is what you profess to provide your clientele, is it not?"

Rosalie's dark eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with venom. "How did you know I'm an innkeeper?"

"The German." Fisi's flinty tenor was thin with sinister amusement, "He sends his regards."

Rosalie carefully maintained her composure, hoping to garner more information as to who the German was. "Tell him a real man does his own dealing."

Fisi grinned maniacally at this, "Oh? Like the American you run around with? Does he know you're out in the wilderness with a lone guard and his cleaner? You're making my job very easy."

She wasn't about to dignify his taunting with a response."What does he want from us, the German?"

Fisi's lips pursed thoughtfully while he tilted his head at an unnatural angle, "I'm to take you, dispatch your security and the woman, leave their bodies here for the man in the hat to find.

Once Reddington is wrenched from your hideaway, well, my band of rebels will take great enjoyment in tearing him from his security and handing him over to our employer. I think I'll string up that boy of his first, though. I'll make Reddington watch while I flay him alive. The boy...Dembe. He's strong, it will take a long time for him to bleed out. He could be up there for days and days and-"

Five echoing bangs roared like cannon fire through the night, silencing the man in the road.

Fisi jolted as each round struck its mark, riddling his torso with holes before the final shot fell between his eyes and he fell in a crumpled heap beside the vehicle. A stunned silence swallowed both parties as all eyes turned to the pale wisp of smoke curling from the muzzle of Rosalie's firearm.

Rosalie was shaking with fury, a vicious snarl curling at her lip. She had managed to stealthily remove her firearm from its holster while Fisi babbled on. Her temper had snapped, however, when he threatened Raymond and Dembe. A vengeful corner of her soul roared its victory over the crumpled bastard at her feet, knowing at least he would not be able to make good with those threats.

The echoing quiet did not last for more than a millisecond before all hell broke loose, a barrage of bullets riddling the jeep's exterior in retaliation.

Ted shifted, placing himself back to back with Rosalie and firing off a melee of shots into the group of rebels. He managed to drop three of them as his charge dispatched another and reloaded. The windshield shattered, lodging a small shard of glass into his forearm. The firefight lasted all of a minute, leaving a haze of gunpowder residue in the air.

Bodies lay littered in the area surrounding them, the small child Fisi had used as bait was nowhere to be seen.

Unbeknownst to the two now standing above the jeep's open top searching for survivors, another rebel fighter was skulking from the shadows of the rear of the vehicle. Rosalie caught movement in her periphery and turned around in time to hear a resounding bang and watch as the man stumbled and toppled into a nearby brush.

Kate Kaplan remained stoically in her seat, her handbag poised in her lap, her right arm extended out of the rear of the vehicle, holding a large silver revolver. She turned to the jeep's other occupants, blinked once, and nestled the firearm back in her bag.

"Let's get going. I'm not about to wait for whomever may be following them."

Rosalie rested her chin in an upturned palm, "We couldn't find the boy. He couldn't have been more than six years-old. He was completely alone and- Well, like an idiot, I stopped the jeep."

Dembe gave a thoughtful nod, "Fisi has a penchant for using his youngest soldiers as bait and target practice."

"They appeared out of the damn bushes." Ted's teeth gritted as he was being tended to by Kate. His forearm had a sizable cut from the shattered windshield, but other than that, he was perfectly fine. Kate was already wrapping the wound, finishing the few stitches he required without batting an eye.

"I'm so sorry, Teddy-" Rosalie bemoaned, but the man waved her off.

"You saw a child alone in the dark on a dangerous road out in the wilderness, Rosalie. I'm sure as hell not going to hold a drop of human compassion against you. Though, next time let's have the wardens check it out, yeah?"

The burly Brit flashed her a cheeky grin, but Rosalie was still beside herself with guilt at getting him injured.

She turned back to Raymond, "We need to leave in the morning. I've already called Edward. My wardens will be patrolling the property all night just to be on the safe side. I'm not sure how much of Fisi's cohort knows about the roads leading to this safehouse."

"What about the bodies?" He asked, thinking they would be a bit of a giveaway.

"A few of the wardens are loading them into the truck they came in and will ditch it somewhere far from here."

Red nodded, looking down at her bloodied clothes once more. "I think it's time we get you cleaned up."

Raymond strode into the master bedroom, heading directly to the en-suite and turning on the shower.

Rosalie followed sedately, her arms clutched tight about her torso.

"Come here."

The deep, graveled rumble of his voice made Rosalie certain Red was angry with her. He hadn't said more than a few words since he and Dembe arrived back at the blacksite, either. She suddenly felt she needed to explain herself. "He was going to take you from me, wrench you from the safety of my network. He wanted t- He wanted to kill Dembe and force you to watch. I couldn't let that happen."

Raymond circled behind her, pulling the bomber jacket from her shoulders and throwing it out of the room. He stepped to her front, gently cradling her hands in his and undoing the small buttons at her wrists. Dexterous fingers slipped the buttons of her bloodied shirt from their resting place, baring her inch by inch. For all his gentleness, a ferocious fire still radiated from Red's being.

Rosalie shivered, her body coursing with a spine-deep need to be free of the tarnished clothing still clinging to her.

Red sensed this, firm hands gripping her shirt's lapels and tearing the rest of the garment asunder.

Tiny white buttons scattered the floor and Rosalie gasped, looking up at her partner in something akin to astonishment.

Eyes never leaving hers, Raymond kneeled at her feet, loosening the laces of her boots. He guided each of her feet from the dark brown leather and set the items beside the sink. "I'll show you how to get the blood off of these," he promised, pulling a black trash bag from beneath the sink. He unfurled it and placed it beside him before returning to the disposal of Rosalie's clothes.

She watched in fascination as he gingerly removed every stitch from her person, peeling the small white socks from her feet, unbuttoning the hunter green pants she wore and guiding them carefully down her legs. His touch was tender, reverent even, as he pulled each garment from her and tucked it safely inside the small black bag.

Warm, masculine hands slid beneath the neck of her shirt and pushed the torn cotton from her shoulders.

Once the bloodied clothes were safely in the confines of the black bag, Red tossed the bundle into the sink and turned his attention toward his companion. He discarded every stitch of his own clothing, tossing each article into the bedroom without so much as a blink.

Rosalie was quaking now, equal parts guilty and gratified, wondering if it was wrong for her to feel the warmth and comfort she undoubtedly felt as Raymond undressed in front of her.

"It's always like this," he murmured, eerily adept in his ability to read her. "Part of you insists you should feel badly for the lives you took. Yet your gut knows it was you or them. Part of you demands you remember your own mortality." He hooked his index finger into her panties and slid the dark lace down her legs, volatile green eyes holding her in an burning stare. "Tapping into that humanity won't make the feeling go away but it certainly soothes the tear...Nothing feels more human than a gentle touch, to be cared for. You taught me that."

Rosalie nibbled her bottom lip, unable to meet his gaze. "You're angry with me."

"No, little dove." Red removed the last of her lingerie, tossing the items carelessly out of the bathroom. He pursued his companion into the shower, coaxing her under the hot spray.

Rosalie watched him pick up the little green bottles containing his preferred soaps, trickling a generous array of drizzles along her chest and stomach, followed immediately by his cleansing touch. His rough palms outlined the hourglass of her torso, traced the supple lines of her legs, scrubbed along her slender arms, replacing the blood spatter with cleansing suds.

She held still as Raymond tended to her, turning and stretching as he indicated. Goosebumps coursed in waves down her bubble-covered frame, a sight that did not go amiss for her partner.

"Close your eyes."

Red stepped in front of her, watching her dark lashes flutter closed. His thumbs circled her cheeks and along her jaw, cleansing the remaining streaks of blood from her person. Fingertips swirled the long line of her neck, up to her earlobes, across her temples, along her brow and down the bridge of her nose, washing away all evidence of that night. The red and pink residue slid down the lines of her body to swirl into the drain below, leaving her blessedly clean.

Rosalie felt herself leaning forward, convinced Raymond's lips were just a hair's breadth from her own.

The action made a secretive smile pull at the corners of his mouth, a wet thumb brushing back and forth across her lips before he captured them, claiming the plump flesh which arched like the curved petals of a wild rose to meet his touch.

He kissed her slowly, deliberately, as though they were back at Break Maiden. As though he were kissing her for the very first time beneath that tree with the storm pouring down around them.

Rosalie met his ardor, pressing herself to his comforting frame, moulding her body to his, clinging sweetly to his warmth. She gave it her all, willing him to feel the emotions burning within her. She released a tremulous sigh when his tongue swiped her lips, seeking entrance which she readily granted.

Raymond growled, plundering the offering, tracing every corner of her, hoping to quiet her unsettled heart with his touch.

"Raymond." Her voice was pleading, asking for his hold, his possession, to lay her world at his feet, just for a moment. "Please don't be upset with me."

Red backed her beneath the spray once more, smoothing away the suds and grime to reveal his immaculate companion. The sight of her pristine skin free of all blood and grit made his chest ache, reminding him of what could have happened that night. "He wanted to hurt you, to take you from me." Raymond's voice was heated and volatile as it washed over her.

A wave of empathy crashed over Rosalie, compelling her to soothe his ire. "We're all here, safe and sound. I know it's not an ideal scenario, but Raymond, I'm a criminal. These things happen."

"I'm angry he put you in the position of having to dirty your hands." He admitted bitterly, grunting when Rosalie smoothed said hands up and down his chest, her fingertips drawing circles at the base of his neck. "I don't want you in that situation. I've spent the past eight years building a formidable criminal empire. You shouldn't have to-"

She interrupted him with a shake of her head, "These things can and will happen regardless of how much of a criminal titan you are, Ray. You and I both know this isn't the first time I've killed to keep those I love safe, and I'd bet my life it won't be the last."

Red's breath hitched at this, "I'm not willing to gamble your life for anything. That foul little cockroach who brings only war and terror and bloodshed thought he could lay a finger on you." He reiterated, "You might think it's par for the course for a fugitive, but I don't want that for you. I want you to be safe in my sphere. I want criminals like Fisi to cower, knowing without a doubt in their minds if they so much as blink in your direction I will end them in the most violent ways possible."

"Raymond, that's not neces-"

His fury was instant and complete. "Our world will learn you are not to be touched."

Rosalie felt a change in the air between them. Rather than shrinking away, she pressed herself more tightly to him, reaching behind her to turn off the taps. "I know you're angry, darling."

That was an understatement. Red was furious.

He buried his fingers in her damp curls, waves of broiling aggravation coursing from his toes to his skull. He wanted to smother those emotions, their very existence worrying him that his frustration might end up directed at the wrong person.

Determined to derail his discontent, Rosalie hopped up into his arms, effectively distracting him. She wrapped her legs around Raymond's hips and carded her fingernails along his scalp, kissing the man to her heart's content. She felt his posture relax ever so slightly as her tongue teased and stroked him, garnering more of those masculine sounds which set her ablaze with desire. Her lips brushed the sensitive shell of his ear when she leaned forward and whispered, "Take me to bed, love. Let's quiet that mind."

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing," he growled, kneading her backside with both hands, causing a feminine moan to echo in the tiled space. Red crossed into the bedroom and laid Rosalie beneath him on the pristine white sheets, crawling up the mattress and nestling his broad frame on top of hers.

Despite his fury, he thrilled at being wrapped up in her thighs. Her soft hands traversed every available inch of his person, searching for new and uncharted erogenous zones for her to explore, enveloping him in a warm embrace the moment he was within reach.

His mouth traversed the slope of her breasts, nipping and laving his tongue over his favored places.

Rosalie's hands continued to stroke and caress, soothing the length of his taut back and the breadth of his shoulders, moving on to gently massage the strong arms which encapsulated her. "I'm yours," she promised brokenly, feeling his lips wandering ever lower.

"Yes," Red hummed his approval, his teeth nibbling her inner thighs to make room for his shoulders.

Six weeks later - Riga Safehouse - Riga, Latvia - November 2nd, 1999

Rosalie sat with her legs crossed on the safehouse's Biedermeier sofa, her satellite phone in hand and a notepad balanced on her knee. The last expansion was underway, with penthouses in Macau and Taipei opening for business that morning. She had just gotten off a conference call with her newest property manager and was gearing up to call another when Red came waltzing into the lounge, his waistcoat hanging at his sides.

"Have you seen Dembe? He was feeling a little worn down so I told him to catch up on sleep while I was on the phone with Gavin, but I haven't seen him since." He was looking around the room in earnest now, not seeing any sign that his bodyguard had awoken yet.

Rosalie looked up from her work, realizing he was right. There was no sign of Dembe. "Now you mention it, I haven't heard a peep from him in hours."

The pair exchanged worried glances, setting aside whatever was in their hands and making a beeline for the same hallway as their bedroom.

Ted intercepted them en route, "You haven't seen Dembe hav-?"

"No," they responded in tandem, sliding past him toward Dembe's room.

Rosalie grasped Teddy's hand, tugging the man along with them.

Red gave a courtesy knock to the door's face before turning the handle and stepping into the pitch black room.

Dembe was still huddled in his bed, only the top half of his face peeking above the comforter. His brow was set in a scowl and he did not answer when Raymond called his name.

The threesome carefully stepped forward, not wishing to startle their companion.

"He looks ill," Raymond murmured, gripping his shoulder and giving it a light squeeze.

Rosalie brushed past him, placing a hand to Dembe's forehead. "Something's wrong. Teddy, please go get Kate, he's burning up."

Riga Safehouse - Riga, Latvia - November 4th, 1999

"You need to get some sleep, Raymond."

Rosalie's softly uttered plea cut the deadly quiet of Dembe's room for the umpteenth time that day. "I'll look after him for a while."

"I'm fine," murmured Raymond, not looking up from the feverish young man.

It had been just over thirty-six hours since Dembe fell ill. Kate ran a handful of blood tests and determined he was suffering from a case of Malaria. The disease took a few weeks to manifest, but was perfectly treatable. She called in a favor to a local physician without morals who provided the necessary medication to relieve the young man's aches and pains while he rode it out. They now need only wait.

"You're not fine." She whispered, skirting her fingertips along his neck, making him shiver, the armor around his emotions shifting towards the floor. "Come along darling, let's get you to bed, just for a little while. I'll keep watch over him while you get some rest."

"I need to take care of him. I need to be here." Raymond insisted, settling further into the chair to prove his conviction.

Rosalie noticed his pallor was off.

She placed a gentle hand to his cheek, feeling the clammy skin and the burning fever underneath. "Raymond, you're sick too." She chastised, feeling his other cheek and his forehead.

The man leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed. Her hands felt so good on his skin.

"Malaria isn't contagious." He informed her belligerently, reaching up to hold her hand to his cheek, nuzzling the soft, cool skin greedily.

"Darling, you're ill, you can't care for anybody if you're dead on your feet." His actions were endearing, positively adorable, really, but she was growing concerned for his health and well-being.

Red finally relented, begrudgingly allowing her to bully him from the chair and down to the master bedroom with no small amount of complaint.

It was then that he realized just how exhausted he was.

Rosalie gently removed his tie, waistcoat, and belt before grabbing his sleep clothes and pestering him into them.

Raymond's eyes were already half-lidded with fatigue when she shooed him beneath the covers. His barely awake mind idly wondered how she managed to cajole him out of his clothes and into bed in the span of three minutes. "You would make an impeccable dominatrix, my dear. Especially with your little switchblades." He chortled, resting his head back amongst the pillows.

Rosalie pulled the blanket over him with a smirk, brushing her nose once against his. "Now who says I don't moonlight as one?"

Red hummed sleepily, reaching out to pat her cheek in thanks. "I would have noticed," he assured, "I've yet to stumble upon a leather corset or a riding crop in any of those damned hidden compartments of yours."

Rosalie smiled at the impish remark, leaning to place a soft kiss to his burning temple. "I'll save my leather goods for when you're feeling better." She moved to kiss his cheek, "I must warn you, though, my safe words are incredibly long…and written in German."

Red let out a low, rumbling chuckle and settled deeper into the soft pillows. "Mmm, Fraulein," a soft smile twitching at his lips. "You'll come to bed later?"

Rosalie tittered softly, "Wouldn't miss it." Her fingers combed once more through his short hair before exhaustion pulled him under and she headed back to check on Dembe.

Riga Safehouse - Riga, Latvia - November 9th, 1999

Both men were bed bound for the next several days. Rosalie, Teddy, and Kate settled into a routine, the former took care of her clients in the wee hours of the morning when both invalids were deeply asleep. She then passed the gauntlet to Ted, who managed the properties while Rosalie spent the rest of the day puttering between the two rooms, mopping brows and coaxing small sips of water or broth to keep Raymond and Dembe's fluids up.

Though the women's working relationship hadn't necessarily improved, the pair were at least cordial and presented a united front in restoring both men to full health. Kate kept an eye on Dembe at night and managed Raymond's calls by day, allowing the man's female companion to see to his care in the evening.

Things were going quite smoothly until Rosalie was woken in the dead of night by a distinctly frazzled Kate Kaplan. "It's Dembe, I need your help."

Rosalie hurried into Dembe's room with Kate hot on her heels. The young bodyguard was thrashing about in bed, his body burning up though the surface of his skin was cold and covered in an icy sweat.

"Help me lift him," Kate instructed, "We need to get his shirt off."

The women carefully hoisted him into a sitting position. As the soaked cotton barrier was removed, Rosalie came face to face with something which made her blood run cold.

There on Dembe's right shoulder was an unmistakable scar. A brand.

Someone had branded him.

An icy fury settled in the depths of Rosalie's stomach. She had seen mutilated markings like this a number of times before. A circle beneath a wide arch which looked like an eyelid spoke to a horrid, painful existence.

She felt her eyes well with tears as she realized the sweet young man with whom she had grown so close had been, at one time, a captive of the Eberhardt cartel.

"Get it together." Kate snapped, slapping a cold compress into her hand. The harsh older woman was, as always, rigid and unflinching. "He wouldn't want your pity."

Rosalie's cheeks burned hot at her tone, anger erupting like churning lava inside her once more. A small snarl tugged at her upper lip as she leveled a fiery gaze at Kate Kaplan. "Learn the difference between pity and compassion and I might deign that statement with a response."

"Ladies?"

Two heads whipped around to see Ted standing with brows raised in the door to the room. The retort from his charge combined with the sight of a fevered, shirtless Dembe was enough to draw a myriad of questions.

At that moment, however, the young man in their collective arms began muttering again, flinching and twisting from the grip of some terrible dream.

"Mana?"

He called, but it wasn't his voice he heard. The voice was that of a very small child.

Dembe looked around him, seeing the squalid campsite in which he had spent most of his childhood. He thought he had put this place in his past years ago. He didn't want to be here. Not here. Not now.

An old oil drum stood beside a ragged tent made of dirty, tattered tarps and propped up pieces of scrap metal. He stepped up to the drum, hoping to take a sip from its contents to soothe his burning throat. When he reached the item's edge, the truth came crashing around him.

He was so small.

Dembe was not tall like the other boys. He couldn't even see over the edge of the barrel to know if there was water to drink. He would not be able to reach over the lip of the barrel without help. His mouth ached with thirst.

He took a furtive look around the campsite. The others were all much bigger than him. None of the boys were kind or helpful. They would hit him if he asked for help, not that he could bring himself to do so.

Dembe was not loud like the other boys.

They were so noisy, screeching and shouting all night long. The sounds would rip him from sleep, filling his stomach with nauseating terror.

His mother used to coo and say her quiet, gentle boy would be a poet or a prophet. How he wished he could be such a thing. To be safe and peaceful. No such existence could be found here in this dilapidated hell. He missed her so very much…her kind eyes, her warm embrace. She would know what to do, she would make it all better.

Dembe wanted his mother, his father, his brothers...but he was alone.

So very alone.

Thunder cracked with a deafening boom and lightning lit the night around him.

The little boy scurried into a tiny ragged tent just in time for rain to begin to fall. His shanty was made from half an old shower curtain and three knobby little coral tree branches erected at the edge of the cartel's camp. The tattered plastic would not keep him completely dry, but he would not be fully exposed to the storm either.

The other boys were still out there in the dirt and the mud, whooping and hollering. The space was littered with trash and all manner of debris. Burning petroleum barrels occupied places on the outer rim of the camp, remaining lit despite the downpour.

Long branding irons sat waiting in the flames for any unfortunate newcomers.

Dembe felt a searing pain in his shoulder, a whimper escaping his lips as his small fingers touched the angry blistered mark left there only a week ago. He had screamed himself hoarse when the cartel members pressed the burning metal to his skin.

He awoke three days later at the edge of the dusty campground, covered by the shower curtain he now utilized as a roof.

The others had believed him dead and tossed him to the elephant grass to rot.

Dembe sniffled softly in his ragged cot, afraid the band of boys might hear him and beat him again. His small fists brushed the moisture from his eyes and he reached out cupped hands to gather rainwater to assuage his thirst.

"Dembe…sweetheart."

The voice was so soft and warm, he turned toward it. Somehow the unbearable cold and darkness was lessened by the sound.

"You're safe."

"Mi bodi de at" he cried to the voice, hoping it would carry his plea to someone, anyone who could help.

Raymond.

Dembe needed to find him, Raymond would know what to do.

Raymond would save him from the menacing gang of boys slowly making their way over to where he hid.

Kate handed Rosalie another cold compress as they both worked to lower Dembe's body temperature.

"Dembe...sweetheart, everything's alright. Shhh...That's it," Rosalie gently consoled the agitated man, who actually turned toward the sound and quietened. "That's it, sweetheart, we've got you. You're safe."

His eyes were screwed shut, "Mi bodi de at."

Rosalie froze when she heard the language. She turned in an urgent whisper, "Ted, get me a phone."

Ted immediately reached into his pocket, pulling out a satellite phone and thrusting it into her hand. He took Rosalie's place at Dembe's side, placing a hand to the man's shoulder and wrist to keep him from flailing too aggressively, whispering in his gentle British lilt. "Easy mate, take it easy, everything's alright."

Dembe's head returned to thrashing back and forth, his lips whispering without end.

Kate replaced the cold packs around him, adamant on breaking the fever as quickly as possible.

Rosalie stepped to the side and dialed a familiar number, waiting on pins and needles as the phone rang.

A lusty voice in a smooth Creole accent came rumbling through the line. "Bon jou, kisa ou vle?"

The voice was that of Rosalie's friend Richard Moreau-Lilet, a notorious rum runner working out of Louisiana. The man did business in every port of call, harbor, and trade route below the mason-dixon line. Most importantly, he knew a variety of uncommon languages.

"Bon jou, 'Shard."

Richard perked up immediately at the nickname 'Shard', a bright smile tugging his mouth upward. "Rosalie Øllegaard, as I live and breathe. I was just enjoying a pipe on the veranda of that magnifique entresol you sold me in Baton Rouge. To what do I owe this pleasure, cherie?"

Rosalie couldn't help a small smile at Richard's smooth, playful voice; it had been too long since she had enjoyed the man's company.

"I hate to call on such a grim occasion, but I have no one else to turn to."

Richard halted his puffing, allowing a swirling plume of smoke to leave his lips. He grasped the wrought iron rail sectioning off the veranda and contemplated the house's french doors.

"For you, cherie?" Rosalie could hear the grin in his voice, "Anything."

She spared another fretful glance at Dembe, "I have a young man in my care in the grip of a nasty fever. He's dreaming something terrible and we can't seem to pull him out of it. He's speaking what sounds like an off-shoot of Creole. I was hoping you might know? If he hears a few words in his mother tongue, perhaps it might soothe him? He's terrified and I'm afraid he's going to hurt himself."

Richard did not hesitate, stepping back inside the parlor so he could hear better. "Certainly, certainly, let me hear him."

Rosalie retook her place at Dembe's side and held the phone up to his cheek, stroking his arm and gently shushing him.

Richard listened intently to the young man muttering endlessly on the other end. After a few seconds, Rosalie returned the receiver to her own ear. "Any ideas?"

"It sounds a bit like Krio…It is spoken in Sierra Leone and parts of Nigeria and Gambia. I do not speak it, but Calixte is fluent, she would know. Let me get her."

Calixte was Richard's wife of more than a decade. She was born in Nigeria and spent her early years in central Africa before her family moved to the island of Haiti, where she met and married Richard. Calixte was highly revered as the first lady of the New Orleans' underground, and like her husband, was one of Rosalie's dearest friends.

Richard moved swiftly through the sprawling home, finding his wife seated in the drawing room, managing the company ledgers. She lifted obsidian eyes framed in dark lashes, her clever gaze falling questioningly upon her husband. He did not usually interrupt her reconciling.

"C'est notre Rosalie," he explained, holding out the device.

Rosalie heard the click of Calixte's ring-clad fingers as the slender digits grasped the phone.

"Bon jou, my doll!" Calixte sighed, her sultry voice soothing over the other woman like sweet, warmed bourbon. "It has been far too long."

"It has been too long, my dear friend," Rosalie agreed, mentally slapping herself for failing to keep up with the couple in the past few months. "I hate to call with an ask, but I fear you may be the only one who can help me."

Calixte turned concernedly toward her husband, "Why, doll, you know I would do anything for you."

"And I you, Calixte," Rosalie assured, placing her hand on Dembe's chest as he huffed and winced.

"What troubles can I soothe, Rosalie?"

"I have a young man with me who has managed to contract Malaria," Calixte could be heard tutting her commiseration on the other end, "He's in the middle of what must be a fever-induced nightmare, and I can't bring him out of it for love or money. He's muttering in another language, 'Shard seemed to think it was Krio."

Calixte's response was immediate, "Let me hear."

Rosalie leaned forward, holding the phone out once more and waiting for Dembe to continue his muttering.

"Mana?...Mi bodi de at" Dembe repeated his earlier plea, his brows knitted together in discomfort as sweat continued to trickle along his temples.

Calixte's breath hitched at the words. "Oh, dear, that is Krio. The poor boy…What can I do?"

Rosalie crossed to the other side of the bed and slid onto the mattress alongside the its feverish occupant.

Once Dembe felt the warmth of another body beside him, he immediately flung his arms around Rosalie's middle, crushing her in a vice-like embrace and burying his head in her shoulder.

Ted stepped forward to remove him, but Rosalie waved him away with a flimsy hand. "It's okay," she whispered, admittedly struggling a little to breathe, "Ok, Calixte..I need you to help me talk to him."

The campground swirled and changed into an arid plain, dust and dirt whipping away the landscape and the tiny shower curtain tent.

The sun glared down on a young man standing at the same slip of earth, looking over the destitute shanties and circles of squabbling, shouting youth.

Dembe was no longer the youngest of the boys; he was older than nearly all of them.

He was not tall like the other boys, Dembe was now heads taller than they.

He was not loud like the other boys, his voice was soft and deadly as a cobra.

He was not broken like the other boys.

Dembe outlasted them all.

He was angrier, cleverer than anyone in that squalid hell in which he'd grown up.

"Dembe,"

His name echoed from the nearby Maasai Mara trees. Something changed in him when he heard the voice's call. The angry ache in his chest subsided, a rustling of cotton reached his ears and he felt a shift in the air beside him. He turned, reaching out for what he couldn't see and managed to grasp something soft and warm. He felt a pair of arms wrap around him.

It wasn't Raymond.

This embrace felt different, its touch, even gentler. Dembe could smell orchids and rain, could taste the zest of citrus on his tongue.

The tender hold cradled him like a child to a mother's bosom, the same soothing voice whispering to him from the hot, whirling winds.

Rosalie held her friend tightly, taking it in turns to hold the phone out for Calixte to translate.

"Kam Om, Dembe."

Come home, Dembe.

Dembe burrowed deeper into her hold, "Ah don lohs oh."

I'm lost.

"Mi naya," she assured, rubbing his back.

I'm here.

"Ehp mee...duya." His voice was a terrified whisper, whatever he was seeing seemed very real to him.

Help me...Please.

"Na so, mi naya, kam naya."

I know, I'm here, come here.

"We mi fanbula?" He questioned, his head turning as though he were looking around.

Where is my family?

Rosalie didn't have an answer for this.

Her heart broke for the young man. What had happened to his family? She never heard him mention siblings or parents or anyone for that matter, only Raymond.

"Taya mi...duya." He clung even more tightly to her waist, tears wetting the shoulder of the shirt she wore.

I'm so tired...please.

Rosalie felt her own eyes burn with empathy, "Shh, mi bohboh, mi naya."

Shh, my boy, I'm here.

"Mana?"

Mama?

Her heart shattered further when Calixte translated the word. She was not Dembe's mother. She could never begin to replace...but he was family, without a doubt.

Rosalie knew in that moment she would always care for Dembe as though he were her own.

"Smohl, smohl, kam om, Dembe...Kam om, mi borboh."

Little by little, come home, Dembe...Come home, my little boy.

She stilled when he lifted his head, eyes still closed, brow still pinched tight.

Dembe knew that voice.

It was not Raymond. It was the woman.

He knew her voice, and he knew its sound meant he was going to be okay.

Hearing her meant he must be there with Raymond. Her voice could be found wherever Raymond went.

Her voice meant safety.

Her voice was home.

Kate watched in undisguised surprise as Dembe's hulking frame finally relaxed into the small woman's embrace. She cradled him as though he were a babe, rocking him and whispering those words in Krio until he was peacefully asleep beneath the blankets once more.

"I can't thank you enough Calixte." Rosalie whispered, tucking the comforter more securely about him.

"You always did pick up languages quick, m'doll." Calixte's voice filtered through the connection, "I'm glad to be able to help the poor dear. You ought to bring him with you next time you're in our neck of the woods."

Rosalie smiled, "I'll do that. There's someone else I'd like you to meet, too."

Unbeknownst to Rosalie, Calixte and Richard grinned knowingly at each other as the latter cozied up to his wife. "We'll be right here when you're up for a double date, cherie."

The call ended with a soft click, upon which Rosalie eased herself from Dembe's arms, tucking him safely back into bed and kissing his forehead before ushering the others out of the room. She turned down the lights then returned to the master bedroom and slipped beneath the covers once more.

November 11th, 1999

Dembe was the first to completely come out of the haze, waking late on the morning of the eighth day. Rosalie gasped at seeing him sitting up when she entered his room, a wan smile on his lips.

"Good morning" he said softly.

Rosalie smiled warmly at him, "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so glad to see you're alright." She set the tray she was carrying on the bedside table and reached to press her lips to his cheeks and forehead. The fever was thankfully gone.

Dembe leaned into the gesture. He couldn't remember the last time he had someone dote on him in such a way. He was sure his mother had done so, but he couldn't bring forth more than a handful of fleeting memories of his life before the Mombasa Cartel sold him to the Eberhardts.

Rosalie fussed about for the next ten minutes, getting him water and trying to tempt him with an assortment of fruit and toast she had brought. "It's all halal, I checked. Twice."

"What happened to me?" He asked, taking a piece of toast.

"You caught a bad bout of malaria, most likely from your little trip into the jungle back in September. It takes around six weeks before symptoms start to show."

Dembe nodded, his tone turning playful, "I take it I will live?"

Rosalie smiled, "Yes, you are going to be just fine. Kate has been doing routine checkups on you this whole time."

"How long has it been?"

"A bit over a week." Rosalie admitted, "Raymond and I went looking for you late last Tuesday afternoon because you hadn't yet gotten up. He knew something was wrong and went to your room to find you burning up. He was so worried. We all were."

"Where is he?" Dembe looked about the room again, seeing no signs of his comrade.

Rosalie sighed, "I finally had to bully him into bed, he's got it too."

Dembe's face was immediately filled with concern, "Is he going to be alright?"

"Yes, he'll be just fine, he's probably only a few hours behind you." Rosalie nudged another piece of toast toward him with a grin, "He'll be so happy to hear you're okay. That man was utterly beside himself seeing you so unwell."

Dembe took the slice of bread obediently, "Raymond is a good friend. Who has been taking care of him?"

"I have," Rosalie assured, "Kate and I have been making the rounds between your room and his."

A beat of silence hung between them before Dembe spoke again.

"Una lan Krio?"

He shrugged when she looked surprised, "I recognized your voice. I remember hearing it."

Rosalie blinked sheepishly at him, "I called in a favor from a friend who grew up in Nigeria, she recognized the language right away."

"I was talking?"

"Muttering," she affirmed with a nod, "You were in the grip of a fever dream. They can be harrowingly realistic, You seemed-" Rosalie's jaw tightened and her eyes fell to her hands. "You were so frightened, I couldn't stand it. I called my friend and begged her to teach me a few phrases in Krio to see if that would help."

Dembe peered thoughtfully at her, his face holding a look of mild surprise. After several long moments, he smiled. "I have never told you the story of how Raymond and I came to know each other, have I?"

Rosalie poured them each a cup of tea, shaking her head, eyes flitting curiously up to his. "No, I suppose you haven't." She was not about to mention seeing the brand on his shoulder, content to wait for the day he felt comfortable discussing it himself.

She handed him a cup of tea and sat daintily on the edge of the mattress, whereupon Dembe began to speak.

"What do you know of the Mombasa Cartel?"

Rosalie leaned back slightly, "They're tyrants peddling in drugs, wildlife poaching, among a vast array of other illicit activities."

Dembe nodded his agreement, "When I was a boy, my father turned in a handful of their first tier operatives working in Sierra Leone. As you may have guessed, the cartel did not take kindly to that." He placed his hand in hers, gripping it tightly. "They came in broad daylight and murdered my father, my brothers, and then my mother. I was six at the time. I can remember the exact color of my shirt, the overalls I was wearing. The men who killed my family saw me beside the pen where we kept the goats."

"What did they do?" Rosalie asked, her voice a horrified whisper. Tears stung her eyes as she cradled Dembe's hand in her own.

"They took me," his voice held the slightest of tremors, "I was sold to the Eberhardt Cartel. I was contracted as a boy soldier, beaten and bloodied for sport, and after eight years, I decided no more."

A sharp gasp left Rosalie's mouth, "You managed to get out? Is that when you met Raymond?"

Dembe smiled, "No, and yes."

Rosalie was confused by the response and his sudden change in demeanor.

"There was a woman," he explained, his warm, brown eyes glinting with a distant memory. "She was kind, joyful. She taught me about books and words, the languages of the countries and regions the cartel dragged me through. She brought me to Allah, showed me that men are not the sum of their deeds but who they truly are on the inside. I loved her, and she loved me, so we decided to run away from the cartel, separately, and meet in Nairobi."

Dembe grew very quiet, "We made it to Nairobi and purchased tickets for a bus that would take us to Mogadishu, where we would then board a boat to Madagascar."

"What happened?" Rosalie breathed, still holding him tightly. Her breath hitched when Dembe's gaze held her own.

"They were waiting for us."

He took a steadying breath and gripped her hand a little tighter, "I managed to push her onto the vehicle. It was so crowded, I thought the cartel wouldn't see her. I was torn from the steps of the bus, screaming at the driver to go. I fought and fought, but I was one against many."

Rosalie's hand covered her mouth "The woman, what happened to her?"

"The cartel members informed me they caught up with her in Mogadishu," his face fell, "I searched for any sign of her, but..."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." Rosalie brushed his cheek with a gentle thumb, compassion pouring from the depths of her being. "What happened to you?"

"The cartel set out to teach me the price of turning one's back on them. They chained the remains of my beaten and charred body to a standpipe and left me there to die. I woke up in the basement of that brothel without a clue of how long it had been. I was dehydrated, bleeding internally, on the brink of death. I looked up, and...there was Raymond."

Rosalie hiccuped softly, "He took you."

Dembe nodded with a small smile, "The first time I was happy to be taken anywhere by anyone. He made me well, gave me the best education his considerable wealth and influence could buy. Believe it or not, he would take me to museums and art galleries on school holidays. Any corner of the world I wished to see, he made it happen. Then, when I graduated, he gave me the keys to an apartment in London and a salary which would easily take me through the end of my days."

"Yet you stayed? You've been with him all this time?" Hot tears were pouring down her cheeks in earnest now, realizing the full extent of Raymond and Dembe's history.

Dembe leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Rosalie, "I would never walk away, my sister, because I saw what you see in Raymond." He released her to cup her face in his large, calloused hands, "You and I, we see the man within."

Once night fell, Rosalie was finally able to return to the master suite.

Dembe was still weak, but had eaten twice over the course of the day and his fluids were up, so the woman counted their blessings. Raymond remained still and quiet in their bed.

She had been waiting all day to be here with him.

Rosalie hurriedly disrobed, donning one of his shirts and scurrying beneath the sheets.

"Come here, you darling, selfless man," she murmured, knowing he couldn't hear her. She drew his drowsy form into her arms, her fingertips tenderly brushing back the strands of hair from his brow, to which she pressed her lips. His cheek listed into her outstretched palm, seeking the warm caress.

Rosalie's heart swelled painfully at the action, "Who taught you to be so kind? How on earth, with all that you've seen and been forced to do...What has kept you whole? Where our contemporaries are wretched, cold and hollow, you have love in you still. Hope. Compassion...You're still so wonderfully human." Her lips brushed along the fevered expanse of his face, pouring out the flood of adoration she felt for the man in her arms. "How is it, at every turn, you prove to be the last thing I ever expected?"

Raymond gave a muffled grunt as he stirred, lifting an uncoordinated hand to divert her mouth from his person. "Don't want you sick."

"Malaria's not contagious." Rosalie reminded, nuzzling his hand out of the way and continuing to pepper his cheeks and jawline with soothing affection.

"Mmm...okay."

She beamed as he tilted his head, opening to her touch without another thought. "You must be very ill, you're usually far more eloquent."

Red grumbled, his mouth turning to the faintest shadow of a pout, "I've been fighting Malaria for a week, what did you expect, an epic?"

Rosalie kissed that too, smirking at the small smile which twitched his lips afterward. "I'd prefer a sonnet, but since you're obviously on your death bed, I'll settle for an epitaph."

Raymond snorted with laughter, nuzzling her nose playfully with his own, directing her back to her task. "How about a dirty limerick?" He pointed to a spot on his cheek which she had missed.

Rosalie kissed the indicated spot repeatedly, her lips apologizing for their neglect. "I was explicitly told not to rile you up."

"I would like to be riled up...explicitly." His weary smile widened when she giggled for his cheek.

"I sincerely doubt anyone's actually gotten aroused by a dirty limerick."

"There once was fine lass from Kent…" He began, but Rosalie quieted him with her lips on his.

"Sleep, love."

His arms reciprocated the embrace, pulling her closer to him. "Yes, dear."

Midnight - November 12th, 1999

Rosalie stirred in the cool darkness of the master bedroom. The mattress beneath her jostled.

"What-?"

She turned a bleary head from under the covers, coming face to face with her bed partner.

Rosalie felt a tug at her person and looked down to see Raymond's hand beneath the blankets, clutching the tails of the shirt she wore in a tight fist. His warm breath huffed in jagged bursts over the expanse of her nape exposed by his tugging.

"H-Help."

His voice was a minuscule, raspy whisper, setting her senses on high alert.

The hand at her back tugged once more, and Rosalie immediately turned into his grasp.

A groan left Raymond's throat when she wrapped him up in her arms, cradling his head to her.

"Shh...You're safe, darling. Everything's going to be alright."

She felt his arms circle around her torso, clutching her tightly as he nestled into the plush valley between her breasts.

Raymond's eyes were screwed shut and a fine sheen of sweat clung to his brow, his countenance wrought with unease. He winced and shivered, the fever which had gripped Dembe the other day seemed to have overpowered Red as well. "Help her. Help-"

Rosalie's stomach plummeted, "Help who?"

"B-burning," He hissed and clenched his teeth, looking as though pain was ripping through his body. "M-my back. God, it hurts. It-it hurts."

She cupped his face in her hands, "Darling, listen to me. Listen to my voice. You're safe, it's not real."

The skin beneath her fingertips was positively ablaze.

Rosalie knew without a doubt Raymond's body temperature was getting dangerously high. She quickly scrambled from his grasp and sprinted for the kitchen.

Kate was just leaving Dembe's room, witnessing the innkeeper sprinting past in a blur. "What's happened?"

"Raymond," Rosalie called back, pulling a few cold packs from the freezer and snatching a handful of other items from the linen closet. "His fever's peaked."

Kate immediately turned toward the master bedroom, striding in to see Raymond Reddington buckled in the fetal position, his head thrashing back and forth, his shirt soaked in sweat. She felt an frigid wave of panic wash over her when she heard his weak, fractured voice cry out.

"Elizabeth...can't breathe" His hands were reaching across the bed, desperately searching, clawing for purchase on anything he could reach. "F-Fire, she...she can't breathe..." His lungs fought against an invisible weight, heaving and gasping for oxygen as panic set in.

Realizing the event his feverish mouth was rattling on about, Kate made a split-second decision.

Rosalie scurried back toward the master bedroom to find her closing the door.

"You can't be in here-" Kate stated flatly, knowing there was no telling what Raymond might divulge about Masha in this vulnerable state.

"Like hell I can't." Rosalie snapped, shouldering past the door with spare towels and a bucket in tow. She stepped into the master bath, placing the bucket beneath the tub's tap and filling it with lukewarm water.

"I know you feel entitled to be in here due to your involvement with Reddington, but you must leave."

She was standing in the doorway separating the bath from the rest of the suite, her feet planted firmly on the glistening hardwood.

Rosalie's tone turned acidic, "Get the hell out of my way, Kate."

"Rosalie, Raymond is reliving part of his past, something you couldn't possibly-"

"I know," she snapped, turning off the tap and placing a fresh flannel into the bucket.

"You know?" Kate seriously doubted this. It simply wasn't feasible that Raymond had divulged the truth to this newcomer, romantic involvement be damned.

"Well," Rosalie was loathe to admit this next part, "Not everything. I don't know who or what or the full extent of why, but I know the general gist. Raymond has people for whom he's created this empire, and they are in need of his protection."

She made no acknowledging gesture, remaining completely impassive, which in turn made the woman across from her roll her eyes.

"Elizabeth."

The name garnered an unmistakable reaction from Kate Kaplan.

"She's the purpose behind all of this." Rosalie stated with absolute certainty, "Raymond's empire was built to keep her safe. I do not and will not ever expect him to give any of that up for me, Kate."

A modicum of fight left her adversary, and the innkeeper utilized that moment's hesitation to hammer her point home.

"I don't feel entitled to be in the room," she spat with venom, "I demand to be in here because I promised I would do so." She gestured into the master suite, "That man in there and the young man down the hall? Those men are mine to care for. I made a promise, Kate. If the day comes that I am no longer here to fulfill it, you can assert your domain over the whole operation; as a matter of fact, I'll insist you do. Until that day, however, you're living in my world. Under my roof. So I suggest you get out of my way before I kick your ass right out the door. Because right now all you're doing is barring me from fulfilling my promise, from keeping my word."

Rosalie was barely an inch taller than Kate Kaplan, but she knew how to throw her weight around. Raymond had taught her well.

"You might not like me, but I can assure you, it will be a cold day in hell before you push me from his side."

Kate looked as though she was going to fire off a retort, but Rosalie took a challenging step forward, which, try though she did to subdue it, sent Kate staggering a step backward.

"Elizabeth. Screaming. She's screaming. Please. Please."

Both women's heads turned at the sound of a voice.

Rosalie crossed the room without another glance at Kate.

"Shh... She's safe, love. Elizabeth is safe."

To Kate's astonishment, the man quickly quietened. With eyes still closed, his head turned to listen carefully for the gentle female voice whispering to him.

"Safe?"

"Yes, darling. She's safe and sound, far, far away from all that. You're safe here with me."

"I'm safe," his hand reached out for her, searching, a sigh falling from his lips when Rosalie lifted the hand to her cheek, assuring him he was indeed there, with her, that what he was seeing and feeling wasn't real.

"I'm safe."

"You're safe, Raymond." She repeated the phrase as many times as it took to soothe him.

"You need to leave." Rosalie's tone was final as she carefully nestled a cold pack at the base of his neck. She was not certain if Kate knew of Raymond's scars from the night of the fire, and thus was not about to remove his shirt with her standing right there.

"Kate."

Dembe stood shakily in the doorway, waylaying any further arguments.

The women exchanged a silent, waspish glance before Kate begrudgingly followed the younger man from the room.

Kate shooed Dembe back into bed with no small amount of chastising. "You shouldn't be up yet."

"You were picking a fight with Rosalie." Dembe countered with a knowing look, obediently settling back into bed.

"How does she know about Elizabeth?" Kate questioned, her greatest concern being for the young girl.

Dembe heaved a pitying sigh, "Because she is trustworthy Kate. Because she and Raymond carry only one secret between the two of them. He would never have uttered a word about Elizabeth in Rosalie's presence if he did not trust her implicitly."

Kate's expression was suspicious and rife with disbelief, "Do you honestly believe another fugitive can be trusted with something so delicate-?"

"Without question." Dembe's tone was one of absolute conviction.

The woman's exasperation was evident as she turned to head for the door, giving the bodyguard up as a lost cause.

"Perhaps your dislike for Rosalie does not actually have anything to do with her."

Kate whipped around with an almighty scowl to see Dembe raising a challenging eyebrow at her.

"Goodnight," she snipped, closing the door with a snap behind her.

Early Evening - November 12th, 1999

Rosalie was seated on the balcony of the master bedroom the following evening, having a drink and getting a little fresh air after seeing to her network and checking up on Dembe once more.

Raymond remained asleep in their bed. His fever finally broke the night before, after countless sponge baths and swapping of cold compresses. Rosalie was confident he would be awake and coherent by the following morning.

To her immense surprise, Kate stepped up to the patio door with a glass of wine and asked to join her.

She gestured to the patio seat across from her, topping off her bourbon.

"I thought you were a gin drinker?" Kate asked, gesturing at the dark amber liquid in the woman's glass.

"I'm feeling nostalgic," admitted Rosalie, "My daddy and I would sit on the old porch swing after a particularly long day and solve the world's problems while he nursed a bourbon neat." She lifted the glass and swirled its contents before taking a practiced sip.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" The polite statement held such a subtle burn, an untrained ear would have missed it.

Kate took the frigidity as par for the course, given their altercation the night before. "I wanted to see if you and I couldn't discuss the obvious tension which has been brewing between us since I began moving alongside your group. I can only guess you may be suffering from some notions of possessiveness when it comes to your relationship-"

Rosalie shook her head, giving the woman a slow, exasperated blink. "Oh bless your heart," the heavy crystal glass she held was set down with a touch more force than necessary, "Kate, you think you've got our situation figured out, but I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt you have spectacularly misjudged my character. My anger with you had nothing to do with any feelings of possessiveness I have about Raymond. Though, trust me, I know they're there and I make no apologies for them. My actions last night had everything to do with the fact that someone I deeply care for was in pain and you were attempting to keep me from tending to it. I can look past your cool facade, I can bite my tongue when you're just this side of blatantly rude, but trying to bar me from caring for my romantic partner is a move I simply will not tolerate."

The innkeeper stood to leave, halting momentarily in the doorway.

"I don't need his empire, Kate, and I don't need his protection. In case you haven't noticed, I have an incredibly lucrative and safe world of my own. Raymond and I could go out separate ways right now and I would retreat back to the shadows from whence I came without a scratch on me, my fortune fully intact. I'm here because I want him." Rosalie pointed to the still figure huddled amongst the sheets, "I want Raymond, and I don't mean it in a selfish sense. I want the man for my own, to make him happy, to care for him, to continue building a life together. I want to be his because if the past year with him has taught me anything, it's that he deserves the kind of woman who will give a damn when he's sick, when he's tired, when he needs a patient ear. He deserves a partner who understands what it takes to stand your ground when the wolves are at the door. I'm not here as some gold digging trollop, Kate. I thought you knew Raymond better than that."

A heavy silence hung between the women, both knowing they had reached a turning point in their acquaintance.

Kate halted any further retorts, realizing Dembe may have very well been right about her opinion of Rosalie.

"You remind me of someone," Kate finally confided, gesturing to the seat opposite her in hopes the woman would take it. "I don't suppose Raymond ever told you how I came to be in his employ?"

"No," Rosalie admitted, settling back into her seat and crossing her legs.

Kate chewed the inside of her cheek before replying. "Annie. Annie Kaplan."

Rosalie lifted a questioning brow, immediately curious how Kate and this Annie Kaplan were related.

"Annie was…wonderful." Kate breathed a rare smile, "She was warm, empathetic, infinitely kind, with long blonde curls a bit lighter than your own. Where I tend to be seen as cold and rather robotic in my interactions with people, Annie was radiantly, perfectly human."

Rosalie decided to hear her out, listening to the woman recall what looked to be some of the best days of her life.

"It was strange, to love someone who was so obviously all the things you weren't, and to find out, instead of making you feel inadequate, they make you feel...whole. That's- That's what I felt with Annie." She swallowed past a heavy lump in her throat, "She came into my life when I'd thought I'd lost everything I held dear. She didn't ask me to be happy or pretend I was the least bit okay. She just stayed with me, through it all."

For the first time in their acquaintance, Rosalie saw Kate Kaplan's eyes water. "Seeing you with your blonde hair, how warm and gentle you are with Raymond, just how Annie was with me...It's touched on a wound I'm ashamed to say I've yet to heal. Every time you've tried to be kind, a part of me felt like I couldn't bear to feel that way again. To feel cared for, to allow myself to be-"

Rosalie's face fell, hearing the somber note her voice had taken. "What happened to Annie, Kate?"

Kate seemed to crumple in on herself. "There was a robbery, at her place of work. I was there with her. Things escalated...It sometimes feels like it would be an insult to her memory, to my love for her, for me to feel comforted, to be happy. When I'm here and she's not." Kate couldn't reason how or why she was suddenly content to lay her grief at the other woman's feet.

Rosalie placed a consoling hand on hers, "Kate, I'm so sorry for your loss. I had no idea-"

She held up a hand, "In a way, I was taking my grief out on you, I see that now. You've been nothing but kind since the moment I met you, aside from that little dust-up in South America. You obviously care for both Raymond and Dembe, and if they trust you, I suppose I can as well."

Kate extended her hand to Rosalie, who took it. "I hope we could start again. "

"Can I tell you something about us warm, empathetic blondes?" Rosalie's expression softened, " We'd much rather see those we love happy, safe, and cared for, even if we're not the ones there for them. I want to get to know you Kate, I'd very much like to be your friend. I can't speak for Annie, but if something we're to happen to me down the road and Raymond were left without...I would hope someone would step up and make him feel cared for. I would hope she would have room in her heart for a good man who sometimes needs to be reminded that he is in fact a good man."

The woman rose at the sound of her partner stirring in their bedroom, halting once more before she stepped inside.

"I have room for you, Kate."

*************************************************************************************************************************************
November 12, 1999 - Late Evening

"Was it an eventful week?" Raymond asked, settling into their freshly made bed after a blessedly long shower.

Rosalie pulled the sheets up around him with a nod, "Ted took care of the network for the most part, which was very reassuring. Kate and I took turns playing nurse."

Red chuckled at this, turning to consider his companion, who was busy fretfully biting her bottom lip.

"...I learned a great deal about your closest compatriots."

"Oh?" He said, "Which ones?"

"Dembe and Kate."

A telling silence met this revelation.

Rosalie reached out and took his hand in hers, "Dembe told me the story, Raymond, of how you found him and took him in."

Raymond's brow creased and he shook his head, biting back the well of emotion which threatened to spill over at the memory of that fateful night in Nairobi. "I couldn't have left him there, not in that squalid hell where they'd left him to die."

"The brothel in Nairobi."

"Yes."

Rosalie kissed his palm, her eyes watering once more.

"What's all this, little dove?" He pulled her closer to him, brushing a tear or two away with his thumb.

"Does it not bother you that the rest of the world will never know what you're really like? How selfless you are, how compassionate?

Red smiled, "You know."

"That's not enough," Rosalie insisted, her bottom lip now trembling.

Raymond kissed her once, resting his forehead against her with a contended sigh, "Rosalie, that's everything."