The Concierge & The Citadel

by RosalieReddington

"There are few that understand love and loss more than I..." Raymond Reddington once had a relatively normal life. A wife, a child, a few good friends. Fate was unkind when it took those he loved. Now, as he faces death row, fate returns a familiar face that will bring memories, joy, and love back to Red's life. Pre-Blacklist Years. (Mostly) Cannon Compliant.

31. Thieve & Thugs

A/N: **Trigger Warning**

The Concierge and the Citadel deals regularly with canon-typical violence.

This chapter contains scenes of such nature. Individuals who are easily triggered by such content are encouraged to skip sections which are preceded by asterisks. - xo, Author

Hello All,

Thank you very much for helping your girl through a moment of doubt. The results of the poll show a landslide preference (76%) for the content to remain exactly the same. So it shall be!

Without further ado, here is the long-awaited and extra long Chapter 31, Thieves Thugs.

xo- The Author

---

Rosalie's Safehouse - Palmira, Colombia - February 14, 2000

"Who are you?" Red questioned, striding into the foyer with Kate following close behind.

"Richard Moreau-Lilet, at your service," answered the tall man in the center of the group, genially waving his fingers in Red's direction. He made a sweeping gesture to the woman beside him, "This is my other half and business partner, Calixte."

Raymond eyed them with a suspicious glare, not sure what to make of this new presence at the safehouse.

He knew of the Lilets, of course, and had done his fair share of business with the syndicate's ports in the Gulf of Mexico, but he had never actually met the notorious Creole couple who controlled every inch of the criminal underground south of the Mason-Dixon line.

Richard's attire was decidedly retro, carrying the cut and styling emblematic of the mid-to-late 70's. The woman next to him was outfitted in a similar fashion, her svelte figure clad in a multicolored striped jumpsuit and her head crowned by a wealth of voluminous black curls.

The continued silence on both sides gave a hostile ambience to the room, setting all of its occupants on edge.

Calixte swept gracefully forward, cutting the mounting tension with her very presence. There was something elegant and ethereal about her bearing, setting the others at ease without a word.

Meeting her inquisitive stare, Red noted her eyes were a deep hickory haloed in golden amber, flickering with the same kind of warmth and cunning Rosalie's always exhibited.

Those eyes scorched Raymond from the inside out, seeming to look far too deeply into his soul for his own liking.

"Oh you poor dear," Calixte cooed soothingly, placing a gentle palm to his cheek, "Don't you see it, 'Shard?" She turned to glance at her husband before returning her sympathetic gaze to Raymond.

"He's her lover."

---

Calixte wrangled Raymond into the kitchen before he could blink; though, how she managed to do so was beyond him. He only truly registered the change of venue when he was deposited in a chair at the long kitchen table, a hot cup of tea appearing mysteriously in front of him.

Richard smiled knowingly from across the tabletop, his eyes honed on his wife with a delighted, predatory glint.

"I swear, it's some kind of magic only the two of them possess."

"What?" Red grunted, snapping out of the daze.

This response seemed to amuse Lilet even more, "Calixte and Rosalie," he chuckled, "They practice some sort of voodoo witchcraft, I'm sure of it. Every man in the room is far too agreeable when one of them is around."

"I heard that."

Calixte's low purr drifted toward them from the kitchen's island, where she had a handful of steaming mugs waiting. She doled the cups out to the security team and ushered the men out into the lounge before closing the heavy oak door, giving the group their privacy.

The two parties occupied opposite sides of the table, the gleaming wood delineating the separate territories.

Reddington's team consisted of himself and only two others. One was a middle-aged woman with thick-rimmed glasses and a stony gaze. Her pin straight black hair just skirted her chin, framing a taut, brooding expression.

"You must be the young man Rosalie was tending to a few months back…"

Calixte's excited whisper was directed toward the young black man on Reddington's opposite side. He was three times her size, but couldn't have been much more than twenty years old. Unlike his dubious cohorts, his brow was merely quirked with curiosity.

"Dembe," he answered, lifting his head stoically, "I believe you are the one whom Rosalie called for a lesson in Krio."

Both Reddington and Kaplan turned at this, staring at Dembe in blatant surprise.

Calixte beamed a warm, delighted smile, "I am pleased you are well, Dembe."

"I owe a great deal of that wellness to our mutual friend." Dembe intoned, "I hope you and your team are here to assist."

Richard stood and pulled out the chair beside him, gesturing for Calixte to take a seat. "We are indeed here for that reason, and that reason only." He took his seat once more and gestured to Ted, who sat on his left, "Ted initiated the protocol a little over ten hours ago, Rosalie hasn't yet been recovered, so here we are."

Red leaned forward, resting his elbows on the tabletop, "So you are Rosalie's extraction team?"

"Oui. You see, My wife and I were Rosalie's very first clientele. She was a very different girl back then-"

"You brought her into our world." Reddington leveled an accusatory glare at the pair across from him.

"She was boxed into a corner and I opened a window." Richard corrected, relaxing into his chair as though he were merely bored, "Rosalie was the one who decided to slip through. There was no coercion involved, I assure you."

Red remained unconvinced, "Explain."

Richard let out a sigh, sharing a glance with his wife before delving into the tale.

"The woman you know as Rosalie Øllegaard grew up on a sprawling stud ranch in northern Leslie County, Kentucky."

The location managed to make something click inside Raymond's mind, "Break Maiden?"

Both Lilets flashed brilliant smiles at the name.

"You've been?" Calixte questioned, finding the knowledge surprising and delightful in equal measure.

"We spent a week there after a bit of a dust-up we encountered in Cuba and D.C," he half-heartedly explained, gesturing toward himself and Dembe. "You're saying it was her home, when she was a child?"

"Yes," Richard nodded, "She was a completely different woman back then. The world knew her as G-"

Red held up his hand, "Don't say it."

The barking order made the whole house go quiet, even the men who were talking back and forth in the lounge beyond the heavy oak door.

"My apologies," Raymond could all but hear the scolding Rosalie would have given him had she been there to witness him being so coarse with her friends. These were people she obviously trusted a great deal. She would want him to give them the benefit of every doubt.

He needed to try and be more civil.

Setting his untouched teacup back on the table, Red cleared his throat. "Rosalie's name is something I will know when she wishes it. I don't wish to hear it from anyone else. Please, could you continue without divulging it?"

Calixte seemed genuinely taken aback by his concern for Rosalie's anonymity, while Richard's visage was transported into a face-splitting grin.

"Lovely, lovely...Très bien. We'll tell it using the name she chose for herself, shall we?"

And so, the Lilets wove the tale of how they met the young woman who would later be known as Rosalie Øllegaard, taking it in turns to explain the relevant details of their acquaintance up until the night she discovered the truth about her parents' health.

---

Haywood Estate - Leslie County, Kentucky - September, 1993

'Shard jogged silently up the dark path leading from the main house, through the nearby pasture to the quiet dirt lane which bordered the property.

Tall, unkempt hornbeams and wild rose bushes blocked out any glimpses of moonlight, engulfing the road in an ominous darkness which made it difficult to traverse.

The only sound which broke the still and quiet night was that of Richard's measured breathing and the crunch of his expensive boots hitting the graveled ground at a steady clip. It was early fall, but the night was still hot and humid, causing sweat to soak the collar of his shirt as he continued to run. Five minutes passed before he reached the end of the lane which marked the entrance to the paddock Rosalie had mentioned.

He vaulted himself over the metal gate with ease, stopping for a millisecond to grimace at the rust coating his hands before taking off once more up the hill.

There was no sign of Rosalie or Francis, from what 'Shard could see. His head swiveled endlessly left and right as he hoofed it up the incline toward the hill's peak. Just before the crest, he halted altogether.

"Rosalie!"

'Shard stooped low, not trusting his surroundings, and called again in a carrying whisper.

"Rosalie!"

No sound could be heard besides the endless chirping of crickets and wailing of cicadas.

Then, a whooping gasp issued from somewhere ahead of him, followed by a weak, raspy voice which managed to croak out a single word.

"'Shard?"

He leapt up at the sound, scanning the tall grass ahead for any sign of Rosalie. Richard made out a bit of movement in the weeds at the very top of the hill and sprinted toward it.

His momentum came to a screeching halt when he came upon the crumpled form of Rosalie laying sprawled on the red clay earth.

Blood covered Rosalie's front, pouring from her mouth and nose to stain her pale cotton dress crimson and coat her skin with dark rivulets.

The sight filled 'Shard's gut with icy despair; at the same time, a corner of his psyche roared with a white-hot demand for vengeance.

She had been savagely beaten, by Francis, no doubt. Though, by looking at her, Richard was not sure one lone man could have done so much damage in such a short period of time.

It was evident the bastards who did this managed to break one of Rosalie's ribs, which punctured her lung upon impact. Her breath came in short hiccups, the shock to her system already beginning to settle in.

"R-run," she whispered, "N-need to run."

"Shhh...I've got you now, we're going to get you an ambulance." How he was going to manage that, Richard wasn't entirely sure. They had no satellite phone and no other methods of contacting emergency assistance.

"No," Rosalie rasped, the plea obviously causing her a great deal of physical pain. "No time. Ranchers. They're going to set fire to the field."

'Shard lifted his head once more, looking to the valley beyond the hill, seeing six shadows passing back and forth in front of a small barrel brimming with yellow and orange flames.

"Merde," he hissed, dropping to the ground next to Rosalie. He placed a soothing hand on hers, his expression a despairing one, "I don't want to cause you pain. We shouldn't move you."

Rosalie patted his hand reassuringly, inhaling a shaky breath. "No other way. It's okay."

"Do you think you can walk at all?" Richard asked, dreading the answer. He could easily carry Rosalie, but it would be a fifteen minute journey back to the house with her in his arms, and who knew what condition she might be in by then.

Rosalie shook her head vehemently, "M-my ATV. They didn't know I drove it. It's parked under-" she coughed impulsively, the action seeming to send another wave of nauseating pain all the way down to her toes. "Underneath the willow by the gate."

Richard caught a passing whiff of smoke.

The scent must have reached Rosalie's nose as well. Her pupils contracted and she turned to him with a look of unmitigated terror. "Please don't leave me here, 'Shard."

The notion that she would even think such a thing cut Richard to his core. He slipped one arm behind her back and the other hooked beneath her knees. "Never, sweetling. Do you hear me? I'm not leaving you anywhere."

Tears carved their way down Rosalie's cheeks, cutting through the blood and the grit to fall upon his shirt.

"This is going to hurt, and I cannot shield you from the pain." Richard felt hot tears stinging his eyes as well, rolling down his beard to mingle with the blood already soaking her front.

"It's okay, 'Shard," she wheezed, fighting to gather enough oxygen to ready herself for the movement, "I'll still love you."

'Shard felt his chest tighten painfully at the sentiment, having never recalled being told he was loved by anyone other than his wife. It killed a part of him to do what he had to do next.

In one smooth, swift motion, Richard stood, lifting Rosalie's shattered body with him.

A sharp inhale forced its way into her lungs, followed by a muffled sob of deepest pain.

"Je suis désolé ma chérie," he apologized, taking the first step down the hill.

He grimaced as he watched Rosalie's face whiten with each step. No matter how cautious he was, every stride was agony, and there was nothing Richard could do to ease her suffering.

He promised himself over and over that he would make those men pay, as soon as he was certain Rosalie would pull through.

"'Shard?"

The whimper was so soft, he nearly missed it.

"Yes, sweetling?"

She lifted her head, trying hard to focus on his face, "Please don't let this place burn."

Richard couldn't help a small chuckle at the request, out of all the things for her to concern herself with, Rosalie was more worried about the damn house. "All I'm focusing on right now is getting you to a doctor."

Her bottom lip trembled around a choked sob, "I've worked so hard to keep her, I can't bear to see her reduced to ashes now."

"I'll do everything in my power to keep it from spreading. Just stay with me, okay?"

Rosalie gave a jerky nod clenching her jaw in pain as she was set once more on the warm, rocky earth. Her hand suddenly shot up to clutch 'Shard's shirt, "The twins. Helia. They're my contingency. They'll know what to do."

He had no idea what she was referring to, but now was not the time to question. "I'll handle it, but you've got to stay awake, okay? I'll be back in just a moment."

He hurried to the willow tree beside the gate, brushing aside its sweeping branches to reveal the ATV Rosalie had taken to get there.

The keys still dangled in the ignition, and Richard wasted no time in starting the vehicle and hitting the gas, hurtling out of the willow's shelter and into the open gate.

"Okay, chèrie. Let's get you to a doctor."

Rosalie was eerily still when he lifted her again, a throaty gasp was all the noise she could muster at being jostled once more.

'Shard swung his leg back over the ATV and nestled his passenger in his lap. Rosalie's knees were draped over his while his right hand cradled her torso in a secure hold.

He took off with haste, apologizing profusely for every minor bump they encountered along the way. A cloud of dirt and dust billowed behind them and small pebbles clunked against the undercarriage as they tore down the lane.

Rosalie had gone completely limp a few minutes into the drive, and a mounting panic flooded the man's chest with each second spent atop the lumbering vehicle.

When they came within shouting distance of the house, Richard bellowed for assistance from the home's occupants.

Both Calixte and the Metalist leapt through the front door, horror struck at the sight of Richard lifting Rosalie's bloody body from the ATV and hurrying to the porch.

"What in God's name happened in that field?" Calixte hissed, scurrying down the steps to examine their friend.

"Higgs." Richard gritted, lowering his arms so his wife could assess the extent of the damage done. "Francis and his esteemed patriarch. McCallister, Wilkes, the Welch brothers, they were all there at the base of the valley, waiting to pounce. She was left in a bloody heap atop the hill. I think she passed out on the ride back."

Calixte pressed her fingertips to Rosalie's neck, feeling the faint, thready heartbeat pulsing laboriously beneath. "'Shard, she needs a hospital…"

"There's an underground trauma center not ten minutes away, even less if we hurry…" muttered the Metalist, taking Rosalie's unconscious form from Richard and making for the truck.

"Mon coeur," Calixte watched fretfully as their friend was carefully loaded into the back of the vehicle. "What if she doesn't-"

Richard's hand surged forward to grasp her shoulder, "Don't say it. She'll pull through if we get her to a hospital in time. Take Hector, do everything he asks."

"You're not going?" She questioned, appalled he would consider leaving at a time like this. "Higgs and the others can wait, 'Shard-"

His head gave a decisive shake, "I made a promise to Rosalie, one I am intent on keeping. I'll meet up with you as soon as I can."

"But-" His wife heaved a sigh, accepting the fact that Rosalie had obviously given him a task before she fell unconscious. Grabbing him by the lapels, Calixte kissed him soundly before taking the truck's keys and hoisting herself into the driver's seat.

'Shard watched as the vehicle hurtled down the main road leading away from the house, its crimson brake lights fading far into the blackness.

Once they pulled onto the county road, he turned on the ball of his foot and took the porch's steps three at a time.

Flinging the front doors open with a bang, he flipped every switch in the house, flooding the home with light as his deep voice bellowed, "Rise and shine, boys and girls! Lever et briller! Y'all have some work to do tonight!"

The sound of five locks clicking resonated throughout the main floor of the Haywood home. The safehouse's hidden occupants stepped cautiously out from behind glistening wooden doors, confusion and suspicion darkening their features. A towering man with long, wild-looking gray hair and a leather vest was the first to enter the atrium, followed by a mousy middle-aged woman with a white jacket tucked demurely around her middle. The two spared a glance at each other before turning their curiosity on 'Shard.

The man was known as 'Sergeant', but insisted Rosalie was allowed to call him Fred. He was the president of an outlaw motorcycle gang called the Pagans up until two weeks ago, when he'd gotten into a deadly altercation which decimated a rival group, leaving him to lay low in Kentucky until the heat subsided.

The woman behind him went by the moniker, 'Helia'. Her specialty was as an independent contractor handling the destruction or planting of incriminating DNA evidence for high-profile clientele.

From the opposite hallway appeared two identical men in their late twenties. Referred to as 'The Pepperwood Boys', Flint and Iggy were renegade hippies perpetually on the lam for arson and explosive damage. Their latest shenanigan involved the destruction of an animal testing laboratory in Cleveland, which crumbled to ruin under the brothers' combined talents. One of the volunteers taking the abused animals to safety had given them Rosalie's information and sent them running south before authorities could even respond to the blaze.

The last member of the current clientele was a woman of indeterminate age dressed all in black. She gave no name, spoke to no-one, and her talents were as of yet unknown. Richard and Rosalie only knew she carried a set of blades in various places and a massive .50 caliber pistol. Her hair was cut in a short, spiked pixie cut, the bright ginger locks the only shock of color on her.

Richard cleared his throat, stepping forward to address the contingent of fugitives. "Our girl is in a bit of a tight spot. Rosalie has been badly beaten, and the property has caught fire. I need your help. Rosalie needs your help. If we can't contain the blaze, this little haven she's built to hide our sorry asses will be ashes come morning."

"Is she going to make it?"

It was Fred who spoke first, his tone surprisingly soft and gentle for such a foreboding individual.

"I-" Richard faltered before deciding on the truth, "I don't know. If she does, it's going to be a long road to recovery. Those cowards did a number on her."

A heavy, somber silence swallowed the room and its occupants, broken only by the urgency of the blaze burning steadily through the outlying property.

The unnamed woman stepped forward, removing her trench coat to reveal a pristine white button down, its sleeves rolled up to reveal heavily tattooed limbs. Black bands circled her wrist and elbow, keeping a pair of razor sharp knives strapped to the underside of her forearms. She looked back at the others with a foreboding level of expectation.

"Well, what are you all waiting for? The man said there's work to do."

Richard turned toward the twins, "Pepperwoods, Helia."

Flint and Iggy looked up, as did the mousy woman beside Fred.

"Rosalie mentioned you three were a contingency of some sort before she lost consciousness. Does that mean anything to you?"

"Finally!" Helia cheered, exasperation evident in her tone. She turned on her heel and made for her room, from which they could hear the sounds of trunks and equipment being pushed about.

"You're sure she said contingency?" Flint asked, "You're absolutely certain?"

"Because we're going to catch hell if we do this and she's not prepared..." Ignatious finished for his brother, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt in preparation.

"She said contingency. Rosalie was very adamant- Wait, what are you-?"

"Gentlemen!" Flint called, clapping his hands together and stepping so he stood in front of Richard. "Ladies," he made sweeping gestures toward the unnamed redhead and Helia, who had just re-entered the atrium toting a large suitcase. "Iggy and I will be running the show from here onward, per Rosalie's behest."

The others could clearly see Richard's bemused scowl lurking behind Flint's burly 5'8" frame, making a rather comedic picture in the midst of all the chaos.

"Madame, Fred-" Iggy gestured at the redhead and the biker, earning a deathly glare from the latter. "Sir," he tried again, reaching up to pat him on his snowy pate, "…fella?"

If looks could kill, Ignatious would be six feet under thrice over.

Fred took a menacing step forward, succeeding in sending the smaller man scrabbling back toward his brother.

"Oookay," stammered Iggy, "You two," he made a bowing gesture toward the dour individuals in question, "Your job is going to be to stop the spread. Ranches like these always have emergency equipment for situations such as this. There should be a water truck in the large shed behind the house, and bags of flame retardant as well. Douse the edges of the flame. Only the edges." He insisted pointedly, "You must let the field's interior burn."

Fred and the woman nodded without a word exiting the home without further ado.

"Wait, why just the edges?" Richard asked, still trying like hell to get a word in edgewise.

He was duly ignored in favor of further instructions being doled out.

"Helia, our darling, precious Helia…" Flint waxed poetic, holding his hands out in obvious enjoyment of the moment, "Art thou ready for our little switcheroo?"

The mousy woman rolled her eyes and lifted the suitcase, "Yes, we're ready. Let's get on with this."

"What the hell is going on? Bellowed Richard, landing a swat to the back of Flint's head. Iggy managed to duck, avoiding the swipe the older man aimed at him.

"Relax, our esteemed colleague," Ignatious soothed expertly, "Go with Little Red and the big fella. Help them get the blaze under control, and perhaps give them a lesson in smiling, lord knows they need it."

Both Iggy and Flint gave the group a salute before they each looped an arm through Helia's, striding in step toward the front door.

"Wait!" Richard snapped, "What are the three of you up to?"

It was Helia who halted in the center of the doorway and turned with a confident smile.

"We have our orders. Keep the flames away from the property's interior, 'Shard, we'll handle the rest."

---

Rosalie's Safehouse - Palmira, Colombia - February 15, 2000

It was the wee hours of the following morning when Rosalie's extraction team set out to gather any and all available information to assist in her retrieval.

While the mercenaries were searching for intel, Richard and Calixte remained to assist Raymond and his team in their search.

Three more associates joined their group during the night on his orders; Baz, Toddrick, and Wallace had arrived shortly after three in the morning, jet-lagged, but eager to assist in the search for Rosalie. The additional muscle occupied all but one of the remaining seats at the long dining room table. The last open space sat directly across from Reddington, which they left untouched as a kind of vigil for their missing compatriot.

"What do we know about who ordered her capture?" Calixte began, setting out a tray for coffee and tea.

The whole table nodded their thanks as Red outlined what they knew of the everlasting thorn which had lodged itself in his paw since last April.

"We've been having a recurring issue with a man known only as the German. He and his associate have been working to undermine my business for about a year. That hasn't worked, and so they've resorted to chasing Rosalie for the past six months or so."

The Lilets shared a meaningful look across the table, which did not go unnoticed by anyone in Reddington's party.

"You know of him?" Kaplan inquired, watching their expressions most intently.

Madame Lilet pursed her lips, her tone carrying a distinct note of chagrin. "We've done business with him quite recently. Early January, I think?"

Richard gave a somber nod, "Dark hair, neatly clipped mustache, low German accent...He hardly said a word. I wish Rosalie had mentioned the problem back in November, we would have captured him immediately."

Reddington's team let out a collective sigh.

"In the past ten months, we have unearthed no more information than the insights you just provided." Dembe commiserated, providing an explanation for their dismay.

Red, however, seemed to latch onto the small bit of intel nestled within. "You said he did business with you; what did he purchase?"

"He purchased a munitions package through one of our suppliers, another Londoner dealing in Berettas mostly. The contraband was varying calibers of handguns plus a half dozen rifles and ammo. He made no mention of his intentions with the items."

"He did mention he was a UK national, though," Calixte contradicted, her proud stature refusing to shrink when the entire room turned to stare at her.

"What?"

Reddington's team chorused the question all at once, pouncing upon the first new piece of intel in almost a year.

Calixte's gaze flitted between the group and her husband before she gave a noncommittal shrug. "I commented on the boots he was wearing, I had planned on getting 'Shard a pair as a gift." Her attention turned back toward Reddington, "They're custom from a small shop in London. He mentioned he grew up in that area, near St. James's."

Red turned to Dembe, "Place a call to our contacts in London. I'm afraid we'll need to table the intel for the moment, but they can start looking into it. Tell them to be stealthy about it. Chasing the German too brazenly will only expedite Rosalie's extraction from Colombia. For now, our group will focus on the Los Reyes Sagrados cartel."

Dembe gave a curt nod, pulling out a satellite phone and excusing himself from the table.

Richard's pallor paled considerably, "Los Reyes Sagrados were the ones contracted to obtain her?"

Red recognized the note of concern darkening the other man's tone. "I take it you know of them?"

An unpleasant snarl tugged at Calixte's upper lip. "My husband and I refuse to work with Los Reyes, they're too hot-headed. That being said, we see a great deal of their shipping operations skirting around the routes we've built in the Gulf. If Rosalie is in their grasp, we don't have much time to secure her before they make their move."

A heavy silence swallowed the table once more, lingering before Kate Kaplan once again brought them all back to task. "What's their average turnaround on living contraband?"

"Less than a hundred hours." Richard mentally calculated their time frame, "We've got three, four days at the absolute maximum, but we've seen them move in as little as twenty-four hours. The location works in our favor, being as remote as this and knowing you and your associates are hunting them down, Los Reyes are going to be very cautious indeed. We might have a full three days to locate her before she's gone for good."

Calixte set her teacup gently upon the tabletop, "Rosalie left nothing to chance. If she's not recovered by the twenty-four hour mark, I'm sure the others will be dispatched."

"Others?" Red balked, "You're telling me there are more of you?"

"Oh yes," she murmured sincerely, "Ted?"

Ted Beaumont had been uncharacteristically silent during the whole ordeal. He lifted his gaze from his teacup, scanning the others before clearing his throat.

"The others will come in waves. Every twelve hours once we reach the twenty-four hour mark. The next pair have already been dispatched, they'll be here this evening."

Red ran a weary hand over his face. "Do we have the slightest clue who's going to show up on our doorstep next?"

The opposite side of the table was pointedly silent, answering his question well enough.

Richard finally shrugged and held up his hands, "We can only guess, Monsieur. In truth, we have no earthly idea."

---

Los Reyes Sagrados Camp - Unknown Location, Colombia - February 15, 2000

It was late the following morning when Rosalie shifted, her back tight from a night of keeping watch against the rocky mountainside.

The other women and young girls in the corral were still asleep, curled in the spaces around her like a weary flock seeking protection.

After the altercation of the day before, the cartel members steered well clear of the corral and its murderous new occupant.

Their comrade's bludgeoned corpse remained sprawled near the gate as a warning.

The women within had gained a great deal more fortitude after watching Rosalie take down the cartel's cruelest, most sadistic member, a man known only as El Bárbaro. They took the gate keys from his person shortly afterward, ensuring the only way the others could get into the corral would be to climb over the wall.

Only one had been foolish enough to try.

A low-level halcone had hoisted himself over the fence around midnight only to be met by a contingent of bloodthirsty women ready and eager to lay waste to any interlopers.

They attacked with every available projectile, from smooth, small boulders to thick branches off the tree which overlooked the corral. A few had even removed their belts to use as makeshift weapons against him.

The man barely escaped with his life, saved at the last moment by a brave compatriot who helped hoist him and his broken arm back over the gate before the advancing women could finish the job.

Rosalie couldn't help but smile with malicious pride at the band of unruly females, who had snarled and screeched their fury at their captors, calling them all the vile names which had been hurled their way over the span of their captivity.

It seemed it only took one captive standing her ground to instigate a complete revolt.

The older woman and the young girl who had pulled Rosalie from the ground just before the corral was infiltrated were there in the thick of it all, shouting and attacking in unison alongside the others.

The two now lay on either side of her, the elder woman resting against the mountainside while the young girl lay nestled against Rosalie's thigh.

Rosalie gently brushed the tangled locks from her face, the dark brown tendrils falling in a tousled riot in her lap.

The girl stirred a little, stretching tiredly. She was terribly thin. The tattered pink shirt she wore was much too large for her, its hem long enough to cover her knees entirely.

"Ella solo tiene diez años."

Rosalie turned to see the woman solemnly watching her. "¿Su familia?" She questioned, trying to keep her voice low.

The girl stirred, lifting her head from its resting place and curling her feet beneath her.

"Gone." She whispered in a high, broken voice, "The cartel. They took all the young girls to keep the men in our village in line. My mom was shot in the road outside our home, then the cartel took me to make sure my father would have no choice but to do as they asked."

"You speak English." Rosalie was surprised at this, "How long have you been here?"

"We had been learning in school, up until the cartel raided our village," the girl explained, "That was two weeks ago. I've hid with the other girls for as long as I could, but our numbers have been dwindling."

Rosalie's stomach clenched unpleasantly, "They've been killing the other girls?"

"Yes," the girl stated matter-of-factly, "Sometimes, the girls try to escape and get shot, other times they kill her for sport or because her family did not meet the cartel's demands. They killed my best friend the day you came here."

"Why?" Rosalie breathed, shocked by the ease with which such a young child spoke of such inhuman actions.

She shook her head, her bottom lip giving a feeble quiver. "Our fathers did not do as they were told by the cartel. They executed them, and so there is no need for the cartel to keep either of us. When they grow bored next, they will come looking for me."

"No," Rosalie reached out, pulling the little girl into her outstretched arms and cradling her head to her bosom. "I'm not going to let that happen. I know what it is to lose your family, it's one of the most painful events one can endure. I'm so sorry it's befallen you at such a young age, sweetling. Tell me, what is your name?"

"Dolores," she sniffled, curling morosely into Rosalie's side, "My friends called me Lita."

Rosalie rested her cheek atop Lita's head, a hand reaching up to pat the dark curls soothingly. "There are people coming for me, Lita, and when they do, we will all be free."

The older woman beside her scoffed, earning herself a positively ferocious scowl.

"Everyone has someone coming…" She retorted, resting against the mountainside once more. "Until they don't show. Don't promise her what you can't give."

Rosalie glared scathingly at the woman before turning her head back to the child in her arms.

She was confident Raymond and her team would find her. It was only a matter of time.

By now, Richard and Calixte would already be in Colombia with her extraction team. By nightfall, the second wave would arrive at the safehouse as well. They would find her, and when they did, Lita was coming with her.

"Psst."

Several women raised their heads, turning toward the sound issuing from the edge of the corral

A tall, bald man in a white henley and dark grey pants was peering through a gap in the fence.

"Rogelio…" several of the women whispered the man's name, turning to see what warning he had come to give.

He looked directly at Rosalie, his dark eyes apologetic. "You need to prepare yourselves. They have the bolt cutter, and los sicarios are furious about the revolt happening here. They are looking to set an example. Dos, tres minutos, no màs."

The women in the space began scuttling about, hurrying the younger girls into the corner.

A harried frenzy caught the air as the inevitability of their sanctum being breached once more seemed to sink in for the captives.

One by one they manned their arms, lifting fallen branches into weary hands, removing their belts, picking up small boulders and rolling them between nervous palms.

Then, just beyond the gate, they heard the clinking of metal on metal.

Rosalie turned to the small gap in the fence, but Rogelio was already gone. Her attention moved to Lita, whose face could be seen amongst the other young girls, looking horrorstruck.

"Stay with the girls." She demanded, waiting for Lita to acknowledge the command before striding to the front of the group of women, watching the entrance expectantly.

Rosalie undid the catch at her wrist, loosening one of the kunai blades from beneath her sleeve. Though the cartel had confiscated her firearm from the holster which resided at the small of her back, nobody had bothered to properly search Rosalie before throwing her into the corral. The flat blades passed unnoticed for days, providing a small assurance to their owner. She had kept them secret for as long as she could, but Rosalie's situation had finally reached the point where she was forced to use the tools available to her.

The cool, sturdy metal slipped from its sheath, the weighted ring sliding easily over her middle finger.

Thankfully, the night she was taken, Rosalie had forgotten to wear the ring Raymond had given her. It was nestled safely in its box on her nightstand, away from the coveting eyes of the cartel.

Her mind spared a brief thought for her romantic partner, wondering how deep in the underground he would have to go to find her.

As it stood, unless the women managed to overpower the cartel's foot soldiers, the likelihood of Rosalie making it out of the campground of her own volition was slim to none.

She could only hope she would be able to hold on long enough for them to find her.

A silent prayer lifted to any deity who would head the call, quietly pleading for the fates to be kind to those she cared for most.

A heavy metallic thunk echoed against the gate as the padlock was cut, the entry swinging open on creaky hinges to reveal more than a dozen tall, foreboding men.

The group were halcones, the underlings and lowest levels of the cartel's hierarchy. Behind them waited a half dozen armed men referred to as sicarios, the violent enforcers of the cartel's regime.

They marched into the corral amidst hisses and jeers from the women within, the cacophony of noise serving as cover for the rustling of restless hands heavy with makeshift weaponry.

When the first halcone stepped forward, a dark boulder flew from the back of the group, signaling the first shot over the bow in the women's renewed altercation with their captives.

Chaos ensued when the boulder hit its mark, striking the man in the shoulder and sending him staggering into his fellows.

The others surged forward, barreling into the women with fists flying.

With a flick of her wrist, Rosalie sent a blade spinning through the air toward an oncoming assailant. The projectile lodged itself in his chest, slowing his advance to a stumbling shuffle until he crumpled to the ground several feet in front of her.

She sprinted forward, dodging the melee of attacks flying from both the women and the cartel's men, then yanked the knife from the fallen man's sternum. She carelessly drew the edge of the blade across his throat, ensuring he was no longer a threat before slipping the blade's ring around her fingertip once more.

Women were dropping all around her, the sheer physical force the men were able to wield against them was all-encompassing, all but impossible to overcome.

A heavy fist swiped through the air, landing a devastating hit to Rosalie's torso and another to her back.

He would have managed another blow had it not been for a well-timed boulder colliding with the back of his skull.

A wild-haired woman gave Rosalie a fierce nod before scurrying to help the others.

Whipping around, Rosalie punched the guy in the face for good measure, wincing at the pain which flared through her hand at the action. Lifting her head, she took a brief look around and saw in the distance another man atop a familiar looking figure, his fist colliding with a face no longer recognizable.

The woman who had lifted Rosalie from the ground, who had slept at her side the night prior, lay in a limp, bloody heap beneath him.

Blind with rage, Rosalie vaulted over the strewn bodies around her, landing with a thud on the man's back.

He roared at the incursion, reaching to snatch at her with blood-covered hands.

The man didn't have the leverage to pull her off and with a swift thrust, Rosalie managed to bury the knife in his carotid.

"Enough!"

A gunshot echoed from the gate alongside a booming voice just as a stiff cable slipped its way around Rosalie's neck, tightening with a swift yank.

The restriction instantly set Rosalie's lungs heaving, instinctively searching for oxygen that wouldn't come.

Staggering backward, her dark eyes searched blearily for the source of her asphyxiation. A cartel sicario stumbled into her periphery, his hands clenched tightly about a catch pole. The device, typically reserved for subduing strays and wild animals, instead held Rosalie rooted in place at the end of the long pole, ensuring she could not retaliate against anyone else.

Rosalie's fingers clawed desperately at her throat, leaving small pink scratches on her skin where she tried to remove the object obstructing her airway. Slowly, her eyelids began to flutter, signaling her body's imminent collapse due to lack of oxygen.

A stoic individual with slick black hair and a spruce mustache strutted slowly toward the struggling woman, a contingent of armed sicarios surrounding him as he entered the corral. He was obviously the boss of the operation, also known as the Capo.

Opaque sunglasses shielded his eyes, but it was obvious the Capo's attention was firmly fixed on the thrashing creature before him.

His men fanned out, guns pointed at the remaining captives, who hastily dropped their weapons and backed toward the rear of the space with their hands raised in surrender.

With a snap of the man's fingers, the noose was loosened just enough for Rosalie to catch a breath.

She coughed and spluttered, drawing in wheezing lungfuls of air and staggering to keep her knees from giving out beneath her.

"Shh, shh, shh," he tutted her misfortune, reaching out a hand to cup her face in his large, calloused palms. "What an inferno you are, querida." He crooned, circling her at his leisure, seeming to savor her predicament.

"Fuerte…Furiosa…"

Rosalie lurched when she felt his warm breath against her ear.

"Salvaje…"

His hands drifted downward, caressing her waist lasciviously. "Pàlida. Bonita, like sculpted glass…It's a shame we can't keep you. I do so love watching glass things break."

His touch sent a shudder of revulsion through Rosalie's frame, the flagrant disregard for her consent coaxing another white-hot flare of indignation to lick at her insides.

With what felt like the last vestiges of her strength, she surged forward, attempting to lodge the last of her blades in his throat.

Her forward momentum was halted by the noose, however, and the Capo easily sidestepped her attack with a deep, throaty chuckle.

Two more sicarios surged forward, ripping the weapon from her hand and quickly frisking her person for any other contraband.

Rosalie managed to kick one across the mouth before the man holding the catch pole yanked her to the ground, gasping and spluttering once again.

"Careful, querida, you're toeing a fine line."

"You have no idea what kind of line you've crossed." Rosalie hissed, rising to her feet once more.

The sicario tightened the noose warningly, the pressure against her larynx ensuring she did not attempt another attack.

"I know you're more trouble than you're worth." The Capo's nasty smile turned into a ferocious scowl, "I know your antics have cost me one of my best sicarios. Lucky for you, the buyer has placed a considerable bounty on your head, so it behooves me to keep you alive."

His head tilted in an obvious once-over before he invaded her personal space one more.

"Unfortunately for you, he did not specify in what condition you were to be delivered. What's to keep me from handing you over to my men until the German comes to collect you?"

Rosalie carefully schooled her expression, not letting on the fear she felt roiling in her gut at such a threat.

"Raymond Reddington."

"What about Reddington?" The Capo snarled viciously, coming nose to nose with her.

"Oh?" Rosalie managed a strangled sort of laugh, "Your underlings failed to warn you the contract was for one of Reddington's people?"

Even behind his dark glasses, Rosalie could tell he was casting a thunderous look at his men. He had given himself away in an instant.

Rosalie leaned forward, wincing as the cable around her throat tightened once more.

"Put your ear to the underground, Capo," she managed in a rasping whisper, "He's coming for me. You've managed to incur the wrath of a deadly foe indeed."

The Capo's lip curled with a quiet, unshakeable fury, delighting his supposed captive even further.

"Even if you make it to the handoff without being detected, Raymond Reddington will hunt you down if it takes his dying breath to do so." Rosalie threatened in a soft, deadly murmur, "Imagine what atrocities he will have in store for you should you allow your men free rein. Imagine the death and destruction which will come barreling over that hillside, and you with nowhere left to scurry."

It was Rosalie's turn to tut at his misfortune.

The jeering sound was the final straw for the Capo. His fist whipped through the air, the back of the large appendage catching Rosalie high on her cheekbone, his ring cutting into the smooth skin of her temple.

The hit was hard enough to send her staggering toward the ground, dizzy with what was undoubtedly a concussion.

"Take this piece of contraband and put her in isolation. I won't have her instigating riots at all hours until the German deigns to come and collect her. Cage her and be done with it."

The sicario holding the catch pole tightened the noose once more and tugged, forcing Rosalie to her feet.

Her hands clawed at the cylinder holding the noose to no avail, and eventually she was pushed backward by the sicario's guidance. She managed to overhear the Capo instructing the rest of his men as she was forced from the corral.

"You've lost control of this batch. Wipe them out and start again."

The barrage of gunshots rang out before the Capo even left the corral, sparing a malicious smile for Rosalie who continued to struggle against the noose guiding her backward.

Her expression turned to one of utmost horror when she realized he had just ordered the execution of every woman and child held inside the corral as though they were nothing, as though their lives held no worth at all.

The sicario was unphased, forcing Rosalie easily up the hill. Reaching its crest, he pushed her roughly through a metal gate and into a 12x6 animal cage the Capo had wedged against the cliff. He closed and locked the entrance before loosening the noose and using the stick to send Rosalie sprawling to the rear of the enclosure.

He walked away without another glance, the catch pole resting leisurely against his shoulder.

Coughing and gasping, Rosalie scrambled to her knees, her hands clutching at the bars of her new prison. Her voice grew hoarse as she shouted her fury, pulling fruitlessly at the bars as she was forced to listen to the dozens of rounds being fired into the crowd of women in the corral below.

Rosalie wept openly when the air finally fell silent.

A haze of gun smoke drifted lazily up the hillside and the terrified screams abruptly ceased, the quiet marking Rosalie Øllegaard as the last living captive of the Los Reyes Sagrados cartel.

---

Overlook Safehouse - Palmira, Colombia - late evening, February 15, 2000

"Well, he's volatile."

'Shard sidestepped a wooden chair which had been vaulted across the room by a furious Raymond Reddington.

The man was in the midst of interrogating a local bounty hunter who had done business with Los Reyes Sagrados in the past month.

The piece of furniture banged against the stone wall, splintering into a number of pieces before clattering noisily to the floor.

"Goodness me. Rosie's not going to be happy about that."

The two newest members of their extraction team sidled in tandem down the steps leading to the basement.

The Pepperwood boys had arrived shortly before noon per their protocol, bringing with them another half dozen battle-hardened men at arms.

The fair-haired twins with their playful natures and irreverent wit ought to have been a topic of immense enjoyment for Red, but their arrival merely served as a reminder that another twelve hours had gone by and they had yet to locate Rosalie.

The third team had already been dispatched; they would arrive any moment. The makeup of the next pair were just as mysterious as the first, but Flint and Ignatious insisted it would include Helia.

"He's a good man," Calixte defended Reddington against the others, taking a leisurely step backward so the remnants of a shattered vase wouldn't get on her shoes. "It's been nearly forty-eight hours. He's becoming desperate."

Dembe Zuma stepped silently out of the stairwell leading to the main level, making a straight line toward his employer.

The man had the bounty hunter dangling from a wood beam, the noose around his neck just low enough for him to balance on the tips of his toes without suffocating.

Every once in a while the fellow would lose his balance, sending him scrambling to regain his footing, least he strangle himself.

"Raymond."

Red grunted in response, his lungs heaving in his chest as he turned baleful eyes on his companion.

"The next group will be here any moment, you should return to the main level." When it looked as though Raymond was going to disregard his suggestion, Dembe added, "Brimley indicated we need to take a break before going at him again."

A disgruntled sigh left the older man's throat. "Don't let him suffocate while I'm gone," he instructed the mercenary on his immediate right before turning mechanically on the ball of his foot and exiting the room.

Rosalie's extraction team all watched curiously, unsure whether it was wise to follow him.

Calixte was the first to bravely ascend the stairs, arriving at the top of the flight to an empty hallway.

It had begun to rain quite heavily, the downpour pattering noisily against the home's terra-cotta roof. The windows looking out into the garden were almost black, spattered with water droplets which mingled to trickle slowly down the glass.

A shadow moved somewhere on Calixte's right.

The tall, broad form of Raymond Reddington stood like a sentinel in the master suite. His dark visage was unmoving as he lifted something small from the nightstand on the left side of the bed before stepping out onto the room's balcony.

Calixte weighed her options for a long beat, considering what Rosalie would do were she there.

Knowing her friend, she would not stand idly by while her lover stewed in his own misery.

Her decision cast, she strode the length of the hall and entered the master bedroom.

Taking a furtive look about the space, Calixte recognized Reddington's shadow seated on the patio's loveseat. The warm light of a small lamp cast its light over his person, highlighting his solitude in a taciturn glow.

Calixte knocked softly on the sliding door's frame as she stepped out onto the covered veranda. A sharp gasp left her lips when she looked down to see a magnificent solitaire nestled in his hand, its dark green stone glittering radiantly even in the low light.

"Oh my, I-"

Red looked up to see her eyes flit nervously between himself and the jewel he held.

"I didn't realize you and Rosalie were-"

"We're not," he cut her off, allowing the glinting band to tumble from one hand to the other. It was surprisingly small and delicate-looking laying there in his upturned palm. "It was a gift."

Calixte gingerly took the spot beside him, giving the ring a good long look. It was stunning and unique, yet utterly timeless in its design. Without having to ask, she knew it had been made specifically for Rosalie. It may have been a gift, but she would bet her knickers there was a great deal more behind the gesture.

"Gift my ass," she teased playfully, beaming when the quip managed to coax a small smile to Reddington's lips.

"I got it for her at the end of last year after she negotiated and executed this colossus of an expansion to her network. It took months, but she pulled through with impeccable grace. It took a great deal of trust for her to lean on me during that time." Raymond couldn't help the chuckle which leapt from his lungs as he remembered the morning he'd given it to her. "She was terrified when I slipped the box into her hand. I mean, I damn near had to pin her in place, least she bolt for the door. It was like holding a stone statue while I explained that I wasn't trying to needle her into marrying me."

They both laughed at this, perfectly able to picture the sheer panic on Rosalie's face at being presented with what could have easily been misconstrued as a proposal.

"We didn't talk about it at the time, but…I did wonder why she seemed so averse to the idea. Now I know."

Calixte placed a comforting hand to his shoulder, though her tone was completely unapologetic. "The ordeal with Francis made Rosalie more than a little averse to the concept of marriage, and rightfully so. A young man inserted himself into her life under the guise of loving her when in truth he was there for personal gain. Francis chipped away at her little by little with his cool indifference. Slowly, stealthily, he worked to mold her to suit his needs, not once recognizing that a woman like her could never be molded into anything other than what she was. His temper flared ruthlessly when she dared to step out of line. If she protested her own mistreatment he made her believe it was her own fault; made her believe she was selfish and hateful for not doing as he asked. He insisted that all he did was try to help her, to make her better, make her something more. Francis consumed her, making her smaller and smaller until there was damn near nothing left. Rosalie allowed it because she was young and afraid. He was familiar, and she was convinced he loved her. She thought she knew what love looked like, then. Turns out, our dear girl only learned what love is not nor should ever be. Rosalie learned an agonizing lesson from that boy. The fact she's let you in at all is a goddamn miracle."

"He gaslighted her." Red shook his head woefully, a great many curiosities about Rosalie's personality being laid to rest by this information. "I don't understand men whose egos are so woefully fragile they need to belittle and berate the very women willing to give them the world in order to feel good about themselves. I'm even more appalled to learn Rosalie would tolerate such behavior from a romantic partner."

Calixte immediately came to her friend's defense.

"The woman you know as Rosalie Øllegaard is confident, self-assured. Healed. Back then, she was twenty-three years old and anyone but herself. In the span of six months, she had lost her parents and been thrown into defending her home from financial vultures without a soul to lean on for help. Don't judge her too harshly for relying on the good in others back then. She hadn't yet learned the hard lessons we've all experienced."

The woman laughed aloud as she stood to fix herself a drink from the bar cart. "Merde, I would kill for Francis to be able to run into her now. There'd be nothing left of him by the time she was done."

Red watched while Calixte poured herself a bourbon neat, a silent offering for her missing friend.

"Voodoo and witchcraft, as my husband says," she laughed, catching his inquiring stare. "It's all about intent, which is why I'm having bourbon. That's what our girl drinks when the road gets rough and her feet grow weary."

"That's your intent, that wherever she is she soldier on until we can find her?"

Calixte held his gaze without blinking, lifting her glass in a toast before taking her seat once more. "Yes indeed, my doll."

Raymond chuckled to himself, not truly believing in such practices.

All the same, when he set his glass on the bar top, it was not the scotch he reached for. He poured two fingers of the same bourbon and reclaimed his spot on the loveseat.

"Francis. What happened to him after Rosalie was hospitalized? And the field? You and your husband never said."

Calixte patted the voluminous curls atop her head, sparing a conspiratorial glance for Red before tittering across her glass. "Well, by now, you must know Rosalie doesn't take kindly to being ambushed."

Red roared with laughter, his tongue prodding the inside of cheek. "No," he sighed, "I daresay she doesn't."

It was Calixte's turn to laugh, "Well, we were just learning how much of a criminal she really was. What happened next took us all by surprise."

---

Haywood Estate - Leslie County, Kentucky - September, 1993

Richard Moreau-Lilet trudged wearily from the back paddock, his white shirt tarnished with soot and ash. The hems of his slacks were singed black after battling the blaze away from the center of the property and he was almost certain the bottoms of his shoes had melted a little.

Fred and the nameless redhead trudged alongside him in a similar haggard state. Despite the amount of flame retardant they had scattered from the backs of the ATV's and the water they had pumped from the truck which they'd found in the shed out back, it had still taken them all night to get the fire under control. The back paddock and the one due south of it were both in ruin, but the house, stable, and surrounding paddocks were pristine.

Pale smoke still rose in tall plumes into the air surrounding the area, but the Pepperwood boys had assured them the flames were no longer an issue, and so, they left their posts.

The three makeshift firefighters made for the main house to check on Rosalie.

No news had reached them yet, which Richard believed to be a good sign. If her condition had worsened in the night, Calixte or the Metalist surely would have come to alert them to the situation.

Not bothering to change out of their singed and tattered attire, the three chose to head directly for the underground hospital.

Fred climbed onto his motorcycle once they reached the driveway, kicking the thunderous engine into life and taking off down the lane.

Richard and the woman followed in the battered truck, taking to the winding road in silence.

Fifteen minutes passed before they pulled up to a dairy farm far south of Break Maiden.

The place was perfectly unsuspecting, functioning as a small family dairy by day and a fully staffed underground hospital by night. Reaching the gate, Fred entered the appropriate code to allow them entry. Both vehicles sped through the opening and up the gravel path leading to the back of the home.

A young man flagged them toward a sprawling covered paddock in which several vehicles were parked in neat rows. Richard took the spot directly beside Fred's bike, threw the vehicle in park, and exited with his passenger.

"Who are you here for?" The boy asked, having come up alongside them as they parked. He was all of twenty years old, his curly black hair and his long, gangly build giving him the look of an awkward teen.

"Richard Moreau-Lilet. My wife, Calixte, came here with our friend Rosalie last night."

"Sick aliases," the boy sniggered, checking his clipboard. The amusement died in his throat when he looked up to find the three fugitives glaring stonily down at him. "Um, she's in a private room…3B in the trauma bay. If you'll step into that stall there, I can send you down."

Richard turned with his companions and stepped into a metal horse stall on the far end of the paddock. Once they were inside, the young man opened an electrical box mounted on the side of the stall.

"Please keep your arms and legs inside the compartment at all times, the elevator will take them off if you don't"

With a cheery wave, he pressed a series of buttons, sending the stall rumbling down the shaft. A bit of straw rained down on the elevator's occupants as the floor closed overhead, leaving them in the dark as they descended into the hospital below.

The space was flooded with light once they reached the lower level, and another attending greeted them with a warm genial smile.

"Welcome to Subterra Hospital, where our motto is Curae Sine Damnant; or Care Without Condemning. My name is Marcus, I'm the concierge. Now, are you visiting or admitting?"

"Visiting." Richard sighed, already sick of this tediousness.

"Excellent, do you have the room number?" Marcus asked, smiling benignly back at the formidable trio still standing in the stall.

"3B in the trauma bay." Fred answered gruffly, obviously as eager to get rid of this man as 'Shard was.

"Oh yes," Marcus tutted, shaking his head. "That was a doozy. Follow me, please."

The three shared a concerned look before following the concierge through the hospital's sterile white interior.

Doctors and nurses passed by at a steady clip, all dressed in pale green scrubs and masks. They passed a number of recovery and operating rooms before turning down a quiet hallway to their right.

The Metalist was seated outside Rosalie's room, carrying heavy bags beneath his eyes and holding two steaming cups of coffee. He looked up at the sound of footsteps, sitting up abruptly when he recognized the individuals making their way toward him.

Marcus stepped out of the way once they arrived at the door, leaving the group to catch up in peace.

"How is she?" Richard immediately asked, taking the seat beside the Metalist.

Fred and the woman grabbed a pair of wooden chairs from the opposite wall and pulled them up alongside the others, waiting on tenterhooks to hear what had happened.

"Rosalie is going to be fine," the Metalist sighed, "She woke up ten minutes ago, Calixte is in there with her and the physician now."

"How much damage was done?" The woman asked, her tattooed forearms resting on her knees.

"Why do you all look like you've been playing with matches?" He countered suspiciously, looking between her, Fred, and Richard. "I'm surprised you've still got all your eyebrows."

The others were about to offer up a retort when Calixte and a man in a white lab coat stepped out of Rosalie's room.

The bickering group fell silent, their combined gaze now looking expectantly at the physician.

"You must be the family?" He asked, looking between the four individuals, all of obviously varying genetic makeups.

"Yes." 'Shard stated decisively, rising to his feet. "How is she?"

The physician leaned against the closed doorway, "I won't lie, she's going to have a long recovery. There's no lasting damage, but the fact of the matter is, the people responsible for her state were quite rough."

"What was the extent of her injuries?" The unnamed redhead repeated her earlier question, hoping to gain an answer this time.

The doctor flipped open her chart once more, reciting back the list of injuries he had just gone over with his patient. "Rosalie has a few broken ribs which she will need to be very cautious with. It's a painful recovery, especially given one of the ribs punctured her right lung. We repaired the hole with a chest tube, which should allow it to fully heal in about two months, along with the ribs. She has a fair deal of bruising and lacerations to the surface of both her face and torso as well as contusions to the bones in her arms consistent with domestic abuse. We're monitoring for concussion and her left wrist has been cast due to a hairline fracture in the distal ulna. She's awake for now, but it's important for her to rest."

"When can she be discharged?" Fred growled, quite obviously seething beneath his stoic demeanor.

The physician closed his charts with a sigh, "We expect to discharge in four days, but I can't stress enough that Rosalie will need to take it easy for a couple months."

"Understood. Thank you, doctor."

Richard shook the man's hand and waited patiently while the retreated down the lengthy hallway before turning to the rest of the group. "I want to see her."

His hand reached for the doorknob only to be blocked by Calixte.

"She asked to see them first." Her gaze turned toward Fred and the woman, who immediately shot out of their seats.

Bypassing Richard, Fred held the door open for his counterpart, closing it behind him so it was only the Lilets and the Metalist left in the waiting area.

"Why does she want to see them first?" Richard asked, a little put out.

Calixte took one of the empty seats, patting the one beside her, "Rosalie didn't say. Come, tell me why the three of you look like you've been in a bush fire…"

Richard begrudgingly took his seat, explaining the events which occurred at Break Maiden in their absence.

The Metalist and Calixte shared a look of suspicion at the mention of the Pepperwood Boys.

"So you were playing with matches." The former surmised, nodding his head.

Calixte was just as confused as 'Shard. "I'm not sure what would possess Rosalie to get those two involved, and why Helia? A pair of firebugs and a DNA forger? It doesn't make any sense-"

At that moment, Fred and the redheaded woman flung the door to Rosalie's room wide, striding out into the hall and making for the exit without a word.

"Hey!" Richard called, scowling at their retreating backs, "Where the hell do you think you two are going?"

Neither answered him. Doctors and nurses looked confusedly down the stretch of hall from which all the commotion was coming, but quickly looked the other way when confronted with the two angry fugitives making their way through the underground building.

"I think they've got orders of their own." The Metalist offered, silently gesturing the man should keep his voice down, "She's waiting for you."

Both Calixte and Richard leveled the Metalist with looks of shocked suspicion.

"You know what's going on, don't you." It was not a question Calixte posed, merely an observation.

The Metalist's expression was unapologetic, "I have a good hunch, nothing more."

Neither of the Lilets believed him, but they tabled the altercation for the sake of going to the source.

They stepped into the quiet room, sparing one last suspicious glance for the man in the hall before closing the door once more.

Rosalie lay still in the hospital bed, her left arm propped up on a pillow with its heavy cast. Her face was heavily bruised and swollen, forcing her left eye closed. The other was heavily bloodshot as it focused on Richard, who felt his stomach bottom out at seeing his friend so badly hurt.

He moved to sit himself at the foot of the bed, being very careful not to jostle her.

"Oh, sweetling…"

Rosalie's right hand reached out, bruised and tender as the rest of her, and set it comfortingly on his knee. "Listen very carefully, 'Shard, I need your help."

"I know, chèrie, the physician told us you're in for a long recovery-"

"No," Rosalie shook her head, wincing at the pain the action caused. "Not that. I need you to do something for me. It's time sensitive."

Calixte stepped forward, placing her hand to her husband's shoulder. "Anything, Rosalie, just name it."

Rosalie shifted her attention to her. "I need a clean identity, and I need you to call Luli Zheng. There will be a court hearing about Break Maiden one week from now and she needs to be ready."

"A new identity?" 'Shard balked, going completely unnoticed.

Calixte focused on the most confusing request, "Wait, you said a court hearing? A hearing for what?"

Rosalie swallowed heavily, "I asked Luli to build a host of dummy corporations to launder my cash and to provide protection for my mother in the event something happened to me. Everything trickles down to an offshore shell called Magnus Enterprises. I signed the finalized papers before I left to meet Francis. They're in the safe behind that oil painting in the dining room. She's going to need them."

"Rosalie, I don't understand. The twins, Helia, Fred and the woman, and now Luli? What are you up to?" To 'Shard, it sounded an awful lot as though Rosalie was initiating an exit plan of which they were all unaware.

The Metalist barreled into the room, wrenching the tv remote from the nearby table and aiming it at the television mounted up in the corner of the room. "It's time," he whispered, closing the door and turning up the volume.

The local news program was playing, showing a picture of Rosalie under a red banner reading, 'Leslie County woman found dead after wildfire.'

The title was enough to coax the Lilets closer to the television

'…the only confirmed death in a violent wildfire which engulfed six Leslie County properties last night. Georgianna Haywood was the only daughter of Magnus and Helen Haywood, longstanding pillars in the Kentucky thoroughbred community. Magnus Haywood was an icon in the stud farming industry, with a number of Derby winners and contenders to his credit up until his untimely death in 1992, leaving the estate to his wife and child. Helen Haywood is rumored to be residing in an assisted living community outside of Leslie County, forfeiting the care and maintenance of the property and herd to her daughter, Georgianna. The young woman's remains were found in the middle of one of the Haywood paddocks early this morning. It is believed Haywood attempted to halt the progress of the blaze by dispersing powdered flame retardant, whereupon the area around her was quickly engulfed in flames. Authorities do not expect foul play…'

Richard turned back toward Rosalie, shock written clearly on his features.

Her chin lifted in defiance, refusing to apologize for the events which had unfolded right under 'Shard's nose.

"Rosalie, what have you done?"

---

Overlook Safehouse - Palmira Colombia - Midnight, February 16, 2000

A sharp knock echoed through the home, interrupting Calixte's retelling of the events after Rosalie's attack.

"What happened to Francis Higgs?" Raymond whispered urgently, needing to know that the man who facilitated Rosalie's suffering had suffered in kind.

Calixte shook her head, "Nobody knows…He disappeared."

The two rose immediately, making for the foyer where the next extraction team was undoubtedly waiting.

The rain had ticked up to an absolute downpour, the sound of the raindrops hitting the home's multitudinous windows made an earsplitting racket in the halls.

Reaching the door before the rest of the house's occupants, Red threw the entry wide.

A haggard older man in a black trench stepped over the threshold, throwing back the hood of his coat to reveal white hair buzzed precariously close to his scalp. His features were harsh with angry lines, the muscles beneath pulling one side of his face into a scrutinous scowl.

A woman half his age followed him, revealing a head of mousy brown hair beneath her hood. Thick glasses made her hazel eyes look comically large, like a terrified owl.

Yet another half dozen mercenaries stood at their backs, arms crossed over large automatic weapons.

"Hector." Calixte breathed a sigh of relief, recognizing the Metalist immediately.

The man stepped into the foyer as a crackle of lightning flashed, renting the air with a cacophonous 'boom!'.

"Cali, where are we on finding her?"

---

Los Reyes Sagrados Camp - Unknown Location, Colombia - 5:00 a.m. - February 16, 2000

Rosalie was anything but okay.

Bruised, half-strangled and dehydrated, the days at the cartel camp had all begun to blend together. She couldn't remember how long she had been held captive. It seemed as though she had been in the cage for weeks.

Her mind was beginning to hallucinate from the lack of sleep and adequate nutrition.

Doubles of Raymond, Ted, and Dembe could be seen wandering through the campsite, watching her.

She called for him once, seeing her lover stood in his usual suit, peering curiously at her in her iron cell. He did not come to her, but instead vanished into vapor before her very eyes, leaving her alone once more.

The men of the cartel kept jeering at her, throwing rocks and cans at her huddled form whenever they passed by. They were angry at her for their sudden lack of sport. Their living contraband was no longer there to abuse and degrade, and so, all of their vile attention was aimed at her.

Today, Rosalie was forced to watch them drag body after body up the hill, loading the limp figures of women and young girls onto the backs of dilapidated pickup trucks and driving off to God only knew where.

The guilt Rosalie felt at facilitating the other women's demise was all-consuming. She recognized every face as they were loaded onto the vehicle, recalling names, stories of who they were and where they had come from.

Mothers.

Daughters.

It was her fault they were all dead. If they hadn't fought, they could have lived a little longer. It was likely too late for Rosalie to be saved, she knew that now. The Capo had made it clear the German was already en route to their location. There was little hope for her, but if the women had lived, there would have been hope for them.

It was her fault.

All her fault.

A bloodcurdling scream snapped Rosalie out of her thoughts immediately, her expression turning horrified.

Lita came haring around the corner of the corral, fleeing in terror from two large, male cartel members.

There was a tear in the sleeve of her pink t-shirt and tears ran in hot lines down her cheeks as she tried to escape. Her bare feet slipped and scrabbled on the leaf-strewn forest floor, trying desperately to carry her up the steep hill.

The jackals were rapidly gaining on her, delighting in terrorizing the small child into an abject panic.

"¡Aquí, Ven aquí!" Rosalie shouted, hurrying toward the side of the cage closest to the girl. Her arm reached out for her, beckoning toward safety.

She was so thin, Rosalie just knew Lita would fit easily through the bars. She would be safe inside with her.

Lita turned on a dime and sprinted for the offered sanctuary.

The men from the cartel shouted and ran faster, quickly catching up to the terrified young girl.

The moment her small hand grasped Rosalie's, the woman pulled her swiftly through the iron bars.

Lita let out a harrowing scream as one of the men's hands shot in after her, forcefully clamping around her ankle.

Rosalie held tight to the girl and swung her own leg downward with an almighty force, slamming the man's arm against the iron bar with a booted foot and applying as much pressure as she could muster.

With a metallic, gong-like sound and a sickening pop, she felt the man's elbow dislocate.

He howled in pain and released the young girl immediately, dropping to his knees outside the cage.

Rosalie turned Lita into the rear of the enclosure, far from the reach of the advancing men.

The child flung her arms around Rosalie's middle, sobbing her thanks into her abdomen.

A handful of Cabalo's drug rats swarmed around the cage jeering and taunting the women with sinister words and vulgar gestures.

Rosalie clutched the little girl tightly to her, soothing as best she could.

"Don't listen to them," she whispered hoarsely, "Don't listen. I've got you now, you're safe here. You're safe with me. I've got you, Lita."

Lita sobbed brokenly against Rosalie's stomach, wetting her shirt with her tears, her tiny fists clutching at her like a lifeline.

"They're all gone. Las hijas, las madres…" She wept harder, her breaths turning into sharp, hyperventilating gasps.

"Shhh…" Rosalie soothed, rocking Lita like the young child she was. "I know. I know, I'm so sorry."

"Ah, a stowaway."

The Capo had come to see the commotion. He leaned against the bars, his arms clasped above his head while he watched the spectacle before him.

"What will become of her once the German takes you, querida? He'll be here tomorrow morning, and I can tell you he has no interest in your little friend."

Rosalie pointedly ignored him.

"I've decided what to do with your gentleman friend, Reddington. Would you like to know what's in store for him?"

She leveled the Capo an icy glare. "I suggest you pack your lunch if you're expecting a confrontation. He's notoriously lethal."

The Capo gave a sinister chuckle, "Such brazen confidence…Will you be so arrogant when I bring you his head?"

The very notion was laughable. The Capo would never be able to get that close to Raymond. He was far too clever for such a misstep. Her teams were far too clever to allow themselves to be led into a trap.

"You're so certain he will come for you, and so am I, which is why we're going to lead the way." The Capo strolled the front of the cage, peeking around its corner in an unsettling fashion so he could catch Rosalie's attention once more. "My men are dropping a false trail as we speak, using all the right players. I won't say it hasn't been difficult, your companion has decimated the Colombian underground in his search for you. However, I did manage to procure a bounty hunter and not one but two smugglers who will corroborate the story that you are were in a brothel in Palmira, right under his nose. He will go to collect you, and when he does…" He let the implication hang in the air.

"I'll sleep like a baby knowing he won't be fooled, and the last thing you'll see before you wheeze your dying breath is one of our faces looking down at you." Rosalie snarled the retort with as much venom as she possessed, turning her back on the cartel once more.

She could hear the Capo laughing his amusement and walking away once more.

The German would be there in a matter of hours.

He was right, what would happen to Lita?

Just as concerning…

What would happen to Raymond?

---

It was hours later when the two were finally left alone. The cartel members had orders which required their attention, allowing Lita and Rosalie to let their guard down a little.

They were seated at the rear of the cage, as far as possible from the edges, discussing the events of the morning prior.

"How did you survive?" Rosalie asked, recalling the barrage of bullets which had been fired into the corral. She had believed nobody had survived.

"I was in the back of the group of girls, another girl collapsed on top of me, and one on top of her. I couldn't move them, they were too heavy."

"So you waited?"

Lita nodded, yawning exhaustedly before turning to look at Rosalie. "I laid with my eyes closed until they lifted the girl who was on top of me, then I ran."
"I saw them," Rosalie agreed, "The two who chased you, they were intent on catching you."

"I caught their attention when I rolled you the boulder." Lita admitted, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

"What?" Rosalie gasped looking at the young girl in complete shock.

Lita shrugged, tipping to nestle her head against Rosalie's thigh once more. "The white boulder, when El Bárbaro was on top of you. I was the one who rolled it to you."

Rosalie merely stared at Lita for a long while, her mouth agape. She couldn't believe such a small child was brave enough to provide help in such a dangerous situation. It took her several long moments to respond.

"I owe you a great debt, Lita. There is nothing I possess which would be enough to repay your actions."

"If your people come to get you," Lita murmured, her eyes growing heavy, "Take me with you? You promised before."

The softly spoken request tugged relentlessly at Rosalie's insides. "Of course, Lita. I'm not leaving you here, ever, under any circumstance. Okay?"

Lita gave a huge yawn, "Okay."

Rosalie bit back the deluge of tears which threatened to spill over at the sight of the little girl finally falling asleep. She was so small, yet so unbelievably tough. The world was better with her in it.

"Sleep, sweetling. I'll keep you safe."

Lita's breath was soon coming in soft puffs against Rosalie's leg,

Seeing a familiar bald head passing by, Rosalie let out a soft, "Psst."

Rogelio turned surreptitiously. He had been in the process of gathering firewood. Looking around for onlookers, he pretended to drop the logs he was carrying.

"What do you want?" He grumbled kneeling to pick up the fallen limbs.

"Rogelio, you're a reasonable man. You know what's happening to these women and young girls is wrong."

"I know it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been here." Rogelio retorted, his tone acidic. "They didn't need to die like that."

"I know, and I'll have to live with that," she hissed, careful not to wake Lita, "We can't save the others, but we might be able to save her." Rosalie gestured to the small bundle curled up against her, turning her imploring gaze to Rogelio, "Please, Rogelio. Do the right thing, help me get her out of here alive."

Rogelio shook his head, "You're just trying to get yourself out," he accused, picking up the remaining logs and standing upright.

"Rogelio, we both know the man who put the bounty on me is going to be here tomorrow morning. My people aren't going to make it in time."

It was the first time she said it out loud.

Rosalie knew in her gut, they weren't going to make it in time, especially if they were sent on a goose chase into an ambush. Even if Rogelio managed to get in touch with Raymond in the next few hours, the likelihood of them making it to her before tomorrow morning was slim to none.

"It's too late for me," she reiterated, "but they might be able to save Lita. Please, help me save just one of these girls, Rogelio."

Rogelio hesitated, considering the weight of what she was asking.

"I can offer you a career," Rosalie tried again, appealing to his own personal gain. "My network continues to operate even if I'm dead. The job pays well, comes with benefits, safe transport for you and your family to a country of your choosing. No murder, no guns, no harming innocent women and children."

The man's interest was obviously piqued, "How would I go about contacting your people."

The first flare of hope in days sparked deep inside Rosalie's chest, setting her heart hammering. "Find the man in the hat. He should be in town or nearby, he answers to the name Raymond Reddington."

Rogelio's eyes widened, "You've already threatened el Capo with him, I'm not going to hand myself over to the guy, what are you, crazy!"

He looked around shiftily, making sure nobody was watching them from across the campground.

Rosalie continued to make her case, "If you tell him where I am, your life will be spared. If you wait until he finds this place, and he will find this place, you will die along with the rest."

Rogelio looked at Lita, then at Rosalie, his pallor turning a sickly green. "Okay, what do I need to tell him?"

---

Overlook Safehouse - Palmira Colombia - 11:00 a.m. - February 16, 2000

Raymond Reddington sat waiting in the foyer once more, his head buried in his hands.

The rain had stopped for a spell, leaving the home silent save for the steady tick, tick, tick of Red's watch. The sound remained a constant reminder of just how long had passed since Rosalie was taken.

They were running out of time.

Raymond hadn't slept in days. Every time he attempted to catch a moment's rest, Rosalie's face would appear in his mind's eye, begging him not to leave her to the cartel.

A heavy knock resounded throughout the first floor, signaling their last extraction team for a while.

Calixte opened the door and Fred shoved two battered men over the threshold ahead of him.

"We found a lead on our way into town. These two have a bead on Rosalie's transport."

"Fred?"

Red's tone was one of absolute shock as he peered over the man's shoulder, locking eyes with another surprisingly familiar face.

"Dahlia?"

The heavily inked woman stepped forward with a genuine smile, her presence providing a measure of reassurance for the man before her.

She shook out the short, fiery locks which adorned her head, running a hand through the tousled curls before throwing her arms wide and engulfing him in a massive hug.

"Reddy-Boy, I had no idea you were in cahoots with our little innkeeper."

Raymond reciprocated the warm greeting, taking a measure of solace in being reunited with an old friend.

Dahlia felt the embrace linger, recognizing the weight which pressed itself upon the man's already bowed shoulders.

Fred stepped around them and into her line of sight, his expression a somber one.

"Rosalie and I, we're…She's my other half," he intimated, keeping his voice low.

She leaned back, her lips pursed in surprise. Dahlia tutted when she recognized the familiar despair lingering behind his gaze.

"We'll let the others interrogate these two," she gestured carelessly at the bound individuals in the center of the floor, "You and I have some catching up to do."

Dahlia pointedly guided Raymond toward the center of the house, leaning to whisper in his ear, "Where can we speak privately?"

Red's reply was mechanical, "The office, down this hall, last door on the right."

"How do you three know each other?" Flint and Ignatious interrupted, following them through the home's kitchen.

"I've known darling Raymond since his early days," Dahlia explained easily, "Now run along and help the others get answers from our new guests."

The Pepperwood Boys didn't move, both glaring suspiciously at the woman for her chipper demeanour.

"Scram." Dahlia snapped, sounding a lot more like herself.

"Boys, you have orders from Rosalie, find out what those two know and get on with it."

Fred's tone brooked no argument, rumbling threateningly over the Pepperwoods

This sent the men scuttling away well enough, clearing the space for Raymond and the two fugitives to gain a little privacy.

The door to the office closed with a sharp snap just as Calixte and Richard peaked around the entry leading into the hallway.

"How on earth does he know who Dahlia is?" Questioned Calixte, watching the three disappear behind the door, her suspicion growing by the second.

"Isn't it obvious?" Richard asked, "He's encountered her particular talents before."

The two shared a worrisome glance before they followed the others into the basement where the two new informants were being taken.

Inside the office, Red took the nearest seat, his hand roughly scrubbing his face once more.

Dahlia fixed them all a drink, settling into the chair opposite him with a thump.

Raymond was amused to see her androgynous taste in fashion hadn't changed the slightest in the intervening years, though she did have an assortment of new tattoos.

"What happened to her, Dahlia?" He asked without preamble, "What brought you into her world?"

Dahlia smiled softly, toasting her glass with Fred before managing to pick up the tale where Calixte had left off.

"She was hurt, Raymond, and betrayed. Not at all unlike yourself not too long ago…"

---

Subterra Hospital & Rehabilitation Center - Harlan County, Kentucky - September, 1993

"She asked to see them first." Calixte's fretful gaze moved from her husband to the duo who had accompanied him.

Fred didn't hesitate, bypassing the Lilets and holding the door for Dahlia as she stepped through.

Rosalie's bruised and battered person lay silent in the hospital bed, her right eye tracking them slowly across the room.

Dahlia carefully seated herself on the edge of the bed with Fred standing beside her.

"Who did this to you?" He asked, needing to hear the truth from her perspective.

"Francis, his father, the others…They were waiting at the top of that hill. I admit, I should have known they would try something after I turned down his proposal."

Fred's fury was instant and complete. "They deserve to be put down, the lot of them. Six grown men against a young woman half their-"

"You've reached a tipping point, Rosalie." Dahlia interrupted, reaching out a hand and gently tucking a blonde curl behind her ear. "I'm afraid there's no coming back from this. The ranchers have overstepped their bounds and they must be dealt with if you are to keep your home and your life."

Rosalie agreed, "I've already begun." Her one good eye flitted between Dahlia and Fred, "The Pepperwood Boys and Helia have started the real fire. There should be little left of the surrounding properties by now."

"Yes, but what about you, Rosie?" Fred countered, his previously brooding features now fraught with concern.

"What do you mean?"

Dahlia leveled her a stern look, "You can't start a war with these men and expect them to take it sitting down. They'll try again, Rosalie, and next time you might not be so lucky."

"Maybe so, but that is of little consequence to me as-" Rosalie began, but Dahlia cut her off.

"It is of great consequence to those who care about you, sweet girl."

A peculiar look was exchanged between Fred and the woman beside him, causing Rosalie to falter.

Something was amiss.

"Who are you?" She felt immediately and inexplicably distrusting, "You've been in my safehouse for months but never said what kind of criminal you are, or why you were there."

Dahlia smiled knowingly, looking for all the world as though she was delighted they had finally reached this point in their acquaintance.

"They call me the Black Dahlia," she divulged, her voice a low, patient murmur.

"Why?" Rosalie questioned, her bruised face pinching with visible suspicion.

Dahlia placed a comforting hand upon her knee, the warmth of her touch radiating through the thin hospital blanket. "Rosalie, black dahlias are universally recognized as a symbol of betrayal. I am the one people enlist when they've felt treachery's keen sting. When a high profile criminal has been taken advantage of, say, swindled by a business partner, blackballed by their government…beaten half to death by a potential suitor." Her gaze fell pointedly on Rosalie's broken wrist, "I'm the one they call to even the score."

"You're-" Rosalie attempted to sit up further, hissing when every muscle in her protested at such a foolish action. "You were called to even a score with me?"

The two fugitives chuckled wryly, sharing another secretive look.

"Fred was the one to contact me, shortly after his arrival at your home." Dahlia reached out a hand to grasp his, giving it a tight squeeze.

"You see, Rosalie, some contracts I take for payment, others I bestow upon those I deem worthy. Fred was such a person."

Rosalie turned to the man in question, her confused gaze imploring, "What score did she settle for you?"

Fred took a seat behind Dahlia, "I had hardly a cent to my name. A silent coup had occurred in the biker gang I was a part of at the time, left my best friend and my wife dead, and me with nowhere to go…When I came to the aid of another man at a bar in Philadelphia, he thanked me, bought me a drink, and listened to my troubles for the next hour. The following day he brought me to Dahlia, who found me worthy of her assistance."

"What did she do?" Rosalie wondered aloud, looking to both individuals for an explanation. When they remained silent, she reiterated the question.

"What did you do, Dahlia?"

"I settled the score." She purred the sentiment with pride, "I gave Fredrick everything he needed to not only demolish the men responsible, but smoothed the path for him to become who he is today."

Rosalie turned back to Fred, her tone carrying a distinct note of disappointment. "Dahlia was never here as a client, was she?"

"What do you need from us, Rosie?" Fred implored, "Name it, and it's yours."

"You've been wronged." Dahlia agreed, "These men have taken advantage of your good nature, attempted to rob you, and when you proved yourself equal to the task of fending them off, they sought to kill you just to have their way. You are worthy of reparation, Rosalie. You need only ask."

Rosalie understood now. They were offering to settle the score, to take down each and every one of the men who put her in that hospital bed.

"Francis." She whispered with finality, lifting her chin in defiance.

"Only Francis?" Dahlia was obviously displeased by this, finding it a subpar retaliation for such a blatant attack.

"I already have a plan for the others," Rosalie confided, "I would ask only your assistance in its execution, and my departure afterward."

A clever, delighted smile lit Dahlia's features, "You've always been one for surprises, sweet girl. We will deliver your revenge upon Francis Higgs, and once you are discharged, you and I will set out to desolate the others."

Dahlia bent and placed a warm kiss to Rosalie's forehead, as did Fred, before the two hurried from the room.

They hurtled down the hall amid protests from Richard and Calixte, pointedly ignoring them while they made their way toward the elevator.

"I'll need a ride."

Dahlia's voice cut through the quiet rumble of the lift, the request aimed at her companion.

"Yes Ma'am," Fred replied, spinning the keys to his motorcycle along his finger. "Anything you require, I am at your disposal."

---

"They're moving her tonight!"

A chorus of voices echoed outside the door alongside a herd of footsteps thundering down the lengthy hallway.

The Pepperwood Boys, Ted, Helia, and the Metalist all came hurtling through the door at once, stumbling over one another in a pell-mell scramble.

Kate Kaplan brought up the rear, her and the Lilets the only ones displaying any sense of decorum at their findings.

"Raymond, we've confirmed with both sources, the cartel is moving Rosalie late this evening, past sundown, at an embankment twelve miles north of the city."

Red took a steadying breath, fighting back the surge of relief that they had finally unearthed a shred of Rosalie's movements. If they were transporting her, it meant Rosalie was still very much alive, and, if they played their cards correctly, they would finally be able to intercept the German as well.

Baz and Dembe came sidling into the room after the others, resting their shoulders on the door frame and waiting expectantly for orders.

"Baz," Raymond's voice was gruff with emotion and fatigue, casting a fearsome thrill over the room, "Ready the others. I want boots on that embankment long before they set up camp."

---

Los Reyes Sagrados Camp - Unknown Location, Colombia - 5:00 pm - February 16, 2000

Rosalie wasn't sure if she was asleep or simply hallucinating.

Either way, it was terribly disorienting.

She could feel the world spinning beneath her, giving her a migraine and vertigo in equal measure.

Her eyes lifted to a tall shadow looming over her.

The illusion of Raymond was inside the cage now, taunting her with its silence.

She was tempted to tell it to go away. It was cruel to see him now, her embodiment of warmth and safety, when she was trapped in a squalid, foul-smelling cage.

This time, however, Raymond walked up to her and knelt, bending to kiss her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her chin.

"I'm coming for you, little dove."

Did he know she had given up hope?

"Promise?" She whispered, her voice cracking from dehydration.

"I promise," he assured, moving to sit beside her with his back against the bars. He looked down at her lap, "Now who's this?"

"Lita." Rosalie responded, dropping a hand to brush the dark brown curls from the young girl's sleeping face. "She's coming with me. If I'm gone when you get here, you take her with you. Okay?"

Raymond's face turned to a dark scowl, "I need you to stay awake, I need you to wait for me."

Rosalie lifted her hands in a helpless gesture, "Ray, I might be gone by the time you get here."

The notion didn't seem to register as an option for Red.

"I need you to stay. I need you to wait for me. There's something so very important I need to tell you."

Rosalie couldn't help but smile at this, "I know."

"How do you know what I've been waiting to say?" Raymond was positively pouting now, looking at Rosalie as though she had just told him Christmas was canceled.

"You've been waiting for the right moment," she tittered, "but I can see it in your eyes, the way you look at me. I've waited an awfully long time for you to look at me like that, Raymond Reddington."

His green eyes softened considerably, meeting her gaze with the very look she was referring to. "How do I look at you?"

Rosalie sniffled softly to herself, her mind working frantically to memorize the image down to its very last detail. "Like you just might love me too."

The vision visibly startled, "You love me?"

"I'm not going to say it if it's not really you." She chastised, reaching out to touch his cheek. Her fingertips passed right through, reminding her he was only a hallucination.

This was not her Raymond.

"Wake up, little dove."

"Not yet…" she pleaded, fighting to stay inside the protective dreamscape. It was far more pleasant than her reality at the moment.

Raymond kissed her cheeks again, his lips colder than she remembered. Wetter than she remembered.

"Wait for me."

"Wake up!"

"Despiertas!"

Rosalie's head snapped forward, feeling as though it were filled with sand. The muscles in her neck didn't want to engage properly. When she opened her mouth, it felt as though it too was filled with sand.

It wasn't Raymond's lips she felt on her face, but cool, wet raindrops. The precipitation was only beginning to fall in a steady pit-pat against Rosalie's sunburned face. The water soothed the dry, uncomfortable tightness in her cheeks and forehead, helping to calm the sting beneath the reddened skin.

"What happened?" She asked, looking blearily around. Rosalie's eyes struggled to take in the space around her, finally managing to focus on Lita's dancing figure in the center of the cage.

The young girl was giggling in delight, spinning around in circles with her arms stretched wide to better feel the droplets on her skin.

Rosalie couldn't help but smile at the picture. Children were wondrous creatures, adept in their ability to see the light in the darkness.

As Lita laughed and spun until she was dizzy, Rosalie was reminded of the small joys which youth afforded.

She could only hope, when Raymond found her, Lita would have the chance to experience those joys unencumbered by her time in the cartel camp.

A dull ache settled in her chest when Lita smiled brightly at her.

"Dembe's gonna love you," she laughed, shifting to the back of the cage where a small tree hung over them.

Taking one of its large leaves, Rosalie created a sort of funnel, allowing the steadily increasing rainwater to collect inside it. Bringing the edge to her lips, she breathed a sigh of relief at the sensation of cool water trickling over her tongue.

"Who's Dembe?" Lita asked, taking the leaf when Rosalie offered it to her.

Rosalie took a seat at the back of the cage once more, patting the spot beside her as she did so.

Lita followed suit, curling up against Rosalie's side as she had for the past couple days.

"Dembe is one of my very best friends," Rosalie explained, a smile lingering in her voice, "He was taken by a cartel, too, when he was very young."

"He was?" Lita sat up, her dark eyes alight with curiosity and hopefulness, "Did he escape?"

Rosalie fought to keep her watery eyes from betraying her, "He did. Dembe escaped with the man in the hat. He'll be one of the people who comes to get you when I'm gone. He'll make sure you're safe."

A heavy silence hung in the air between them, and Lita finally voiced the question which had been plaguing her since she slipped into the cage with Rosalie.

"What's going to happen to me when you're gone?"

Her voice was timid, for the first time voicing the fear which lingered beneath.

"You're going to hide." Rosalie assured her, "Early tomorrow morning, before the Capo comes to get me, we're going to hide you. So you won't be found, okay?"

"Okay." Lita nodded, rotating to rest her head against Rosalie's thighs once more. "…Rosalie?"

"Yes?" Rosalie asked, using the leaf to gather another mouthful of water before setting it aside.

"I wish you didn't have to go."

The statement tore at what was left of Rosalie's resolve, making her eyes sting with unshed tears.

"Me too, sweetling. Me too."

---

Overlook Safehouse - Palmira Colombia - 8:00 pm - February 16, 2000

In the bustling safehouse overlooking the valley, Ted Beaumont was sequestered in the home's office, a burner pressed tightly to his ear. "We believe we have a lead on Rosalie's location."

"What's the lead?" The voice asked sharply, demanding an answer.

Ted cleared his throat, "We encountered a pair of bounty hunters working for the cartel. They indicated she would be moved this evening."

"What time?"

"Eleven p.m. local."

"You need to bring every man you have, understood?" The man's voice held a harsh, authoritative note.

"We are," Ted assured, "We're on it, I promise. Between Reddington's men and Rosalie's extraction teams, we're well armed."

The voice on the other end heaved a heavy sigh, "I should be there. I can't believe you guys lost her."

"I know," Teddy buried his face in his hand once again, the continued guilt of having Rosalie taken on his watch was eating him alive.

"Keep me posted on whatever you uncover, Ted. Seriously, nothing's too small. If she's not back by tomorrow, I'm going to have to alert Florian."

"Understood. And, Horace?"

The smooth, deep voice of Horace Asim Jabare filtered through the connection, "Yeah?"

"Thanks again for reaching out."

---

Los Reyes Sagrados Camp - Unknown Location, Colombia - 10:00 pm - February 16th, 2000

"Rosalie…"

"Rosalie!"

It was pitch black in the cartel camp when the rustling of leaves and crunching of twigs reached Rosalie's ears. Her mind had wandered once more, the sleep deprivation taking its toll on her weary body.

Lita was sitting up beside her, eyes trained on the inky blackness beyond the gate's bars.

"There's someone out there," she pointed with a terrified whisper, her other hand holding tightly to Rosalie's shirt.

Adrenaline hammered through Rosalie's veins and she lifted a finger to her lips, imploring Lita to remain quiet as they listened to their surroundings.

She could definitely hear footsteps, heavy ones. There was at least five people walking their way.

Looking to the sky, Rosalie desperately wished one of the tumultuous clouds would move. A speck of moonlight would throw the whole hillside into stark relief, then she would know if it was friend or foe coming toward them.

Rosalie couldn't help a surge of hope fill her from head to toe.

Rogelio had been gone for hours…perhaps he had managed to reach Raymond?

She found herself crawling to the edge of the cage, that flare of hope growing by the second.

It was him. It had to be him.

Rosalie had just taken a deep breath in order to whisper his name, to let him know she was there, when the clouds finally parted.

Six armed sicarios flanked the Capo, three on either side while they made their way down the small hill leading to the cage.

Rosalie scrambled backward, swearing under her breath as terror engulfed her insides.

They were early.

They were far too early.

The Capo wasn't supposed to collect her until tomorrow morning.

Reaching the rear of the cage, Rosalie bumped into the small, huddled figure in its corner.

Lita.

They didn't have time for her to hide.

Where?

Where was she going to hide?

The footsteps grew louder as the seconds passed on.

They would be upon them any moment.

---

Overlook Safehouse - Palmira Colombia - 10:15 pm - February 16, 2000

Raymond was strapping into a bulletproof vest in the master bedroom, mentally preparing himself for the task at hand. He checked his firearms repeatedly, ensuring each was fully loaded and ready. He slipped a number of extra clips into his jacket pockets in case.

If all went according to plan, Rosalie would be back in his arms in less than an hour.

Their lookout team was already in place, waiting for the arrival of the cartel and the German. They were going to get him this time, Red knew it.

He felt a shift in the air when he lifted his fedora from the dresser, and looked up to see the image of Rosalie in the mirror above it.

"You always were devilishly handsome, especially when you were out for blood. You know I loved this suit. I hope I'll have a chance to see it again."

"Don't say that." He hissed, terror clutching at his insides. The very notion that she could be gone, that he could lose her… "You don't get to go quietly. You don't get to leave me just yet."

"I never wanted to leave you." Rosalie giggled, resting her chin on his shoulder.

Red couldn't feel its weight, but if he focused, he could recall the ghost of her fingertips caressing his cheek. He held onto that feeling, memorized it, made it just as much a part of his soul as his own name. Raymond wanted to be able to recall that feeling always, to remember the exact way it felt to be loved by her.

A gentle, serene smile lit Rosalie's features with a palpable warmth. "Raymond Reddington, I am not done loving you yet."

"I've wanted you to love me," he confessed, "I can't tell you how long I've wanted-"
"I already do. You know I do." She whispered against the shell of his ear, "Come get me, love. I'm waiting."

Raymond whipped around, hoping to see her one last time before they had to leave.

She was gone.

The hallucination disappeared the moment he turned, leaving Red alone once more.

"Wait for me." He whispered to the empty room, hoping his plea would be carried to the woman he loved.

He couldn't lose her now.

"Raymond."

Dembe had appeared in the doorway, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight. He was dressed in an identical bulletproof vest atop a t-shirt and dark pants, ready for their ambush. His deep voice held a somber note as he spoke.

"There's something you need to see."

---

Rogelio stumbled slowly up the dark drive leading to the safehouse Rosalie had told him about.

Part of him was convinced he would die in this endeavor, yet there he was, trudging up the long hill to where the home sat, its soft yellow lights glowing in the darkness.

The gravel crunched noisily beneath his feet, making it nearly impossible to keep his presence from being known.

Almost as though they could read his mind, three mercenaries appeared from the shadows lining the path, throwing him to the ground and slapping him in handcuffs before he could even blink.

He sputtered and thrashed uselessly when they lifted him, dragging him into the home with ease.

---

Inside the front door, the house was a flurry of activity. Mercenaries and fugitives alike had been arming themselves to the teeth until they noticed the three men lugging their captive into the foyer.

All activity stopped, and the fugitives converged on the new arrival, their faces varying shades of confusion and suspicion.

It was then that the seas parted and a man wearing a hat similar to the one Rosalie described stepped into the ring of people.

A formidable, terrifying man.

Glinting green eyes seemed to cut Rogelio to the bone as the man's face contorted into a vicious snarl. "Who are you?"

"Señor Reddington?" He waited for a sign of recognition, but received none.

"Who are you?" The man repeated ominously, removing a gun from the small of his back and using its barrel to guide Rogelio's face upward.

"I- My name is Rogelio…" he stammered, now abundantly aware of the fact he was in over his head.

"I'm a very busy man, Rogelio. I suggest you tell me why my men found you lurking outside the house, before I lose my patience and take your head clean off."

The man's deep, gravelly voice sent a terrified shiver along Rogelio's spine.

"You've uncovered intel leading to the recovery of a woman. Blonde, American?"

Every man in the room stepped forward at this, causing Rogelio to squirm about nervously in the mercenaries' grasps.

"Where is she?" 'Shard growled menacingly, striding forward to grasp Rogelio's chin in a tight grip.

Fred, Hugh, Ted, Dembe and the Pepperwood Boys flanked him on either side, creating a threatening incentive, indeed.

"She sent me!" Rogelio shouted, not wishing to be torn apart by the very angry brigade before him. "The intel you have saying she would be transported tonight, it was leaked by the Capo of the Los Reyes Sagrados cartel. It's a trap, intended for Reddington."

The man in question stepped forward, once more parting the wall of menacing individuals with his presence. Standing nose to nose with him, Rogelio could see Reddington's lip curl and his left eye twitch with barely restrained fury.

"How do I know she sent you? How do I know you're telling the truth?" He snatched the front of Rogelio's collar, lifting him bodily from the mercenaries' hold and slamming him against the front door's polished surface. "How do I know she's still alive?"

"She knew you would question," Rogelio explained hurriedly, "That's why she sent me with a code, so you would know I was telling the truth."

"What is it?" Raymond hissed, a flicker of hope flaring in his chest for the first time in days. "What's the code?"

Rogelio took a deep breath, then whispered."R-Rosie. She said the code was Rosie, Dear."

---

Los Reyes Sagrados Camp - Unknown Location, Colombia - 10:15 pm - February 16th, 2000

The footsteps grew closer and closer until a bright light shone into the cage, blinding Rosalie in an instant.

"Hello again, querida."

Rosalie held a hand up to shield her eyes, hearing the clink of metal on metal and the shrill creek of a rusted gate swinging open.

"What do you want?" She snapped, feeling two men grasp her upper arms forcefully, hoisting her to her feet and dragging her struggling form out of the cage.

The Capo came into view, this time sans sunglasses. His obsidian eyes looked her over thoughtfully before coming to rest on her face.

"I told you before, my little savage. The German does not care in what condition I deliver you, just as long as you're alive." A lewd grunt left his throat as he closed the distance between them, his hand reaching out to grasp her neck, his thumb stroking her throat pensively. "Tonight, I find myself with a particular hunger."

Rosalie considered biting the hand which held her, the thought was so nauseating. For once, however, she held her tongue.

He hadn't yet asked about Lita, and Rosalie was quietly hoping he and his men had completely forgotten her.

This hopeful illusion was shattered when the Capo turned his head to look inside the cage.

"Now, where is your little flea, querida? She was here not too long ago."

"She ran." Rosalie staunchly lied, her stomach plummeting when two of the men stepped past her, entering the small metal cage and taking a long look around.

"I told you, she's not here-" she reiterated, but her lie was cut off by a high-pitched scream.

Rosalie immediately started thrashing, managing to knock one of the men holding her into the metal gate, loosening his hold enough for her arm to break free.

She jammed the heel of her hand into the other's nose, adding a kick to the groin for good measure. Finding herself unencumbered, Rosalie slammed herself into the Capo, sending him staggering backward just as Lita scrabbled through the cage's bars.

"Lita, run!" Rosalie shouted, working to shove aside the remaining two sicarios. "Run!"

Lita sprinted for the hillside, making it halfway before a handful of cartel members came stumbling out of their tents.

She skidded to a halt, knowing she could not make it up the hill without being caught.

Rosalie felt her insides turn to ice as Lita turned back to her, uncertain of what to do.

Pushing one of the sicarios aside, she ran forward, arms outstretched.

Lita ran back to her, flinging her arms around Rosalie and burrowing into her firm hold.

Rosalie pitched forward, sheltering the little girl's body with her own.

They would not take her.

Men could be heard shouting and snarling, the sounds coming closer and closer.

The distinct sound of the Capo's voice could be heard above all others, demanding his men separate them.

Rosalie clutched Lita tighter, her heart breaking for the terrified sobs which were being muffled into her shoulder.

They would not take her.

Rough hands lifted Rosalie bodily from the ground, another pair working to prize Lita from her arms.

Swinging her foot, she made contact with the soft middle of a man's stomach, managing to knock the wind out of him. Rosalie could hear him coughing and gulping for breath somewhere on the ground.

Fists began to fly.

Rosalie fought to keep the blows from getting anywhere near Lita.

Hit after hit landed on her back and shoulders, but still her grip remained steadfast.

Lita yelped loudly when a long heavy pole struck itself across Rosalie's back, managing to catch her small fingers in the process. She pulled her hands back to her middle, crying loudly into Rosalie's chest.

The action allowed a brief moment for two of the halcones wedge their hands between Lita and Rosalie.

"No." She hissed, gripping the girl with every ounce of strength she possessed.

Lita grasped at her once again, her small hands clutching at the small of her back.

Grasping the child tightly and pulling with all their might, the two halcones managed to create a sizable gap between the two.

Another two men surged forward, grasping Rosalie around the middle and pulling.

Rosalie winced as she felt Lita's nails dig into the flesh of her back, trying desperately to hold on.

In the space of a blink, the two were split apart. A blip of silence swallowed the space, and in that moment the female's eyes met.

Words could not convey the terror Rosalie found in Lita's, nor the guilt Lita found in Rosalie's.

They had taken her.

The silent bubble was burst by a harrowing scream renting the air on the hillside.

Thrashing and clawing once more, Rosalie managed to free herself from her captors.

She sprinted forward, managing to close the distance between them before a familiar sensation wrapped about her throat.

Her fingertips had just grazed Lita's before she was falling to the ground, at the mercy of the crude catch pole which had dragged her to the cage in the first place.

The man holding the end of the pole tugged, dragging Rosalie backward as she clawed toward the men holding Lita.

Rosalie felt dirt and gravel work its way beneath her nails. Lightheadedness was beginning to set in. Her lungs implored her to stop struggling, but her mind screamed at her to get to the girl.

The men holding Lita began to move backward, hiding her from Rosalie's sight.

Another pull on the catch pole brought her to her knees.

A small reprieve from the pressure on her larynx allowed Rosalie to inhale a heaving breath, her vision wavering before her voice screamed to the night.

"LITA!