Overlook Safehouse - Early Morning - February 19th, 2000

"God, why is she so still?" Red whispered, holding Rosalie's hand to his cheek. "She isn't normally this still."

"She's exhausted, Raymond."

Kate Kaplan was busy removing the bandages which covered Rosalie's arms and legs, "Four days in a cartel camp, I wouldn't close my eyes for more than a few minutes, either. Rosalie is fine, she just needs sleep. As do you."

The suggestion was duly ignored in favor of checking the IV tubes for the umpteenth time.

Kaplan heaved an exasperated sigh, snatched the hand he had been hoarding and proceeded to unravel the bandages which covered it.

In the early morning light, Red could better see Rosalie's injuries, and they made his blood boil.

Her normally manicured nails were chipped and broken, the skin on her hands was split skin in various places. He could easily make out the pale purple bruises which marbled its surface despite the assortment of ice packs which had been applied around the clock to help minimize their appearance.

"I need to see her back," Kate directed, gesturing for Raymond to lift the other woman into a sitting position.

He did so, cupping the back of her head and gingerly easing her against his shoulder.

Rosalie was still unmoving.

Red's gaze drifted across her face once more, angrily tracing the butterfly bandages on her right temple and high on her left cheekbone. The latter would undoubtedly leave a scar.

The small scrapes were nothing compared to the heavy bruising around Rosalie's throat. The marks were evidence of her being dragged by the catch pole which she had used to strangle the Capo.

Raymond leaned in and tenderly pressed his lips to the darkened ring, inwardly promising himself he would destroy the man responsible for it.

Kate gestured for him to lay Rosalie back on the mattress. "Now, you're going to go eat something while I change the ice packs on her back and throat, hopefully that will help speed the recovery process."

"I don't need-" Red began, but Kaplan leveled him a querulous look which made any argument wither in his throat.

"Rosalie is going to be very upset if she wakes up to find you starving and dead on your feet." The ominous warning wasn't without merit, "And when she does wakeup to find you in such a state, who do you think she will question as to why you were left to wallow in self pity for three days?"

Kate Kaplan's petite frame loomed over Red from his seat on the bedspread.

Finally relenting to her badgering, he left the room with a tumultuous scowl.

"I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Yeah I'm sure you will," Kate grumbled under her breath, busying herself with the removal of the spent cold packs surrounding Rosalie. "You'd better wake up soon," she complained to the unconscious woman, "He's a bit of a handful without you."

A curt tutting noise followed shortly after, "Men," Kate drawled the word scathingly, "They're such babies."

Raymond wandered out into the main house to the sound of several people chattering back and forth.

In the midst of the dull roar of adult conversation, a voice of a much higher pitch could be heard periodically laughing and interjecting.

It had been late evening by the time Dembe, Ted, and Richard returned from the cartel camp the day they rescued Rosalie.

Red had feared the worst when the three men ambled slowly into the house, dog tired and covered in dirt.

Richard had strode through the bedroom doorway with a small bundled up figure in his arms, his head bowed.

For one horrorstruck moment, it looked as though the figure was a lifeless body.

But then, a small head of dark brown curls peaked out from the blankets, wide, fearful eyes scanning the home's occupants with intense suspicion.

They had found Lita, by some unbelievable stroke of luck, alive and unharmed.

Dembe had insisted the child be allowed to see Rosalie, unconscious though she was, so the girl knew she was safe with them.

As Raymond stepped over the threshold into the home's sprawling kitchen, he recalled the sight of the timid girl shuffling to Rosalie's bedside.

"Is she going to be okay?" Lita had asked, peering questioningly at Red before tilting to lay her head in Rosalie's lap.

He had nodded, "She's going to be alright, just tired. And you, are you okay?"

"I'm okay."

Lita had lifted her head, turning to consider him for a long beat before adding with a small smile, "She promised you wouldn't leave me behind."

Raymond had been taken aback by the emotional fortitude she showed. It was hard to believe this was the same child who had spent two weeks held captive by a brutal cartel. He had found himself smiling back at her, "Rosalie is going to be so happy to see you."

Crossing the threshold to the kitchen, he saw Lita nestled happily between Richard and Fred, grinning and swatting them as the two attempted to pilfer strawberries from her plate.

One would have expected her to be terrified by the two towering men, but there she sat, giggling uproariously and defending her berries with gusto.

"How do you take your eggs?" Calixte asked, looking up from the array of simmering and sizzling pans.

This drew the entire room's attention, sending the dull roar of conversation to a tense hush.

Raymond bypassed her in search of the coffeemaker, grunting, "I'm just grabbing a cup of coffee, thanks."

The majority of the others began shuffling out of the kitchen, intent on making themselves scarce.

Red's temper had been less than accommodating the past few days, and rather than navigate his increasingly volatile state, the rest of their band of fugitives opted to stay out of the man's way until Rosalie woke.

"Hmm…I think poached." Dahlia eyed him critically, ignoring the exasperated look which crossed his features. She, Dembe, and Ted were the only other people who remained in the room. "Yes, a Benedict, I think."

"Benedict it is," came the sing-song reply.

"Really Calixte, I'm not-"

"Sit your ass down," she sang, waving her wooden spoon threateningly in his face.

Curls of mouth-watering steam swirled off of its surface and Red's stomach gave an uproarious rumble.

Perhaps he was hungrier than he thought.

In a matter of moments, he was sat before a plate of homemade biscuits topped with crisped Canadian bacon, two perfectly poached eggs, a golden crown of hollandaise, diced chives and neat little slivers of tomato.

His stomach gave another noisy gurgle.

Calixte barely contained a smirk from behind her teacup.

"Oh alright, then," he caved, sparing a sidelong glance for the master bedroom before digging into the delicacy before him.

He nearly groaned at the delicious mix of flavors coating his tongue, the ravenous hunger he had been holding at bay finally being tended to.

After a few silent bites, he finally spoke.

"Where are we on the cartel?"

Sharp green eyes flitted to Dembe and Ted, silently demanding answers.

Ted set his cup back on its saucer, "We've got Peter and one of the security teams on their tail. It looks like they are preparing to leave the camp in the mountains."

Red nodded, "We knew they'd run. Make sure we don't lose sight of them. As soon as Rosalie is stable and off this continent, I'm going back to deal with them."

"Raymond-" began Dembe, but the other man's hot temper cut him short.

"I will not bend on this, Dembe. They will be dealt with." He added, "Have Kate get in touch with Ben as well, I want any investments remotely benefiting the cartels to be removed and placed elsewhere."

"You don't have investments with Los Reyes Sagrados-" Dembe intoned, a furrow in his brow.

"All of them. Any cartel we run with I want their funding gone. Settle my debts, make good on any promises we already have in the pipeline, then cut all ties."

Both Dembe and Ted shared nervous looks.

"Ray, that could be a very dangerous move," Ted cautioned, careful not to sound as though he was overstepping.

"You worry about keeping Rosalie safe," Red bit back, "That's your job. I'll handle my won affairs."

Ted's mouth pursed into a thin line and his cheeks flushed a dull pink, pointedly keeping any further comments to himself.

Seemingly appeased, Raymond turned his querulous attention back on Dembe. "Have we gotten any intel on the German's whereabouts?"

Dembe heaved a recalcitrant sigh, "We are following reports of an aircraft taking off from the airstrip in Bogota, but there is little to go off of. Nobody saw the man come in, he had to have been warned a couple hours in advance."

Raymond took a steadying breath, pushing back the ire which threatened to spill forth at the knowledge the German had slipped through their fingers once more.

When Red was certain he wouldn't explode, he patted his mouth with a napkin.

"The benedict was excellent, Calixte. Thank you."

Calixte smiled sadly back at him, "I'm glad you at least ate something. Now, we're going to mollycoddle you a little more…"

"Oh?" He was feeling only a smidge less cantankerous after finally having eaten, and wasn't certain he had the temperament for any mollycoddling at the moment.

Dahlia nodded, "Mhm, you're going to go lay down for a bit. We all know damn well you haven't slept more than a few minutes in the past few days."

"I'm fine-" Red began to snap, but was cut off by a harsh rejoinder.

"No, you're not."

Kate stepped into the kitchen and gestured pointedly at him, then back at the master suite. "You. Pajamas. Bed. Now."

"Since when did you all become the boss of me?" Raymond griped, scanning the trio of formidable females with a look of distinct incredulity.

"Since your real boss has been out like a light for three days," quipped Dahlia, making quite a show of topping off her and Calixte's teacups.

The pair's faces bore similar shades of amusement, their noses crinkling in obvious delight at their well-meaning pestering.

More than a little begrudgingly, Raymond found himself stepping into master bedroom with Kate hot on his heels.

After a bit of bickering back and forth, she relented to his insistence that he needed to shower, warning she would be checking back in an hour and there would be hell to pay if he was not tucked beneath the bed's blankets.

His ears remained pricked for any noise in the master suite while he lathered and rinsed, and more than once Red found himself wiping a window in the steam to check on the bed's sleeping occupant.

Rosalie was still dead to the world when he had dried off and donned a pair of shorts and a clean cotton undershirt.

Settling back into the soft, cool sheets, Raymond closed his eyes. He knew he was exhausted, but quieting his mind long enough to fall under was proving to be an irritating chore.

After nearly fifteen minutes of huffing and shifting about, Red was ready to give up. He lay on his back and allowed the criminal corner of his mind to roar into life once more spinning fruitlessly through the plan to get Rosalie out of Colombia, followed immediately by a plan to deal with the cartel.

As far as Red was concerned, this was the end of his dealings with the lot of them. They were money spinners, certainly, and though the drug lords typically had at least a modicum of sense between them, their associates were cruel, twitchy idiots. The idea that any of those vicious little thugs had laid a hand on Rosalie was enough to make his insides boil.

Raymond tilted his head slightly to one side, trying to shift the feelings aside so he could think clearly.

Rosalie was alive, relatively unscathed, and back under his protection. He would demolish the cartel's business for taking her, that had always been a given, but after seeing her injuries and hearing what had nearly happened to her, Red would ensure not a single living soul was left among them.

A bit of movement at beneath the sheets halted his rampant thoughts.

Raymond cast a surreptitious glance at Rosalie, finding her lips pursed in a consternated pout, her slender brows puckered to match.

The movement tickled his side again.

Lifting the blankets, Red caught sight of a small hand making its way across the gap between him and his companion.

He watched the little appendage's progress with a tinge of amusement, that is, until cold fingertips pressed themselves to his side.

"Oh, I see," he murmured, sliding himself to the bed's center, "You're cold, aren't you little dove?"

His hunch was correct.

Rosalie's hand had been sneaking its way across his abdomen as he moved, and once he settled within reach, she completely wrapped herself around him, snuggling immediately into his side.

Raymond felt his lips curl into a smile he couldn't help.

Had he known she needed him close, he would have climbed into bed with her days ago…

Now, it seemed, Red had no choice in the matter.

Rosalie's arms quickly encircled his torso, bringing her smaller figure halfway on top of him. A slender leg hitched itself over his own, ensuring Raymond was inextricably wrapped up in her.

He frowned when he felt her shiver, face nuzzling into his chest in an attempt to find more warmth.

"You're freezing," he tutted, shifting the dozing bundle slightly so he could unbutton the shirt he had wrapped her in.

Rosalie whimpered in her sleep, already searching for his body heat.

Red slid a hand up the back of the top, grasped the chill pack which Kaplan had put there earlier, and removed it.

He tossed the item aside and peeled off his own shirt so he could gather Rosalie back into his hold, skin-on-skin.

She embraced him once more, burrowing hurriedly back into her previous nook.

"There you are," he soothed, easing both hands up her spine to smooth warm palms along the chilled expanse of her back and shoulders.

Rosalie mewed softly, the sound squeezing at Raymond's insides once more.

He felt the goosebumps beneath his fingertips recede at a lethargic pace. The shivering finally stopped minutes later, leaving the room still and quiet, save for the rustle of sheets and the pair's slow, steady breaths.

Raymond couldn't stifle an enormous yawn against the crown of Rosalie's head.

He was surrounded by the gentle embrace of a soft, warm woman, rain had just begun pattering steadily against the large windows, he had eaten for the first time in days, and for now, at least, they were safe.

His eyelids finally grew impossibly heavy, his mind vaguely registering a set of dainty fingertips circling through his chest hair before the deep, exhausted slumber took him under.


Calixte stepped out of the master suite a couple hours later after changing Rosalie's fluids and picking up the ice packs which Reddington seemed to have removed rather unceremoniously.

She was just turning to go back to the main part of the house when 'Shard caught sight of her. "How is she?"

Calixte tittered softly to herself, "She's wrapped so tightly around Raymond Reddington, he might as well be a second skin."

"Poor boy," Richard laughed, "Is she suffocating him?"

"Quite the contrary," She spared him a coquettish look, "He's holding onto her like the last life raft on a sinking ship."

"Oh?" He crooned, spreading his arms open wide, hoping to lure his wife into his hold. "Is that something you desire as well?"

She settled into his lap with a deep sigh of contentment, her full lips peppering her husband's cheeks with affection.

"I wouldn't be opposed…"

The shuffling of small feet could be heard from the hallway beside them, interrupting Calixte's train of thought.

Three heads peeked out from behind a nearby doorframe. One, very near the top, was bald. The other, just above it, held a dark ponytail. The third, a little less than halfway up the frame, had a jaunty little bun made of dark brown curls.

Dembe's sedate voice could be heard whispering to the little girl beside him.

"You're right, they might see us…Why don't you ask the nice lady, I bet she would love to help us."

Calixte grinned at the trio, catching Lita's dark eyes dancing with amusement from behind the sleek wood frame. She stood, making her way over to the entry and kneeling so she was eye to eye with the young girl.

"What is it you seek, weary travelers?"

Lita poked her head out from behind the frame, waving her closer.

Calixte leaned in amidst a series of low chuckles from the men in the room, to hear what Lita had to say.

"We're looking for snacks." She confided in a low whisper, pointing surreptitiously in the direction of the kitchen.

"Ahh, I see," Calixte nodded knowingly, "Well, my husband, that gangly-looking fellow over there…" She pointed at 'Shard, who was studiously pretending to read a book, "I heard through the grapevine he's a dab hand in the kitchen. Perhaps, if we bat our eyes at him he will make us something sweet?"

Lita's small hands covered her mouth, where a high-pitched giggle had begun to spill forth.

The two females shared a mischievous wink before turning their combined gaze on 'Shard, silently bending him to their will.

To Calixte's disbelief, he stood without a word and moved to walk out of the room.

"Oh come now, 'Shard, you can't possibly turn down such a darling request?"

Her tone was a warning one, assuring her husband he would be sleeping outside if he didn't play along with the sweet little girl's shenanigans.

Richard let out a deep, throaty laugh, "Surely not. I've not one but two lovely ladies making eyes at me. That calls for something special…" he peered over his shoulder with a devilish smile, "Dulce de leche, I think."

"Yes!" Lita jumped up and down, fisting the air in her exuberance.

Much to everyone else's surprise, she went haring after 'Shard, tucking her tiny hand in his much larger one.

"Can I help?" She asked, bouncing with excitement when they crossed the kitchen's threshold.

Richard peered thoughtfully down at her, pretending to assess whether she had the right stuff.

"Of course!" He deplored a second later, "I'm going to need a sous chef if I'm going to make the very best dulce de leche."

Calixte watched the pair meander into the kitchen, laughing and chattering excitedly, her heart clenching painfully at the sight.


The space around Rosalie was dark and warm.

There was no comprehension of time or place, only hunger, thirst, and a dull ache from the top of her head to the soles of her feet.

Thinking back to her most recent memories, Rosalie could only recall the incident with the Capo.

She had stabbed him.

Did he die?

Rosalie couldn't recall what else had happened after the sicarios dragged her into the tent.

Her hands moved to brush her hair from her eyes, the wild curls tickling her skin were becoming an annoyance.

The movement was hindered by the masculine arms surrounding her.

An icy terror plummeted into Rosalie's gut, triggering alarm bells in her head.

Who had her now?

Was she still with the cartel?

Was she with the German?

Where was she?

Panic was rapidly setting in, sending her lungs into rapid, heaving breaths beneath the man's grip, which tightened as she tried to free herself from him.

The fevered squirming woke Raymond in a matter of seconds.

Rosalie was fighting like hell to get out of his hold, starting to kick and shove at him in her desperation to be free.

"Ow, Rosalie!" His low baritone gritted painfully when her heel made contact with his knee, "Stop, it's me, it's me!"

She had no ears for his attempts at soothing, and Red was cautious not to grab at her, fearing more damage could be done to her limbs.

When Kate, Ted, and Dembe all came bursting into the bedroom, it was to find Raymond sprawled over the side of the bed and Rosalie huddled in a corner, his shirt clutched tightly about her torso and her head buried in her knees.

"What happened?" Barked Kate, hurrying to the terrorized woman in the corner.

"She just woke up," Red defended himself, slipping from the mattress and making his way over to the others.

The closer they got, the more terrified Rosalie became.

Kate laid a tentative hand on her shoulder, attempting to turn her attention so she could see it was them.

However, the very weight of her hand sent Rosalie scrabbling deeper into the corner, her fingernails scratching the wallpaper in hopes of unearthing an exit. She was hyperventilating at a dangerous pace, at this rate she would surely pass out.

Red shifted closer, trying his best to quieten her fear.

"Rosalie, Rosalie, it's alright. You're here with us. We're here."

She gave the unmoving wall up for a lost cause and clutched her hands over her head, hiding her face in her kneecaps.

"Stop," said Dembe, placing a hand each on Kate and Raymond's shoulders. "You are too close. We all need to move back."

Grudgingly, the two stood and took several steps back along with Dembe and Ted.

Rosalie's heaving, gut-wrenching sobs were the only sound in the room, and it took everything in Red not to go to her and try to soothe them.

He felt his short nails digging into his palms, his fist clenched tightly with the effort it took to stay rooted to the spot. Dembe was right, however, and after a few minutes, her cries quietened and she lifted her head to stare about the room.

Blinking open bleary eyes, Rosalie recognized the blackout curtains were drawn, casting the master suite into near complete darkness.

Her head swiveled frantically, trying to bring the other figures into focus. Vertigo roared along her senses from the movement, sending the room tilting on its axis and her empty stomach heaving unpleasantly.

Some blessed soul took pity on her and drew the curtains, allowing what little light the overcast sky could provide into the room.

Rosalie lifted a hand to shield her eyes and attempted to quell the unpleasant spinning sensation still consuming her before finally laying eyes on the foursome just inside the door.

Kate.

Dembe.

Teddy.

Her stomach dipped when her eyes focused on Raymond's tense frame, clad only in his sleepwear.

He had been the one holding her.

She was safe.

Rosalie felt hot tears carving their way down her cheeks and she lifted her eyes to his, her need for his comfort laid bare in her gaze.

An uncomfortable tugging feeling pulled at her when he visibly hesitated, not daring to take another step forward.

His eyes did not look on her the way they usually did.

There was no love in his gaze, only despair and something Rosalie couldn't quite place.

What did he want from her?

Sympathy?

Reassurance?

Rosalie felt a horrible pang in her chest, feeling as though she had nothing to give him. It felt like there wasn't a crumb left of the woman she was.

She sought fruitlessly for something of herself which she could give Raymond to make that wretched look go away, but nothing flowed forth.

She felt cold, empty.

In that moment's hesitation, Rosalie curled into a tighter ball and dropped her eyes to the carpet.

Ted smacked Red on the arm, but the man merely gaped at the solitary figure in the corner, at a loss for what he could possibly say or do to help.

With a sound of deepest disgust, Teddy pushed through the group and knelt a couple feet away from Rosalie.

"What way is the wind blowing today, Boss?" He greeted awkwardly, his gentle voice low and soothing, "We're all dead chuffed to have you back."

A pair of dark, watery eyes wandered across the floor and up Teddy's lanky frame.

The pleading look they gave made his chest ache.

Taking another tentative step forward, he was encouraged to see his charge not flinch away.

He held out a hand, careful not to invade her space too far. "Why don't you come out of the corner and we can tell you everything that happened, hmm?"

Rosalie considered him for a long moment, spared one more sidelong glance at Raymond, then placed her hand in Ted's.


It took a further ten minutes to coax Rosalie back into bed and begin relaying the events of the past three days.

By the time they had finished, she still hadn't said anything, merely stared down at her hands and fidgeted.

When Rosalie finally spoke, her voice could hardly make a sound.

She opened her mouth again, but all that came out was a raspy squeak.

Kate stepped forward, gesturing with a small flashlight for her to open her mouth.

She did so, and after having her throat checked and her neck examined, was informed the area was inflamed from having the catch pole around it.

"Shouldn't take more than another day or two for the swelling to go down," Kate assured, clicking the flashlight off and slipping it in her jacket pocket. "You should eat a little, then it's back to resting."

Rosalie merely blinked in response, then looked around the room, seemingly in search of something. A bandaged hand reached for the nightstand, yanking open the top drawer with a rough tug and snatching the pen and notepad laying neatly within before shoving the thing closed.

Thumbing the cap with enough vigor to send it scattering across the room, she scrawled one word in stark black ink.

Lita.

Kate pointedly left the room, opting to put her efforts into getting Rosalie something edible.

The three men she left in her wake shared an uncertain glance.

Rosalie was growing impatient.

Taking the pen once more, she underlined the name twice and turned it toward them, jabbing the white surface with messy black splotches.

"She's fine," Raymond placated, but the suspicious glare he received served to inform him Rosalie didn't believe a word of what he said.

They had hesitated, which, in her mind, could only mean one thing.

Lita was dead.

Rosalie had failed to save any of them. She had gotten them all killed.

Her hands crumpled into her lap, brushing the pen and note pad off the bed to clatter on the floor before she curled back into a ball beneath the sheets.

Ted and Dembe turned to file out of the room, the latter gesturing for Red to follow.

He did so reluctantly, eyes glued to Rosalie as he shuffled stiltedly from the room.

A contingent of fugitives greeted them, all peering curiously over their shoulders to catch a glimpse inside the room.

The fact that Rosalie was awake had obviously made the rounds in the few seconds Kate had been gone from the room.

Ted shook his head and gestured for them to get back, "Now is not the time for visitors. Rosalie is tired and understandably disoriented. Perhaps later, when she's had a moment to acclimate."

The group looked crestfallen, but nodded their understanding.

While the others filed out of the hall and back to their previous pursuits, the Lilets, who had Lita nestled between them, remained waiting on tenterhooks to see Rosalie.

"She should be allowed to see her," Calixte insisted, the little girl's hand cradled in her own.

"I don't know if that's the best idea right now," Raymond intimated, gesturing to his attire. "It was a pretty rough awakening."

Both Richard and Calixte gave him an awkward once-over, suddenly recognizing he was still very much in his pajamas.

Dembe threw in his two cents with a shrug, "Lita was the first person Rosalie asked about upon waking. Perhaps it would be good for her to see she is alive and well."

The group at large stared expectantly at Red, waiting for his decision.

"It couldn't possibly get any worse, dearie." Kate's curt voice echoed from the direction of the stove, where she was meticulously stirring the contents of a saucepan.

Teddy stepped in to assist, dutifully chopping an assortment of soft fruits and readying a pot of soothing mint and chamomile tea to bring in as well.

Raymond gave a defeated sigh, gesturing toward the door with a wave of his hand.

The Lilets tiptoed forward, flanking Lita on either side as they stepped over the threshold.

Looking over their shoulders, Raymond saw Rosalie sit up, her eyes wide as dinner plates.

Her bottom lip began to quiver, and he was just about to tell them all to leave when Rosalie stumbled from the bed to throw her arms around Lita, who met her enthusiasm tenfold.


Rosalie seemed a bit more herself as she nibbled at the oatmeal Kate had brought in. She seemed to prefer listening intently while Lita regaled the story of her harrowing escape in rapid Spanish.

Raymond blatantly eavesdropped, recognizing bits and pieces of the tale and smiling softly to himself when his companion gasped and rose her eyebrows in all the right places.

Lita had ended up biting two of the men who held her. They dropped her to the ground, and before they managed to grab her again, she had scrambled to the edge of the hill, where there was a steep, rocky face leading to overgrown brush roughly twenty feet below.

With what could only be described as reckless bravery, Lita had slid down the mountainside, tumbling pell-mell into the dense undergrowth and out of the cartel's grasp.

Rosalie smiled wearily down at her, more than once reaching out to pinch her cheek or touch her curls, reassuring herself Lita was, in fact, real.

The weight pressing upon her shoulders lifted with each minute spent listening to her chattering away; yet every time Raymond felt Rosalie's eyes on him, he sensed the volatile emotions still simmering beneath her surface.

It wasn't until Rosalie's head started bobbing against the bed frame that they decided it was time the visit started to wind down.

Another tight hug and wordless smile wished Lita goodnight, leaving the two fugitives alone once more as the sun poured liquid gold through the suite's many tall windows.

They shared a nervous glance, unsure of what to do now.

"Well, I suppose I should leave you to it," Red murmured awkwardly, gripping the doorknob with an unsure hand.

Rosalie merely looked down at the notepad in her hand, riddled with scribbled questions she had asked Lita.

She hurriedly splashed the word 'Wait' across a new page, but when she looked up, he had already left the room, leaving her in silence once more.


Overlook Safehouse - Morning - February 20th, 2000

Raymond did not come to bed that night, opting to give Rosalie some space in the hopes she would feel more at ease.

The following morning saw her twice as surly, but looking markedly less peakish.

She dressed in a hurry, adamant on getting out of the stuffy master suite with its cold bed and deafening quiet which only served to agitate.

If forced to spend another day cooped up inside, Rosalie was certain she'd implode.

Finding something to wear was every bit as frustrating. After trying on a few of her favored dresses only to find they made her various injuries stand out further, she ended up donning a pair of indigo jeans and a light, long sleeve t-shirt. The attire covered most of the bruises riddling her limbs, but the neckline wasn't quite high enough to cover the deep purple markings around her throat, nor the scratch marks which had reddened over the past couple days.

Rosalie dug deeper in her bag, pulling out a light scarf and looping it about her neck to cover the markings.

A longing glance was spared for the ensuite, where the enormous porcelain tub was calling her name. She recalled Raymond had bathed her as best he could shortly after her arrival, but Rosalie would have gladly given her left arm for a long hot bath. Though, she doubted the rest of the household would leave her be to soak as long as she needed.

With a tired groan, Rosalie set about taming her unruly locks into something more manageable.

Every movement made her wince; even holding the strands to braid her hair caused Rosalie's tired, achy muscles to protest.

When she was nearly finished, an emerald glimmer caught in her periphery, drawing her gaze to the ring which Raymond had given her.

The immaculate gem lay patiently on the polished wood vanity, waiting to be claimed by its rightful owner.

Rosalie allowed herself to take some small comfort in the action of slipping the cold platinum band onto her finger, breathing a soft sigh of relief at settling it into place. The jewel had become one of her most cherished possessions in the past couple months, and wearing it gave her a rush of normalcy which Rosalie hadn't felt since she'd been taken.

Another deep, steadying breath filled her lungs, attempting to push aside the tension which began encroaching itself upon her psyche.

A pregnant pause accompanied her hand grasping the polished doorknob, hesitating several beats before opening the door.

Rosalie went scrabbling backward when confronted with the very crowded and noisy kitchen.

Thankfully, Dembe was the only one who saw her appear.

When she peaked around the corner again, he stealthily lifted a finger to his lips, then set about bussing his plate and utensils.

While the others continued their various chatter, he prepared a bowl of diced fruits and a cup of tea before sneaking around the corner to find Rosalie pressed flat to the hallway's wall.

He tilted his head in the hallway's opposite direction, giving a stealthy not to Ted before following her through the rear of the house.


Moments later, the pair slipped unnoticed through the arched glass doors and into the solitude of the home's lower gardens.

Dembe guided Rosalie to a small gazebo tucked alongside a tall, sweeping willow tree. He set the teacups in the center of one of the gazebo's benches and gestured for Rosalie to take a seat.

She did so, accepting the bowl of fruit with a small, grateful smile.

The hillside was thick with fog, the pale morning light hardly managing to break over the mountains in the distance before being swallowed by overcast clouds.

Dembe watched as Rosalie picked halfheartedly at her food, "I know the gut reaction will be to purge the cartels from your network, but you must not do so."

How did he know?

Rosalie looked up at him with eyebrows quirked, an indignant retort poised upon her lips when she remembered she likely couldn't speak.

"Why not?" She managed in a squeaky rasp, the sound barely audible amongst the chirping birds in the tree over their heads.

Dembe held up a staying hand, gesturing that she should save her voice. "Trust me in this, Rosalie. The influence your network holds is great indeed. You are compelled to make a change, and that is admirable, but throwing those titans of the criminal underground back out on the streets would do much more harm than good."

Rosalie stared down at her fruit, nudging a ripe red strawberry back and forth with her fork.

"I don't know how to live with this," she confided finally, clearing her throat a few times. "There's so much guilt, Dembe, it's-" she took a shuddering breath, working past the rawness in her larynx. "It's like I can't breathe."

Dembe took her bowl and replaced it with a warm cup of tea, hoping it would sooth her vocal cords.

She took a long sip, allowing the warm liquid to slowly trickle down. The honey coated her throat, allowing her to speak a little more clearly. "How do I assuage this guilt, Dembe? I have players from a handful of the most prolific drug cartels in the world living under my roof."

"That does not make you the one responsible-"

"I'm complicit." Rosalie insisted, her own disgust quite evident.

Dembe shook his head, "You facilitate their continued existence, nothing more."

"I'm an accessory in their crimes against humanity, at the very least." The counterargument came as a crackling rasp as she set her teacup down with a touch more force than was strictly necessary.

"One of the most difficult lessons I have learned at Raymond's side is that there will always be evil in this world." Dembe leaned into Rosalie's sphere, drawing her querulous gaze to his own. "There will always be those wishing to do bad things, Rosalie. You know that. The game we play, the balance we try to strike, it is that of the lesser evils. Your network plays a part in this balance. You keep high-profile criminals off the streets so they are not waging open warfare on each other. You've outpaced the cruelest assassins, the ones who would lay waste to thousands in order to collect the bounty of one. You've made those killers obsolete. The best of the best lurk in the shadows and harbors you provide, forcing the terrain for assassination and inter-organizational feuds to change. They must be much more clever and far less reckless. This is better for all. It may not feel like it now, but you are doing something, Rosalie, something incredibly important."

For the first time ever, Dembe saw a flicker of anger in Rosalie's eyes.

"And what of the blood on my hands, Dembe? What of the women and children whose demise I have directly facilitated?" A snarl tugged at her upper lip, her own self-loathing painfully evident, "What of them?"

His face fell, realizing how much blame his friend was placing on herself.

"Rosalie, you didn't kidnap them. You didn't come into their homes in the dead of night and rip them away from their families. You cannot blame yourself for-"

"I am the reason-"

"You are not." Dembe's deep timbre cut her off, but Rosalie's fragile voice managed to carry over his in a crackled shout.

"If I had just waited and kept my mouth shut, they all could have lived!" Her retort fractured at the last word, her vocal cords far too weak for the volume Rosalie was attempting.

"I wasn't the reason they were thereI was the reason they would never leave."

Rosalie crumbled in on herself, dropping her forehead to Dembe's knee as a heaving sob forced its way out of her lungs.

"How can you say I'm not responsible?"

Dembe lifted her bowed frame and pulled her into a tight embrace, "Rosalie, I know what it is to live in their world. Being the captive of a cartel, you quickly lose any semblance of hope. Especially when you know there is no-one to come for you. There is nothing more crushing to one's soul. By the time I was fourteen, I couldn't even remember what hope felt like…Then, I met Chisimdi."

Rosalie recalled the name of the woman whom Dembe had fallen in love with, and their failed escape from the Mombasa Cartel.

"I saw her, and for the first time in my life, I could recall what it felt like to be hopeful."

"You were left for dead," Rosalie couldn't help but contradict him, "and Chisimdi was killed."

"Yes, she died," Dembe conceded, "But she died having known hope. We took our lives into our own hands to escape the Mombasa Cartel. We ran the risk of being killed, but the opportunity waiting on the other side, the hope we had for a life together, it was worth every single risk."

He rocked Rosalie soothingly, placing one large hand to cradle her head to his shoulder.

"Those captives died, but you gave them hope. You gave them the will to fight, Rosalie. Because of you, they did not allow themselves to be brutalized as well as murdered. You believe you should have waited and kept quiet, but imagine what horrors would have awaited those women had they not fought back. You gave them those scant few hours to exist without fear, to hope for something better."

Rosalie wept openly into his shirt, struggling to take his words to heart.

Dembe continued to hold her close, patting her back in an attempt to provide comfort. "You must remember that you too were a victim in this, Rosalie. You are allowed to feel those emotions. There is no wisdom I can impart which will help you numb the pain; I can only tell you to fight the instinct to bury your trauma as deeply as possible. Doing so will only allow it to fester into a wound which will refuse to heal."

Another heavy sob wracked Rosalie's frame, but she nodded all the same.

The two sat in the same attitude for several long minutes. Dembe continued to cradle his friend in a comforting hold, allowing her to cry herself out in a way he was certain she hadn't permitted since being rescued.

Dembe knew the purging of those emotions was paramount for Rosalie's mental and emotional health, having experienced similar emotions when Raymond had freed him from the basement of that brothel in Nairobi. Granted, his own psychological trauma and subsequent upheaval had been on a much larger scale since he had been in the Mombasa Cartel's grasp for just shy of a decade, but the underlying trauma of being violently taken against one's will and seeing the absolute worst of humanity was very much the same.

He knew everyone handled it differently, but Dembe sincerely hoped Rosalie's relatively short exposure would result in an equally short healing process.

Regardless of how long it took, he, Raymond, and Ted would be there to help shore her up.

The thought of Raymond brought forth a slew of other questions. Dembe had not missed the fact that Raymond hadn't gone to back to his and Rosalie's room the night prior. It seemed there was a rift between them which needed mending if they were going to come out of this unfortunate incident intact.

When Rosalie finally quietened, she lifted her head from Dembe's chest, murmuring a string of apologies for the wet spot on his shirt amid a few remaining sniffles.

Dembe brushed the notion off and stood, taking Rosalie's hand and tucking it securely in the crook of his arm. "Why don't we take a walk around the garden? It will help."

She nodded sedately, standing and following his lead along the pebbled walkway bordering the grounds.

They had taken a couple turns in comfortable silence, giving Rosalie time to gather her thoughts before Dembe broached the subject of Raymond.

"I understand it was a rough awakening yesterday. You seem reluctant to lean on Raymond as you usually do. May I ask why?"

Rosalie sighed wearily, clearing her throat a few times before whispering. "I remember bits and pieces of the day you all found me. One of which was that 'Shard, Calixte, and the others apparently told you all what happened in Kentucky. I've never been one to hide things, but that was one piece of myself I just wasn't ready for him to know, Dembe."

He nodded his understanding, "It was quite the tale. I am sorry your entrance into this life was such a tumultuous one."

"I confronted Raymond about it when we were finally alone." Rosalie continued, "I remember he assured me knowing what I had done changed nothing in his eyes."

"Yet you do not believe him?"

Dembe peered curiously down at her, surprised to find her scowling at the distant trees.

"It's not that I don't believe him," she huffed, turning to face him once again, "It's the way he looks at me, Dembe. He stares at me like I'm something unrecognizable. I hate it. How am I supposed to trust that I can still confide in him when he can't even bear to look at me?"

A dark look swept over her features, "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, I can't really bear to look at me."

"I do not believe that to be the case," Dembe assured, "Raymond has been extremely concerned for your health and wellbeing, Rosalie."

"He has a funny way of showing it." Rosalie griped, thinking of when she woke up. She had looked to him for comfort and he had remained halfway across the room balking at her.

Dembe patted her small hand with his much larger one, "The last thing he wants is for you to be afraid of him. If waking in his proximity surprises you that badly, Raymond would rather sleep on the chaise than allow you to wake in fear."

Rosalie looked stricken, her fractured voice barely audible once more.

"Is that where he slept last night?"

"Here and there," Dembe admitted, "You know Raymond, he likes to stay busy when things are strenuous."

"No, he doesn't."

Rosalie's tone was despondent, "He stays busy when he doesn't have someone to give a damn about his wellbeing. When things are strenuous and we're solid he handles stress by getting laid and using me as his own personal body pillow."

Dembe couldn't help a snort of laughter at this, "That, I did not need to know."

"Well, it's true…" said Rosalie unapologetically, "I didn't want him to leave last night, but he was out the door before I could ask him to stay."

"Raymond is struggling to know what to do in order to help." Dembe amended, "I think you and I can both agree he is not great at sitting on his laurels."

She nodded her agreement, waiting a few more minutes before bringing up another topic of concern.

"What's being done about Lita?"

The steady crunch of gravel beneath Dembe's feet slowed, "I have a handful of our associates searching the village she was from to see if she has any family left."

"She doesn't," Rosalie sighed, "They killed her father the day before I arrived, if I recall correctly. He was the last of her family."

Dembe squeezed her hand reassuringly, "Lita told us the same thing. We are checking for extended family as well, just to be certain. For now, she seems to have taken a liking to your friends from Baton Rouge."

This made Rosalie smile, brightening her demeanor considerably as they continued their slow, leisurely walk.


Inside the house, Richard Moreau-Lilet went wandering in search of his wife.

Calixte had been increasingly elusive these past few days, opting to spend her time caring for the young girl whom they had rescued from the cartel.

The little thing was surprisingly resilient. Despite all that had happened to her, Lita was still a child at heart. She loved playing games with their security and chattering animatedly with the other fugitives in the house.

'Shard liked to think he was her favorite, but he knew that would be a lie. Calixte was the one whom held the coveted place of Lita's favorite person, followed closely by Rosalie. Then...perhaps, it was Richard.

All the same, he found himself enjoying the youthfulness and newness Lita brought to their little collective.

Being fugitives for a handful of decades, Richard and Calixte hadn't been around children in quite some time.

'Shard knew just by looking at his wife that she had been missing it.

Turning into the lounge, he found Calixte sitting blissfully on the small loveseat sofa, a dozing Lita curled up with her head in her lap.

"I-" his wife pressed her lips tightly together, looking very much as though she had been caught in open wrongdoing, "I know what you're going to say, 'Shard."

He sidled further into the room, his dark gaze bearing a wealth of scrutiny.

Calixte, usually so poised and articulate, quailed beneath his stare.

"I know when we first got married we said our life was too dangerous for a child, but- but…"

Richard still hadn't said a word. He took the seat next to his wife and eyed the small child in her lap with a raised brow.

"She has no one, mon coeur."

The statement was a plea in disguise, Calixte's quavering voice revealing how much she had secretly longed for a child.

"She has a family Calixte, we shouldn't be getting attached." Richard's deep voice pleaded in an undertone, finally breaking the stifling quiet.

"The team of associates just confirmed that is not the case. They're gone, 'Shard." Calixte's eyes shot to his, finding her husband's gaze just as cautious, just as hopeful as she felt inside.

Richard looked down at the exhausted figure out like a light against his wife's thigh. "Her entire family is gone?"

"We could love her just as well as any others."

The fervent whisper was as close to begging as Richard had ever heard Calixte lower herself to. His wife seldom outright asked for anything, but she was asking for this.

Looking at his her, 'Shard knew Calixte already loved Lita. In a matter of days, the long-forgotten maternal instincts within her came rushing forth without a second thought to care for the orphaned little girl as though she were her own.

Richard considered the possibility.

They had discussed children before he and Calixte wed. They had agreed, their life together was simply to dangerous to consider having children.

But that was decades ago, when they were just starting out. Now, the Lilets were an extremely wealthy and powerful criminal enterprise. They had few competitors and even fewer enemies, and they could completely walk away from their empire in the blink of an eye. They could provide Lita with everything she could ever want or need.

She had seen so much for someone so young; would it not be better for her to be cared for by people who understood her experience?

If there was no-one left to care for her, to raise her, to give Lita a safe and loving home...His wife was right, couldn't they love her just as well as any other family?

'Shard looked up to find hot tears trailing along his wife's cheeks. His hands surged forward, cupping her face in his large palms and bringing his lips to the dewy tracks carving their way along her skin. "You have been denied this simple joy for so long, my prize. How could I ever say no?"

Calixte held back a choked sob, looking at her husband once more with pleading, watery eyes.

Richard shushed lovingly, brushing his thumb along her jaw in soothing circles. "If she wishes it, Calixte, we will give her the life we could only dream of when we were children. It will have to be Lita's choice, mon coeur. She must choose us. Far too many choices have already been taken away from her in this life. We will ensure her future will be decided solely with her express consent."

Calixte nodded fervently, leaning to rest her head on Richard's shoulder, her fingertips still carding habitually through Lita's dark curls as she slept on.


That evening found Rosalie sitting at the foot of the bed listening to her friends chatting away. They had trickled in two by two, eager to talk with her, despite the fact her voice wasn't fully recovered.

At least, that's what Dembe told them all.

He had figured she should rest her vocal cords as much as possible, and hours of endless chatter would do more harm than good.

Rosalie had quietly agreed, and thus continued the charade that she could not speak at all.

This also took the pressure to discuss what happened off of her, leaving her to sit and listen as the others regaled her with all manner of stories and shared memories.

Dahlia was the last to leave, pressing her lips to Rosalie's forehead and leaving behind a tray of healthy snack foods. "Make sure you eat something," she intoned, giving the younger woman a wink before leaving her and Raymond alone once more.

The two peered awkwardly at each other.

Rosalie spared a sidelong glance for the ensuite, an actual whimper of longing leaving her throat.

Raymond followed her gaze to shining porcelain tub, then back to her. "Were you hoping for a bath?"

He fought a smile when she nodded vigorously, her dark eyes wide and hopeful as they swiveled between him and the tub.

"Okay, okay. Why don't you have some water and eat a little? Dahlia will have my head if you don't. While you're doing that, I'll start filling the tub."

Rosalie lifted a cracker to her lips, taking an obedient bite as she watched Red turn and saunter into the master bath.

He twisted the handles on the taps and held his hand beneath the stream until the water began to turn warm. Once he felt it was warm enough, Raymond placed the metal plug in place and stood.

A glance back into the bedroom found Rosalie watching him intently, a half-eaten sliver of cheese in hand and her attention firmly fixed on him.

Taking that as a good sign, Red gave her a small smile, then set about adding a splash of epsom salts and bubble bath to the rising water.

He disappeared from view then, likely making his way to the linen closet at the other end of the bath to procure towels.

Losing sight of him somehow made Rosalie a little nervous.

Checking the arched windows, she saw the sky was still overcast and the home's quiet grounds looked empty.

Her skin began to crawl unpleasantly.

Rosalie told herself over and over that the bath would be ready in a few short minutes, and she should focus on her food.

However, her eyes managed to wander of their own accord between the bath and the windows.

She still couldn't see Raymond.

She wanted to be in the tub.

"You just have to wait." She hissed to her plate, one leg bouncing involuntarily. The action was enough to rattle the china on the tray in front of her.

Grabbing the cup of water and downing it in a few gulps did little to distract.

What was taking him so long? Why hadn't she seen him?

Everything felt so uncomfortable.

She needed to bathe.

She needed to know Raymond was still there…


In the ensuite, Red reached to check the water from the tap.

He inhaled sharply through his teeth, yanked his hand out of the stream and waved it back and forth in the air.

"Well, at least we know the water heater is fully operational," he groused, switching the faucets to a cooler temperature, then turning to the sink basin and running cold water over his fingers.

Rosalie shuffled silently past him, intent on the piping hot bath.

"I need to cool it down a bit before you get in, little dove."

His warning was thoroughly ignored.

Uncaring of the shirt she still wore, Rosalie insolently placed a foot in the bath, hissing at the feel of the much too hot water engulfing her skin. She then began to lower herself into its depths, yelping when the scalding liquid touched the deep scratches Lita's nails had left at the small of her back.

"What are you doing?"

Raymond hurried over and hoisted her bodily from the tub amidst an outburst of angry protesting noises. His captive squirmed and struggled as he strode through the bank of rooms, away from the near-boiling tub.

"I'm not going to let you scald yourself, dammit!"

The irate, barking reprimand made Rosalie shrink slightly in his grasp as she was deposited onto the newly stripped bed.

Grabbing a nearby towel and the half-melted ice packs, he set about soothing the bright pink hue blooming on her legs.

"What were you thinking, Rosalie? You could have hurt yourself."

She blinked down at Red with a cold stare, refusing to utter a word.

He left the room and she couldn't see where he went.

She didn't want to feel like this.

She was fine with the hot water.

She just wanted to feel better.

Why didn't he understand how horrible she felt inside?

The pair were at a stalemate, neither able to bend to meet the other with what felt like a logjam of a communications barrier lodged between them.

"Is there a problem here?"

It was Teddy, bearing a set of clean sheets and a curious expression.

Raymond shook his head woefully, scrubbing his face with a rough hand before turning to leave the room.

"The bath was too hot, but she had no ears for waiting. Could you please make sure she hasn't scalded herself? I just…I need a moment."

"Sure," Ted agreed, but the door had closed behind Reddington before he could even get the word out. He turned to his charge, giving a small, sympathetic smile. "Hey, Rosalie."


Raymond loped through the house in search of Dembe, finding the man sitting in peaceful solitude in the home's quiet office, reading a book.

"You went through so much worse than this…help me." Red pleaded, "What am I doing wrong? How do I fix this?"

Dembe gestured for him to take a seat, "This isn't something you will be able to fix, Raymond. No amount of wealth or influence or revenge will make Rosalie magically okay again. It takes time. Now, tell me what happened"

Red sped through all that had happened in the short interval between Dahlia leaving and Ted's arrival, not stopping long enough to take a breath.

"You are concerned for her well-being, as am I, but we must be patient."

"What good is being patient when it exposes her to more pain?" Raymond exploded, "What is the point in any of this if the result is everyone I-I…" That train of thought came to a screeching halt, refusing to form the words to voice the man's deepest fears.

Red's left eye twitched, as did his upper lip, his frustration coming to a head as he collapsed into the chair next to Dembe. As he all too often found himself doing, he laid his concerns at the younger man's feet.

"Katarina walked into a frigid ocean fully intent on drowning herself. Rosalie now seems hellbent on doing the same thing only she'd like to be scalded raw first."

Dembe nodded thoughtfully, understanding at last what had him so unnerved.

"You are projecting, Raymond," he advised, "Rosalie is not Katarina; to compare the two would be a masterclass in contradiction. Rosalie is not running from an impossible situation, she is likely just trying to manage the pain of her guilt. She feels it's her fault the women and children in that campground died. Right now, that guilt and despair is trapped beneath the surface with her own experience as a victim, and they are all fighting desperately to get out."

Red tongued the inside of his cheek irritably, "That doesn't explain why she's suddenly careless with her own health and safety."

"Rosalie saw atrocities at that camp which up until now she had scarcely thought imaginable, and she could do nothing about it."

Dembe set his book aside and threaded his fingers together across his chest, expounding upon the theory which he had been cultivating since his and Rosalie's walk earlier that day. "For the first time in her life, Rosalie was kidnapped and held hostage without any way to protect those around her. Instead of processing that experience and healing from it, her mind is in a stage of denial. It's pushing back the upheaval, packing everything that happened to her into the smallest boxes it can find and refusing to let any of it see the light of day. Can you imagine what that is like for her? Rosalie. Our Rosalie, who has always been so open and honest and empathetic with herself and those she loves most, to have all that darkness and despair bottled up inside with no way to purge herself of it?"

This statement seemed to reach Raymond, so Dembe continued.

"Rosalie is a giver, a harborer. That is who she is at her very foundations, and her time in the cartel saw her stripped of the one coping mechanism she has allowed herself. Trauma like that creates a rift inside a person, You and I know this fact well, but Rosalie is just now learning this cold and ugly truth. Have you considered her desire to sink below the surface of a scalding bath is merely her body's way of trying to wade through what happened and reconnect itself to her mind? Speaking from experience, I can tell you Rosalie is likely lost in a terrifying corner of herself wondering if anyone will care enough to reach her."

Raymond lifted his sorrowful eyes to Dembe's finding the other man's soulful countenance staring him down with more than a small drop of chastisement. "That's what Rosalie's contending with inside, and every time she has looked to you for reassurance you've met her pleading gaze with one riddled with guilt and self-blame."

It took a great deal of effort for Red to bite back the caustic retort which threatened to leap forth.

Did they think he didn't feel just as guilty for what happened?

Did she think he didn't understand how much she'd suffered?

It wasn't her fault.

So why was Rosalie putting the blame on herself?

Red felt horrid inside, too. The prospect of losing her had left him with an abiding feeling of nausea and hopelessness, and keeping a cautious distance had only exacerbated his misery.

Dembe gave him several long moments to sift through his thoughts before placing a bracing hand to Raymond's shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

"Stop trying to make it better and just meet her there. Rosalie doesn't need you to fix anything, Raymond. She just needs to know you're still in this with her."


Red returned to the master suite a few minutes later to find the bedroom empty.

Teddy's low voice could be heard murmuring soothingly from the ensuite amidst the sound of the tub's faucets running once again.

"He'll come around Rosalie, just give him time. Ray was…well, he was a complete basket case when you went missing. It's like missing a few steps on the stairs, you catch yourself and everything's fine, but it takes a few minutes for that panic to subside. He'll meet you when he's ready."

A weary sigh was the only sound from Rosalie.

Raymond stepped into the doorway to the ensuite to find Ted and Rosalie sitting on the floor beside the tub, waiting for the basin to fill itself once more.

"Thank you, Ted."

Teddy stood, recognizing he was being asked to make himself scarce. He gave Rosalie's shoulder a gentle squeeze before making his exit, giving Red a curt nod on his way out.

It wasn't until the bedroom door had clicked shut that Raymond looked upon Rosalie, his stomach clenching at the site of her bruised legs peeking out from under his shirt.

"Stop it."

He lifted his head sharply, certain he had heard incorrectly. Rosalie hadn't said a word in days, he must have imagined it.

Nothing could prepare him for when those fathomless gray eyes zeroed in on him, the look behind them most uncharacteristic of the woman he knew. The stark irises practically sparked with heated discontent.

"Stop looking at me like that." She repeated, her voice a raspy squeak but her tone firm.

Raymond stood there, gobsmacked, for several long moments before his mind could formulate a response. "How am I looking at you?"

Her scowl deepened, "Like I'm something damaged. I already feel like a vile, horrid caricature of a human being and I can't stand to have you of all people looking at me the way you are right now."

"Me of all people?" He didn't appreciate what the sentiment implied.

"Yes, you of all people." Rosalie bit back, "You're the one I'm supposed to trust. You're supposed to be my person, my confidant, my safe harbor."

His anger dissipated to deepest sorrow as she drew her legs up to her chest, resting her cheek atop her knee.

"You're not supposed to- to look at me like that. Like I've somehow dashed every one of your hopes and dreams by allowing myself to be taken. It wasn't my fault." She listed to the side, her head returning to rest against the side of the tub. "It wasn't my fault."

Finally, the tears came in earnest.

"I've never looked at you differently, Ray." Rosalie hiccuped, a shuddering sob shaking her frame. "Regardless of everything you've told me, I've never looked at you the way you've looked at me since you found me at the cartel. You said what Richard and the others told you didn't change anything…Then why do you look at me like that?"

Raymond would have liked to melt into the floor, right then and there. Dembe had been right. Something so simple as a look had shaken his companion to her very foundations, making her feel completely and horribly alone.

He was determined to correct that notion, if she would let him.

Rosalie watched as he moved toward her, her hands flew up defensively when he reached for her.

"Don't," he pleaded, dropping to his knees. "Don't push me away."

She shrunk against the porcelain tub, uncertainty riddling her features.

"I know you're hurt, and everything feels wrong," his face twitched into a grimace, "I know you're scared, and you feel guilty for surviving when those other women didn't. I've let you feel like something has changed between us and that's simply not the truth. I just want to help. I just want to help you feel better, and I- I don't know if I'm doing it right, but…Rosalie, I need you to let me try."

Rosalie considered him for a moment, watery eyes searching his features before finally giving a small, cautious nod.

"I'm going to lift you up now, okay?"

She didn't argue, sitting still while he slipped his arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back.

He stood, lifting her effortlessly from the floor and setting her feet on the plush bath mat.

Stooping once more, he carefully grasped the dark boyshorts she wore and slid them down her legs.

Red kept his eyes on Rosalie's, not allowing his gaze to drop to her battered and bruised body which only made him fraught with guilt.

He was met with those same deep gray eyes he had fallen for all those months ago.

They shone starkly against the whites of her eyes, the tumultuous hue beckoning all those feelings he had let fall to the wayside in his self-blame.

She looked up at him when he stood, pushing his shirt from her shoulders with warm, gentle hands.

Without thinking, Rosalie felt her own hands reach for the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it over his head before he could protest.

"Please," she whispered, "I just need you close."

Red's frame straightened at this, giving in and helping her to rid himself of the cumbersome garments. Once he was as naked as she, he stepped into the tub, rested his back against the far edge and lowered her into his arms.

They were both a little stiff at first, but slowly and surely, each relaxed into the other's hold.

Rosalie curled into Raymond's grasp, breathing a sigh of relief when the hot water surrounded her.

The room fell quiet, the drip of the faucet the only sound accompanying their own breaths.

After a while, Red used one hand to uncap a nearby bottle of body wash, drizzling a generous amount along Rosalie's spine and proceeding to slowly scrub, using his hands to spread the wealth of fragrant lather over her person.

A memory from the day she had been brought home went racing through Rosalie's subconscious.

The way Raymond had held her, the gentle touch and even gentler words swam in her mind. He was being every bit as tender now. The memory made her bottom lip start to quiver.

This did not go unnoticed.

"Tell me what you need, little dove." Red pleaded, shifting her further into his grasp.

"I'm not okay," she admitted meekly, allowing herself to be tucked beneath his chin without a fight.

"I know, love. You don't have to be okay." His arms engulfed her, cradling her as close to him as the space would allow.

They didn't need to speak, the physical affection serving to slowly bridge the divide which had wedged itself between them.


They stayed in that position for well over an hour.

Raymond leisurely drained and refilled the large tub twice in that amount of time, ensuring the water remained hot. His hands roamed her soothingly, smoothing in gentle passes over every inch he could reach.

Rosalie kept herself pressed to his broad frame all the while, one arm wrapped around his torso, the other drawing nonsensical patterns in his chest hair.

Finally, she spoke again.

"What if I'm not cut out for this, Raymond?"

Raymond understood her concerns, having asked himself the same questions in his early years as a criminal.

There were two sides to every criminal, and Rosalie was no different. She was a criminal, but she was also a guardian, and the two personalities were often at war with each other. Unfortunately, it was time the two sides of Rosalie were forced to merge, and as Red predicted, the change was agonizing.

Rosalie was forced to realize she couldn't save everyone.

It was different before, when she was dealing with capable criminals. It was all so neat and tidy. If she did x, y, and z, correctly, her clients were perfectly safe. They lived, she collected her payment, and the earth continued to spin.

Now, she could see the full breadth of the organism that was the criminal underworld, and her role in it.

It was a rude awakening indeed.

"You're not."

Rosalie's mouth fell open and her brow creased tightly, having obviously expected his reassurance.

The knowledge made Red's chest flood with a pleasant warmth.

He reached out to cup her cheek, bringing her nose a hair's breadth from his own.

Their eyes met and held, each seeming to scour the other's soul for something to cling to.

"Rosalie, you're not cut out for this. You're not," he insisted when she moved to defend herself, "That is without question one of your most stunning attributes."

She blinked confusedly up at him, her torso leaning pointedly away from his.

Red gathered her back to his sphere, tracing a thoughtful thumb over her chin.

"Little dove, if you were cut out to be unaffected by the horrors of a drug cartel, you wouldn't be you. You're kind, Rosalie. You are…" He was forcibly reminded of all she did for those around her, him in particular. "You are endlessly and selflessly and unflinchingly kind. In a world- Our world," he corrected, "Where the traits of empathy and compassion are bastardized and abused and belittled, you have managed to maintain them; cultivating those traits into your credo. You could become like the rest of the underworld, cold and unflinching at every injustice which crosses your path, but what would you become in doing so?"

Rosalie found the corners of her eyes stinging with unshed tears. "I don't want to be the one to endure all of this. I just want to be numb."

Raymond shifted his hold on her, bringing his lips flush with Rosalie's. He placed a chaste kiss to her mouth, relishing in the soft mew which greeted the action. "Don't ever wish away the very best of you simply because it hurts to feel those pieces, Rosalie. I promise you the pain will ebb away in time."


Once Raymond and Rosalie could no longer stay in the water, the two dried off and moved directly to their bed.

The sheets had been changed while they were in the bath, leaving them enveloped in fresh, clean cotton.

"What happens now?" Rosalie croaked with a yawn, burrowing back into Red's side with a yawn.

He wrapped his arm around her, pleased to feel some semblance of normalcy returning to their interactions, "Tomorrow, we're going to leave."

Her head lifted in surprise, "Leave?" She questioned, "Leave where?"

"France," Red confided, "The others are going to stay here and keep tabs on the cartel."

"Oh God, you didn't tell Florian, did you?" Rosalie looked the picture of a young woman who had been caught misbehaving by an angry parent.

The look almost made Red smile. "No, but we will have to tell him at some point, Rosalie. Otherwise he will find out on his own, and I don't think he'll let me live if he does."

"Not yet," she pleaded, "Please, I just don't have it in me to contend with him and Marietta's helicoptering just now."

"I will look to you to choose the time and place when you are ready. In the meantime, Cedric knows what's going on. He is going to be your security detail when we arrive."

Rosalie traced a finger along Raymond's chest, circling the small bullet wound hidden in the soft curls. "What about Teddy?"

Red hummed softly from the featherlight touch, "Ted is adamant on staying to assist with Los Reyes Sagrados. He blames himself for your lax in security."

"He very well couldn't have followed me into the ladies room," she defended, thinking it unreasonable for Teddy to place any of the blame on himself.

Raymond shrugged, "Still, he's made it abundantly clear that he wants to be there when we take the cartel down."

She tensed at this, "Why can't I be there?"

"I want you safely on another continent."

The two shared an argumentative glance, but just as quickly the fight drained from them both.

Rosalie's eyes dropped to watch the rise and fall of his chest. "So...I'll be in France while you are all here?"

"Yes." Red left no room for argument. He needed to know she was safely out of the cartel's reach before he laid waste to the lot of them. He felt badly leaving Rosalie anywhere right now, but she would be safe with Cedric, and she had intimated more than once that he was one of her closest friends and confidants. She would surely be safe and comfortable with him.

Cedric had been surprisingly relaxed about the whole ordeal. When told what had happened to Rosalie, he directly advised Raymond to avoid bringing Florian into the equation for as long as possible, for her sake. He didn't hesitate in agreeing to look after her and set about getting her Paris apartment opened and ready for her arrival.

As Raymond lay there listening to Rosalie's slow, steady breaths, an idea came to him.

He slid from her grasp, making her grumble, as she had been slowly falling asleep.

"I'll be right back, I just realized I forgot to make an important phone call."

"O-okay," Rosalie said around a yawn, sitting up to keep an eye on the empty room.

Red watched the action with a pang of sympathy, which he quickly smothered so it would not reach his eyes.

"I'll leave the door open, okay? Teddy and the others are right off of the kitchen."

She nodded jerkily, "Y-yeah. Thanks."

Raymond stepped into the hall and made his way back to the office, where he procured the burner from Dembe and quickly dialed the familiar number.

It took a few rings before a smooth, gentle voice filtered through the connection.

"Raymond?"

"Josephine, I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time?"


Two days later... Paris, France - February 22nd, 2000

Raymond, Dembe, and Rosalie had arrived in Paris late the night before after the lengthy flight from Colombia.

The goodbyes between Rosalie and her extraction team were strange to say the least. They were all staying to help handle the issue with Los Reyes Sagrados, even little Lita was staying behind with Richard and Calixte, who had apparently taken a liking to the girl.

The Pepperwood Boys, Helia, Dahlia, Fred and Hector all made plans to catch up with Rosalie later in the year, once she'd had a chance to recover and recoup. The Lilets planned to meet Rosalie in Paris once the dust settled, with Lita in tow, so they might all come up with a plan for the young girls' future.

The whole group had grown quite attached to the spirited child, and Rosalie couldn't deny she was relieved her closest friends happily took up the task of looking after her.

The swift and uncustomary exit left Rosalie reeling the whole flight, and when the trio arrived at the private airstrip in Paris, she was barely able to keep her eyes open.

Cedric had met them on the ground, where a pair of armored vehicles awaited their arrival, each flanked by a couple burly and intimidating Corsicans.

Rosalie couldn't deny she was happy to see Cedric's dour features, going so far as to fling herself into his arms once she reached the tarmac.

The stoic Frenchman took the accosting in his stride, reciprocating the hug before holding Rosalie at arm's length so he could get a good look at her. His green eyes traveled over the shiner on her cheek bone and the bruising just visible on her hands. The gaze traveled to Reddington, bestowing a curt, silent nod before gesturing them all to the waiting vehicles.

Rosalie fell asleep almost immediately, and was carried into the apartment by Raymond when they arrived.

Once she was tucked beneath the cool sheets, he reconvened with Cedric and Dembe on the first floor. The former

"I went fishing for intel regarding the Los Reyes Sagrados Cartel, it looks like they were contracted by the German fellow you've been chasing the past several months."

"We know," Red agreed, straightening his tie with a scowl.

"This is twice he's overstepped and Rosalie's nearly paid the price. Do you know what it is he wants from you two?"

"Me," Raymond admitted more than a little grudgingly, "To our knowledge, he's trying to flush me out of Rosalie's network by going straight to the source."

Cedric nodded thoughtfully, "I will keep an ear to the ground and see if any other information can be dredged up. I take it you're heading back now?"

Both Raymond and Dembe heaved a sigh at this, "Yes. The sooner we deal with this, the sooner we can get back to normal. Rosalie may be a bit disoriented when she wakes, you'll be here?"

"I'll be right outside her room." Cedric gestured to the cars out front, "My men will escort you back to your plane, then return and secure the perimeter around the home. Do you need extra arms?"

Red shook his head, "Rosalie's extraction teams are all waiting to assist."

"Very well," Cedric shook both men's hands, "You should be on your way. As you said, the faster they're handled the faster you can return."


Rosalie woke several hours later still groggy and disoriented from the time change.

She was surprised to find she was not in her and Raymond's apartment overlooking the Place des Voges, but in her own townhouse in the 6th Arrondissement. The knowledge both surprised and somewhat annoyed her. Though, on second thought, she supposed Raymond did not want anyone else to know about that secret hideaway. This comforted her for a moment, until Rosalie reached out to find the space beside her empty.

Had he left immediately for Colombia?

A groan tumbled from her lips when she sat up.

A low male rumble was murmuring from the other side of the door, interrupted periodically by a clearly female voice.

This seemed suspicious. To Rosalie's knowledge, there was not a single female in Cedric's employ, and her own Paris property manager was a man as well. There was no readily available reason to explain why there was another woman in her home.

Rosalie had little time to fret about this, as the bedroom door opened seconds later.

Cedric poked his head inside, seeing that she was awake, then gestured to the hallway's other occupant.

A woman around Rosalie's age with chin length dark brown hair and soft chocolate eyes walked slowly into the room. Her smile was warm and genuine as she took a seat at the foot of the bed, leaning on one hand.

"Bonjour," she said softly, her French accent as gentle as her smile.

"I hope you don't mind, Raymond asked me if I would come stay with you while he is away. I am an old friend. Josephine, Josephine Molière."