A/N: Sunny (And anyone else!) - Feel free to comment on AO3, it's much easier for me to reply if you don't have a FF account. I respond to all comments :)
For those interested, I've set up a Wordpress site to showcase the inspiration behind each of the safe houses. I will be posting every safe house and black site prior to the chapter going up.
.com
TW- This chapter discusses mild opium use.
Continued...
The townhome's quiet library was chosen as the make-shift psychiatrist's office, its plush furniture and warm interior conducive to the task at hand.
Dr. Tiller was a pleasantly plump fellow in his mid-60's. For a criminal psychologist, Rosalie thought he looked quite normal. His slacks were neatly-pressed, a thick tweed jacket covered his bulky sweater which in turn covered a plain white button down and sharp blue tie. His salt and pepper hair was a tad long, the slightly waved locks slicked back to meet at the base of his neck. He looked very much like every college professor she'd had at Stanford.
A muscular jaw ticked beneath his beard as he settled into his seat, pushing a pair of small round tortoise-shell glasses up the bridge of his rather prominent nose and bestowing another kindly smile on Rosalie. "Well, it's lovely to meet you at last, Ms. Øllegaard."
"Please, call me Rosalie."
"Rosalie," he corrected himself, "So tell me, what brings you to therapy?"
Rosalie fidgeted a little in her seat, not expecting him to jump right into it. "Um, well, as I mentioned in the hall, Dembe insisted I take the time to have a psychiatric consult after what happened with the cartel."
"Yes," Dr. Tiller nodded, "And what happened with the cartel, Rosalie?"
Her brow furrowed, "Well, I believe Dembe told you the gist of it?"
He gave another defferential nod, "He did, but I would very much appreciate it if you told me what happened in your own words."
"I...was abducted," Rosalie wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for, "Los Reyes Sagrados were hired by an as of yet unidentified enemy of ours. This man has been trying to get to me as a way to get to Raymond. I run the network you're in right now." She gestured at the home around them, "I'm an innkeeper, I give fugitives a place to lay their head whilst on the run. Raymond has been impossible to locate this past year, and so our enemy has set his sights on abducting me as a means to infiltrate said network."
Dr. Tiller's head bobbed constantly as he scribbled on a worn yellow notepad, "Do you enjoy your occupation?"
"Yes, very much so."
Rosalie's eyes darted around the room when Dr. Tiller stared at her for several long moments.
"The overwhelming majority of criminals do not feel this way." He commented, tilting his head curiously and staring at her once more.
"They don't?"
"No. The longing for a normal life typically outweighs any fulfillment they might have felt in their careers."
"Oh..."
"This is not to say you should feel differently," he assured, "It is merely a curiosity to me, personally."
"Ok?" Rosalie wasn't certain what the correct response to that would be. It didn't seem to matter, though, as Dr. Tiller continued with his evaluation as though nothing had happened.
"You were held captive for..." he flipped through his notes, showcasing several pages with abysmal handwriting scrawling the surfaces in black ink. "Four, five days? That's an awfully long time to be in such a predicament."
"I guess," Rosalie squinted at his notes, wondering what else he already knew about her. Really, it all felt rather intrusive.
"How have you been sleeping?" He redirected, peering up from his notepad with an expectant look.
Rosalie quickly leaned back, trying to pretend as though she hadn't been attempting to sneak a look at his notes. "Um, fine?"
Dr. Tiller was completely unfazed. "Aside from last night, have you had any other nightmares?"
Rosalie's scowl deepened, "Wait, who told you about last night?"
"Dembe," Tiller provided without so much as a blink. "I don't make it a point to utilize information provided by clients to treat other clients, but he did mention you may not be very forthcoming about the full extent of what you've been experiencing."
She felt a hot flush stain her cheeks, her demeanor turning hostile and a tad uncooperative. "Isn't that a conflict of interest or some kind of doctor-patient privilege violation? If we are to do this, in the future, I would prefer you wait for me to divulge what I'm experiencing on my own terms."
"Certainly," Tiller smiled genially, "This is merely a tactic I will utilize for your particular intake appointment. It is often difficult to get to the heart of the matter and discern whether or not I am the right psychologist to assist with a patient's concerns. Bypassing your instinct to downplay your own needs helps me move past the formalities and get down to the nitty-gritty of what's ailing you."
"What's ailing me?" Rosalie was now thoroughly on the defensive. It felt as though he were purposefully goading her.
"Yes. The nightmares, the skittishness, random bouts of intense anxiety...in my profession, these are considered red flags for an unaddressed injury to your mental and/or emotional well-being. Have you considered you may have undiagnosed post-traumatic stress from the abduction?"
"It wasn't that bad," she demurred, visibly uncomfortable with discussing the matter. "I wasn't hurt much other than a few bumps and bruises-"
He thread his fingers together on top of his stomach, "Rosalie, trauma is not only phsyical, it's mental and emotional as well. You don't have to be physically hurt to experience ptsd."
"But it didn't happen to me-" she tried to explain.
Tiller frowned, resting his whiskery chin in an upturned palm, "So you don't feel that you were personally traumatized by the events at the cartel campground?"
"I never said that, I just..."
"Go on," he waved for her to continue, "Help me to understand."
"It didn't happen to me, it just happened around me. So I don't think I need this," she gestured between Dr. Tiller and herself, "I think I'm fine, a little shaken up, sure, but who wouldn't be after being abducted and exposed to what I saw?"
Dr. Tiller pursed his lips and made a handful of notations to his notepad. "Okay, why don't we change gears for a moment. May I ask about the young girl you bonded with during your captivity?"
"Lita?" Rosalie considered him for a moment, "What about her?"
"Tell me how she's handling things," he suggested, propping a leg up on his knee.
Rosalie couldn't help but smile to herself, "I'm quite certain she's handling this better than all of us. There wasn't much more than a scratch on her. She managed to keep a pretty low profile during her captivity, but she will still need a great deal of counseling. That girl lost her entire family, lived through two weeks in cartel captivity...she's still so resilient, though."
Dr. TIller smiled as well, "The Lilets, I've heard they plan to adopt her. You believe they will be consistent, loving parents? You trust that Lita will be getting the help she needs to process the events she experienced in the cartel?"
"Of course," Rosalie assured with confidence, "I believe Dembe gave them your information as well?"
"He did...but, didn't you say Lita hadn't been injured?"
"Sorry?" she asked, frowning slightly.
"Lita," Tiller clarified, "You said she's weathered the aftermath better than you, even. You said she hardly had a scratch on her, yet you believe she will need counseling to ensure she feels safe and learns how to process those events?"
"Of course, she's a child, she was there two whole weeks-"
Dr. Tiller tilted his head, "You are an adult who was there for four days, and in those four days you arguably saw the worst of Lita's two weeks there. You bonded with her, and she was quite literally ripped from the safety of your arms. You thought you couldn't save her, just as you couldn't save the others."
"I...I…" Rosalie felt an ungodly panic beginning to set in. Her lungs fluttered in an uncomfortable stuttering pattern, robbing her of the oxygen she needed. "Dembe shouldn't have told you all of that."
"Tell me what you're feeling at this moment" he asked, quick to address the drastic change in Rosalie's demeanor.
A sharp breath forced its way into her lungs, "Panic."
"That's your body's reaction to what you're feeling," Tiller explained, "Try to look beneath it. What is the panic hiding? Where is it coming from?"
Rosalie vigorously shook her head, tucking her legs beneath her and scooting into the corner of the settee.
"Listen to your body." Dr. Tiller leaned forward, bringing her attention back to him, "What are you feeling? Guilt is a weight on the back and neck, shame feels like heat in the face. Fear is a coldness in the gut...Our bodily responses to intense emotions are all the same. Help me to understand what you are feeling, Rosalie."
"Cold. Heavy." She breathed, "Like I've just been dragged beneath the surface of a cold lake and swallowed a mouthful of icy water."
Tiller nodded, setting his pen and paper on the coffee table. "What you just described? That's the universal description for fear, Rosalie. You're afraid."
"I'm afraid..." she repeated, a shiver tearing down her spine.
Tiller's voice dipped to a low, soothing timbre. "In your captivity with the cartel, did you ever stop to think of your own safety?"
"There was no time," insisted Rosalie, "No time to think, I had to act. They were killing everyone-"
Dr. Tiller shifted to the edge of the settee, holding Rosalie's terrified eyes with a look of utmost gentility.
"I've been advised you carry an immeasurable amount of guilt and grief for the women and children who did not make it out alive when you and Lita did."
Rosalie felt a tear burn its way down her cheek. "Lita was a child, she deserved to be safe. They all deserved to make it out alive-"
"...and you didn't?"
The comment was like a lit match in a dark room, throwing everything into stark relief. Dr. Tiller relaxed back into the settee, eyes still firmly fixed on Rosalie, who had been rendered speechless.
"Survivor's guilt is a very real and incredibly powerful emotion, Rosalie. This is especially true for someone whose livelihood, and I suspect, much of whose identity is built upon keeping others safe."
Rosalie looked up at him once more, feeling an uncomfortable spasm in her gut.
"That's what you do, isn't it Rosalie?" His voice remained gentle and reassuring, "That's your bailiwick, the very essence of who you are as a person. It's not your network, but you, who is the safe harbor."
She refused to nod, but deep down, Rosalie knew what he said was true. The realization sent a hot flush to singe her cheeks.
He continued, "Dembe told me what you did when he was ill. He told me how you comforted him; how even in the grip of a fever dream he could hear your voice calling to him, soothing his fears. I'm going to take a wild guess and say you were the mother hen of your friend group growing up?"
This was also true. She nodded. "What's wrong with me? Why do I feel like this?"
The discomfort was all-encompassing. The panic had yet to recede, but it also hadn't reached the terrifying crescendo Rosalie had grown accustomed to since her time with the cartel. She was neither calm nor frightened, she was merely caught in a state of emotional limbo.
"You are going to be fine. This is merely a reaction your psyche is having to those memories. It is a helpful reaction, tough, as it allows us to bypass that unfortunate instinct to smother your own needs. Do not worry, it is a very common pitfall, particularly for women." Dr. Tiller smiled when he caught Rosalie's frown deepening, "You don't like being considered common, do you Rosalie?"
She reluctantly shook her head, another heated burst of shame flooding her face.
"That's quite alright," he soothed, "I merely meant that in today's majoritively patriarchal society, women have been taught time and again, generation after generation, that their own well-being and needs, both physical and emotional, must come second to those of the nuclear family of which they are so often made the keepers. However, I would venture to guess you had very supportive parents who bolstered your self-confidence and sense of autonomy at every turn; not to mention," he nodded toward the door, "A lover who recognizes you as anything but common. I doubt it is a word with which you could ever easily identify."
Slate eyes blinked stoically back at Dr. Tiller. Rosalie's face remained completely unmoved by his words. She did not yet trust him to discuss this piece of her life.
"Your relationship with Raymond-"
"Is not up for discussion."
The retort was neither a challenge nor evasion. It was a brick wall delineating the boundary of what Rosalie would and wouldn't discuss with her therapist.
"How interesting..." Tiller commented, completely abandoning the line of questions he'd had queued up, "Even now, you protect him. You feel as though I am prying, sticking my nose where it doesn't belong."
"Yes."
Again, the retort was crisp and unflinchingly rigid.
Dr. Tiller grinned, "How fascinating. I must admit I am terribly intrigued by you."
"Whether or not you find academic interest in me is irrelevant." Rosalie replied, "The question is can you work with me? Do you feel my experience warrants your expertise?"
This brief appointment had shown Rosalie that she was, in fact, wrong. She did need to talk to someone about what happened, because crumpling in on herself whenever she was alone or there was a loud noise, or when she felt unstable was not a viable option in the long term. She refused to be a slave to her own trauma.
Dr. Tiller lifted his palms in a deferential gesture, "Rosalie you were in a traumatic situation in which the very foundations of who you are had to be pushed aside to keep you alive. You are a prime candidate for PTSD, and I fear not getting help early on would be extremely detrimental for you in the long run. I can't do the work for you, but I can certainly help. Despite what your subconscious has been telling you, you do need this. Because until you process what happened, you are going to struggle to feel safe, to feel like you are in any way back to yourself. I believe I can help with that."
"I see Rosalie is taking a consult with Dr. Tiller."
The comment was directed at Dembe shortly after Raymond entered the living room and Rosalie retreated down the far hallway with the good doctor.
Dembe looked up from his book, "You asked me to care for her as though she were you. If you were in her place I would insist you get a consult as well. Which, frankly, you should do anyway."
Raymond waved an airy hand, indicating he was not the least bit upset with him but would not be making an appointment.
"You are back," Dembe noted, "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"No," Red admitted, holding up the burner which had been sitting in his pocket. "Rosalie called and left me a message reminding me how foolish I was being."
Dembe grinned, "The story about the shrimps. Did you know it's actually their vomit that glows?"
"You were eavesdropping." Raymond arched an accusing brow in the other man's direction, nearly snorting when Dembe looked utterly appalled in response.
"Teddy was snoring" he defended immediately, "I couldn't sleep anyway, I wanted to make sure Rosalie didn't have another nightmare."
"A nightmare?" Red asked, brows furrowing instantly with concern.
"Yeah, you know the ungodly night terrors which have become a regular occurrence since she was allowed to be abducted?"
Horace's accusing voice carried from the entry, where he stood leaning against the door frame.
A weary sigh left Red's lungs, in absolutely no mood to deal with Rosalie's wayward security at that moment.
"Rosalie warned you last time," Cedric barked from his place on one of the nearby sofas, "Pick a fight and you're out."
"I told you last time," Raymond prophesied, "I'm happy to redecorate the house if you insist on running your mouth."
Horace seemed unfazed by the dual threats. He turned his attention back to Red, "Do you know what she did while you were gone? While you were here, even?"
"For god's sake, shut up, Horace." Teddy had appeared from the pantry to see what was unfolding in the living area, the disappointment written clearly on his face.
Raymond's glare hadn't once left Horace's discontented scowl. "Let him speak," he suggested evenly, "Perhaps he will enlighten us all."
Horace actually pulled up the seat beside Red, resting his elbows on his knees and meeting his gaze earnestly. "Rosalie checks for her security every time she uses the bathroom, showers, or bathes. She will not go into a room alone if it is on the ground floor and has a window. She now carries her firearm in her bathrobe, fully loaded, just in case. She woke up screaming last night, and we all know damn well if there's been one night terror there have definitely been others." He cast a pointed glance at Cedric, "We're all aware of the incident at La Cathédral, but you, Reddington, did not see her having a full blown panic attack in the corner of a women's locker room. You don't see how timid she has become. You don't see how she jumps out of her skin every time a door closes too loudly or a glass breaks. Rosalie is terrified every waking moment, and as far as I'm concerned, you are the reason she's in that room now."
Red took a handful of deep, steadying breaths to hold his temper in check. Horace was right, a few of those instances were of news to him. However, none of this could be blamed on him.
He once more mentally reminded himself that he was not the one responsible for what happened to her.
Horace seemed to sense this mindset, adding, "She wouldn't be in this predicament if you weren't occupying her network. You've become a liability, and unfortunately she's too blinded by affection for you to recognize the threat."
The comment was not altogether untrue, and that's what set Red's blood boiling.
He was a threat to Rosalie; he always had been.
Up until now, the threat he posed could be pushed aside, ignored, because they had been several steps ahead of any enemy. The truth of their relationship hadn't had the opportunity to rear its ugly head.
Until now.
"You're concerned for her well-being. All of us are." Raymond chose his words carefully, "But I am not the enemy here."
"No you're not the enemy. You're the target. And because of you, Rosalie now is a target too." Horace shook his head, "How can you do it? How can you be with her, profess to love her, and continue to put her in harm's way?"
Raymond's tone turned caustic, "Rosalie will be in harm's way no matter my involvement. It's better that we face the rising tide as a singular unit. Trying to tackle it alone won't benefit either of us."
A derisive scoff flew in his direction as Horace rose swiftly from his chair to stand over him. "It won't benefit you. The person inconvenienced is you."
Dembe and Teddy seemed to appear out of thin air, inserting themselves as a barrier between the two.
Raymond stood straight-backed and formidable as he gestured for Dembe to step aside, then placed a hand on Teddy's shoulder, guiding him from the fray as well.
Teddy hesitated, defiantly holding Horace's sneer with a bitter scowl of his own before relenting to Red's direction.
A chill descended upon the room when Raymond stood nose-to-nose with Rosalie's former guard.
"Go ahead, Horace. Say it. You've been dying to tell me off since I took Rosalie to Norway without your say so. Go on, I can tell." His head tilted in that antagonizing way, purposefully goading him. "Come now, this is your only chance. What is it you're frothing at the mouth to say? I assure you, there's nothing you can come up with that I haven't heard before."
A vein in Horace's forehead pulsed visibly. His jaw ticked with the effort it took to hold back the ferocious diatribe he longed to throw at Red, who laughed and said, "You think I don't know I'm a threat to her?"
He took another step forward, invading Horace's personal space even further, "Death follows my every step like an endless shadow, a cadaverous sentinel who watches my every move, hears my every thought. Death has been the single constant in my life on the run. What you seem to be struggling with is the misconception that death hasn't followed Rosalie as well. It becomes her. She too has had lives taken from her. She too has taken lives for vengeance and necessity. Your desire to believe anything different shows precisely how little you truly know about her. You think the German wants her because he wants me? I'm just the tip of the iceberg. There are hundreds of key players who call Rosalie's network home, and what do you think he will do once he figures out I'm not the only trophy fish in the pond? Whether you like it or not, removing me from Rosalie's life will do nothing more than leave her exposed."
"You don't know what you're talking about!"
Horace thrust his arms out, catching Red's shoulders in an attempt to throw him backward. The man merely rocked on his heels, tilted his head in that antagonizing way and flashed a smug smirk which only stoked Horace's foul temper back to an inferno.
"Go on, Horace. Take your shot. You'd better make it count, though. Once you do, I'm going choke you out with my bare hands, toss you in the cargo hold of my plane, and drop you on Florian Armel's doorstep. We both know he didn't authorize your little detour to Paris. I'm curious to see how he will choose to handle your latest betrayal."
A dull crimson hue encompassed the whole of Horace's face.
Raymond knew he had struck a nerve. Horace still nursed a healthy dose of fear where Florian Armel was concerned, and he was going to capitalize on it. "Rosalie's affection for you be damned, you know damn well Florian does not tolerate such defection. You've gone rogue for the sake of getting Rosalie away from me, knowing full well you've set a target on your head which will never be removed. You're a dead man if not under her protection."
Horace lunged forward only to be blocked by Dembe and Ted once more. "I did what I had to. Florian's just as selfish as you are. He enables your recklessness, just like Ted!"
Teddy rose to his full height, thrusting his arms out and throwing Horace back into the opposite wall.
This did little to dissuade the other man's prophesying. He pushed himself off the wall and bellowed at Red.
"You are the one who's going to get her killed. You are the threat here, and you know it!"
"What the hell is going on here?"
When Rosalie and Dr. Tiller had entered the room, Raymond couldn't say.
Rosalie stood framed in the archway leading from the rear hall, her hands sat upon her hips and her spine erect. Her eyes had turned a molten quicksilver, sparking with the absolute fury which seemed to radiate from her like a visible aura. The look was enough to make a grown man cower.
Horace stepped back from the standoff, staring Rosalie down and throwing an accusing finger in Reddington's direction. "I can't just stand idly by while Reddington drags you into every last heinous corner of the criminal underground. This man is at the top of every hit list from here to kingdom come and his selfishness is about to get you killed. We all know it, and I seem to be the only one with the gall to try and keep you safe from him!"
A hate-filled snarl pulled at Rosalie's features, the anger she felt pressed in on them like a crackling storm, palpably disrupting the barometric pressure within the room's four walls.
"Get out."
She was barely able to get the words past her teeth, which had clenched so tightly together Red feared they might crack.
"Raymond Reddington and Florian Armel are two of the people I trust most in this world. I am so tired of tolerating whatever personal vendetta you seem to have against Ray, and I'm sure as hell not going to tolerate a single slight against Florian. I'm sorry Horace, but you've shown me you can't handle this job anymore."
"Rosalie you can't be serious-"
"You're fired. Leave."
Horace's arm dropped to his side, a look of indignant acceptance sallowing his features.
"Just remember this when the German inevitably comes for you again," he warned, "Remember this. I tried to protect you. You brought this on yourself."
The statement had Rosalie visibly shaking. Her hand lashed out with blinding precision to slap Horace across the face with enough power to make him stagger sideways. "Get out!"
When he stood upright once more, a hand pressed to his now-crimson cheek, Horace made the mistake of taking another step towards Rosalie, who drew her Browning from its holster and aimed it squarely at his chest.
"Woah...woah, wait a minute-!"
"Rosalie, stop-"
"Everyone back up and calm down-"
The cacophony that was Teddy, Dembe, and Dr. Tiller attempting to diffuse the situation only added to the chaos.
"Stay away from me," Rosalie hissed, gun still trained on Horace, the rasp in her voice sounding completely foreign. "One more step, and I unload this entire clip."
Horace stood frozen, utterly shell-shocked at the abrupt about-face in her demeanor. "Rosalie, I-"
She took another step backward, removing the gun's safety. "Get out!"
The others in the room were calling out for her, trying desperately to bring Rosalie's attention off of Horace. All she could hear was the pounding roar of her own heartbeat amidst a backdrop of unintelligible shouting.
"Enough!"
Raymond's powerful voice managed to cut through the calamity, snapping Rosalie's gaze from her target.
She whipped around, the muzzle of her pistol leveled straight at Red's face.
Her pupils were the size of pinpricks, a wild panic overpowering her every thought.
Red knew with one look it was not anger but fear which dictated Rosalie's actions. Something in the past few seconds had trigged a massive upheaval. He didn't understand what had happened or where her mind had gone to, but he knew it was a dangerous for all of them. She was frightened, and at that moment all she needed was to feel safe.
Raymond slowly brought his hands up, palms facing her to show he was not a threat.
Their eyes met and held. He silently willed her to trust him, to come back to the present.
The whole home fell silent, waiting for what would happen next.
Ever so carefully, Red reached out to grasp the barrel of the firearm and gently eased it from Rosalie's grasp.
As quickly as it came, her fury receded into a bleary haze.
"...Raymond?"
Rosalie's mind crawled back into motion at a snail's pace, her mouth falling open, utterly horrified when she realized what she had done. Her eyes fell to the gun in his hand then lifted to Red once more. "Oh my god...I-I'm so sorry."
Her terrorized visage turned to Horace, a hand clapping over her mouth. "What happened? What have I done?"
Raymond reached out once more, cradling her cheek in a comforting hand. "Rosalie-"
"Don't touch me!" She leaped backward, arms wrapping protectively around her torso when he attempted to take a step closer to her.
The look on Red's face was one of pure devastation.
"Don't," Rosalie pleaded, keeping him at arm's length. "I don't- I don't want to hurt you..."
Her eyes scoured the room once more, noting friends and guards stared back at her with varying looks of pity. She took off in the direction of the library, pushing past Cedric and Kaplan, who had stood observing the exchange with guarded curiosity.
The latter took one look at the room full of men and sighed, "Sort this out, gentlemen. Now."
Not another word was spoken as she turned on her heel and went to check on Rosalie, leaving Raymond, Horace, and the others in her wake.
The library felt cavernous.
Rosalie was seated behind the heavy mahogany desk with her head in her hands, trying to slow her breathing.
What was wrong with her?
She pulled a gun on Horace and, to her horror, ended up aiming the thing at Raymond.
One wrong move, and she could have killed either one of them.
It didn't matter that Raymond hadn't seemed to mind. It was no comfort that he had reached out for her, tried amicably to calm and comfort her.
Christ, she could have killed him.
What was wrong with her?
The door opened with a soft creak.
Rosalie looked up with bleary eyes, having half-expected it to be Red.
"Oh...hello Kate."
Kaplan stepped inside, closing the door behind her and closing the distance between them. "You need to talk about it."
Rosalie drummed her manicured nails on the desktop, her lips pursed tightly together. "I don't want to."
This did nothing to dissuade Kate. She instead pulled up the seat opposite Rosalie, grabbing two glasses from the nearby bar cart and uncorking one of the heavy crystal bottles.
"Our wants and needs are often in conflict with one another," she poured them each two fingers of bourbon, "Something about Horace's response deeply upset you, and I know enough to know there's a much larger issue lurking behind it."
"How?" Rosalie took the glass gratefully, swirling its contents before taking a long sip.
Kate followed suit, then set her glass on the desk. "I've been in your shoes before. For entirely different reasons, certainly, but I remember a time where someone couldn't call me 'Mr. Kaplan' without running the risk of me falling into a dissociative chasm."
A measure of understanding passed between the two women in that moment. Somehow, Rosalie found herself trusting that Kate would understand, that she would see precisely what had sent her spiraling into a terrified rage.
A polite knock sounded from the door, followed by 's bulky body wedging its way into the room.
Rosalie could hear the sound of Raymond and Horace spitting venom at each other under their breath, the angry whispers carrying down the hallway despite the attempt to keep their voices low. Another sickly flair of anxiety licked at her insides.
"Hello Katherine," Tiller nodded at Kaplan then turned his attention back to Rosalie, "Ms. Øllegaard, I think it best we unpack what just happened sooner rather than wait for our next session."
Rosalie heaved a battle-weary sigh, but relented all the same. "Kate and I were just discussing it. Care for a drink, Doctor?" She gestured in the direction of the bar cart as he took his seat.
He waved a hand, "No, thank you. I make it a point not to drink during appointments."
"Suit yourself," Kate, raised her glass and settled once more into her seat.
"Now then," Dr. Tiller straightened his jacket and crossed one leg over the other. "That man arguing with Raymond, who is he?"
"Horace Asim Jabare," said Rosalie, "He was previously employed as my right hand guard. He left back in August due to philosophical disagreements over how my operation was being run."
"What kind of disagreements?"
Rosalie took another sip of bourbon, letting the smoky liquid wash over her tongue before responding. "Horace deeply dislikes Raymond, and I'm not sure I trust his reasons why. He ultimately left of his own volition after a tumultuous month of being at odds over it."
"What reasoning did Horace give you for the tension between Raymond and himself?"
"He believes Raymond is a bad influence, that he's reckless and selfish where my safety is concerned. Horace has told me several times now that Raymond is going to get me killed because he won't walk away." Rosalie slouched in her seat, continuously swirling her glass as she stared blankly up at the ceiling.
Tiller continued his inquiry, "And do you agree with Horace's assessment of your chosen partner?"
"No."
Rosalie's gaze fell to her newfound psychiatrist with unblinking certainty.
"Raymond can be reckless and selfish, I've seen those traits in him at various intervals. He is reckless with his own life, at times even cavalier. He can be selfish, but it's more a crime of self-indulgence than anything else. Not once have I experienced the fallout of those traits. Raymond has always taken the utmost care where I am concerned. He's cautious, and thoughtful, and selfless with me, always."
Tiller tapped his thumbs together, his lips pursed in thought. "So you do not believe Horace's assessment to be true. Why then, would you have such an averse reaction to what was said?"
"It wasn't what he said about Raymond," her index finger traced the rim of her glass, "It was what he said about me. What he said dragged me back to the first day I spent in the Los Reyes Sagrados campground."
"What event, specifically?"
"My first day in the cartel camp, the man I killed. He tried to take me out of the corral, and when I fought back, he managed to get the upper hand."
Kate nodded, recalling the events she had told them of shortly after her rescue. "He was on top of you."
"Yes." Rosalie's eyes had glassed over, the horrible memory replaying endlessly in her mind. "He reached for my belt, told me to remember that I'd- that I'd brought what he was about to do on myself."
Her jaw clenched tightly shut, fighting back the violent tremor which threatened to overtake her.
"I see, and Horace's comment was almost verbatim." Tiller recalled quite clearly the shouting match he had happened upon moments ago, "That's perfectly understandable."
Rosalie set down her empty glass with a scoff, "Perfectly understandable? I pulled a gun on my security and then aimed it at my boyfriend. There's nothing understandable about what just happened."
A dry laugh actually fell from Kate's lips, "Rosalie, every last member of this household has had a similar incident at some point. You're seeing Dr. Tiller, you've already started working with him to address the problem. It will be easy for us to forgive a great many sins, we've all been there before."
Tiller watched the exchange, noting how Rosalie did not seem to believe Kate's reassurance.
"Let's return to Horace. Do you believe his response came from a place of genuine concern?"
"As opposed to what?" Rosalie asked, brown furrowed.
"Could his concerns stem instead from a place of self-interest? There are a number of reasons Horace might have felt now was the ideal time to make the case for you to separate from Raymond's syndicate. Does he perhaps have a vested interest in your business? Or maybe there is a desire for a closer relationship which can only be achieved if Raymond is out of the picture?"
Rosalie laughed outright, "I'm sorry, you think Horace is romantically interested in me? Not a chance. He was my first guard, we were like family."
Tiller looked up sharply, "I can't help but notice you used the past tense."
She shrugged, nudging her glass in Kate's direction when she moved to pour herself another glass of bourbon.
"I can't deny my esteem for him changed in August when he left me in the lurch. I never thought he'd do such a thing-"
At that exact moment, Dembe came barging into the room, followed closely by Teddy and Cedric.
"Raymond and Horace, they're gone."
Raymond and Rosalie's Secret Pied-à-terre - 4th Arrondissement Paris, France - Late Evening, February 27th, 2000
"Now look what you've gone and done," Teddy groaned, flinching when the door to the library slammed close.
"What I've done?" Red growled under his breath, mistaking Ted's rebuke for one directed at him, "Horace was the one saddling the blame on the victim."
The man in question let out a barking laugh which was immediately shushed by the others in the room. "I did no such thing."
Ted pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "I wasn't talking about you Ray, I was referring to that one." He jabbed a finger at Horace, who offered a choice finger in reply.
"Oh you're one to talk."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"I guess it's easy to pass the blame when you were the one who botched her security, isn't it Theodore? You weren't the reason Rosalie was targeted, but you're certainly the reason she was allowed to be taken. It's enough to make me wonder if the leak in the boat hasn't been you all along. If she's foolish enough to continue running the globe with the likes of you two, perhaps the German would be no less than she deserves."
Ted leapt over the countertop, his fist cocked and face red with rage and indignation.
Red beat him to it.
He'd already pulled his firearm from its holster, coming upon Horace with such speed the man didn't have the chance to draw his own weapon.
"Raymond, no!"
Dembe's call was ignored as chaos ensued once more.
Red grabbed the collar of Horace's shirt, jamming the muzzle into the man's open mouth and chipping one of his teeth in the process.
A muffled snarl issued from around the gun's metal barrel, and Raymond could just make out the expletives being hurled his way when he charged forward.
Horace went staggering backward, trying to create distance between himself and the irate fugitive whose gun was firmly lodged at the back of his troat.
Red matched him step for step, refusing to let up until he had pursued Horace through the whole of the first floor to the foyer, whereupon he released his collar long enough to swing the front door wide.
With a brusque shove, he was sent toppling to the cobbled walk below.
Raymond descended the steps one by one until he stood over Horace's splayed figure, haloed by ice and salt. Sharp huffs of air billowed like clouds above his head in the cold winter wind, wafted away as soon as they were created.
"I can't bring myself to spare a single breath for your contempt for me. I don't give a damn what you think of Rosalie and I's relationship, either." He crouched low, bringing his face within inches of Horace's. "But mark my words, if you speak of her that way again, if you so much as blink in her direction, being strapped to a cinderblock at the bottom of the Port of Leucate will look like a relaxing vacation, indeed."
"Raymond, stop. We're too exposed."
It was Cedric. The others had followed them outside, concerned for witnesses and potential threats now that they were outside of the safe house's protective walls.
Dembe came up alongside him, "Raymond, you need to let him go. Despite her anger with him, Rosalie would be most upset if Horace were harmed."
"I want to hear you say it," gritted Red, ignoring the others once more and focusing his anger solely on Horace. "You will leave and not come back. You will keep her secrets, or I will ship what's left of your body back to Corsica in a mason jar."
Horace looked as though he were being forced to swallow sour milk.
"Say it!"
A nasty smirk pulled at Horace's lips. "I will leave, for now. I shan't return unless Rosalie asks it of me. Her secrets are my secrets."
Raymond rose to his full height once more, fighting to smother his need to kill the man. Were Horace under his employ, there would be no question as to his fate. He knew too much, but he was ultimately Rosalie's man, and he knew Dembe was right, Rosalie would not want him dead.
"Go." Cedric could not withhold the venom in his voice, "It is Rosalie's fondness for you which keeps me from dragging you back to Corsica to face Florian's wrath. Leave now, and you just might make it out of Europe with your life."
Horace scrabbled to his feet, sparing one last sneer of contempt for the four men standing at the base of the stone steps.
"You're her death sentence, Reddington."
With that, he took off across the square, intent on getting off the continent before the Corsicans could learn of his defection.
"Raymond."
Dembe had turned to see Red striding off in the opposite direction, his coat and hat left hanging in the townhouse's coat closet. He jogged after him, catching up with him at the end of the square.
"Come back to the safe house, it is not safe for you to be out here."
Raymond whipped around and grabbed Dembe by his lapel. His face cracked into a horrid, pained snarl, "Guard her. You go back and you keep her safe."
The younger man placed a soothing hand atop the fist clutching his shirt, "Let us both go back. We will guard her, Raymond. We will keep her safe."
"I can't," Red whispered, his anger gone in a single breath, "I want to. I would give, anything, but I can't."
He released Dembe's shirt, patted his chest, and nudged him toward the safe house before turning his back on them all and slipping out into the night.
Raymond barreled out of the iron elevator a half-hour later, damn near frozen and still replaying the altercation in his head while he slammed every door in their apartment with deafening force.
As much as it infuriated him, Red knew it was not the argument itself which brought him spiraling back to the psychological pit he'd just managed to climb out of, but instead the truth which lingered behind what Horace had said.
He knew he was a threat to Rosalie, he knew she would be hunted for her relationship with him. If not by the German, then the Cabal, if not the Cabal, the mess with Townsend and N-13 would surely be the next plausible threat. He was not so foolish as to believe they could outlast them all.
Could he truly be so selfish? To drag the woman he loved into such a perilous existence? Red could not think of anything more self-centered and cruel.
'And what of Elizabeth?' His mind supplied, leading him down the dark and treacherous path to his past. It was a perilously slippery slope, and once the memories came rushing back, he would be forced to relive all of the pain he locked so carefully in the recesses of his mind.
He didn't think he could bear it tonight, not after what happened with Rosalie.
The sight of her looking up at him with those wide, terrified eyes still stuck in his mind, the tear tracks carving their way down her cheeks were enough to make his insides plummet with a sickening swoop.
'Perhaps you were the one who scared her...'
No.
Raymond hadn't been upset with Rosalie for pointing a gun in his face. She was anxious and afraid. Something about Horace had set her off, that was all.
Such things happened in their line of work; he would never hold it against her.
'But the way she looked at you...'
When the firearm was finally removed from her grasp, Rosalie was horrified by her actions.
Raymond couldn't deny he'd been devastated when she told him not to touch her. It was the first time he could recall that she had ever actually pushed him away. Rosalie no longer felt like he was safe with her, that she was in any way in control of her actions.
"I wanted to help..." He tried to reason with himself, pacing the sitting room much like a caged animal.
'You can't help her. You can't help anyone. See? The proof of your failures lay scattered all over this apartment.'
One glance toward the mess on the kitchen counter dragged Red's spirits even further. Lifting the cardboard file box from the floor, he began tossing the photographs and papers back inside, anything to get the evidence out of his sight.
A soft parcel slipped from the marble countertop and hit the floor with a muffled thump.
Raymond looked down to see an opaque plastic parcel marked 'Biohazard' resting at his feet.
He bent and snatched the item from the floor, pulling the tab and spilling its contents onto the box's upturned lid.
The tattered remnants of a white silk button-down lay in a crumpled heap on the cardboard surface, its sleeves and front were spattered with dried blood.
It was the shirt Rosalie had been wearing when they rescued her from the cartel. Raymond would recognize it anywhere.
The sight of the blood-stained garment made his stomach lurch unpleasantly, a hand rising to cover his mouth.
A folded slip of paper stuck out of the bag, bearing a wealth of information regarding the DNA found on the shirt. Glancing at the list, Raymond saw the topmost line showed the blood type AB negative.
Rosalie's blood.
The overwhelming majority of what was found on the shirt belonged to Rosalie.
'You couldn't protect her. You promised.'
Red finally recognized the voice in his head was not his own; it was that of a woman.
'She trusted you to keep her safe. She trusted you and you failed her. Just like you failed us.'
There was so much blood on his hands. Could his soul afford to add Rosalie's to the mix?
What would become of him if he lost her, too?
Raymond shoved the garment back inside the bag, sealed it tight once more, and carried it upstairs.
'You're a fool, Raymond Reddington.'
The familiar voice continued to mock him until he reached the master suite, whereupon Red tore the covering from the hidden compartment inside the walk-in closet, spun the dial and thrust his arm into the safe all the way up to his shoulder.
He hid the bag as deep as possible, behind boxes, envelopes, and all manner of contraband, then moved to slam the door shut.
The string on the black velvet bag where his opium pipe was stashed had gotten caught on his watch.
Red just managed to catch the item before it hit the ground once more, but a number of black opium pellets tumbled managed to tumble to the rug beneath his feet.
Anger and guilt coursed through him in a white-hot wave, scorching his veins and turning his insides into lava.
Before he could stop to think about what he was doing, Raymond had snatched up the remaining paraphernalia and headed for the bedroom.
The parcel was tossed carelessly onto the bedspread, Red's feet mechanically carrying him to the ensuite to splash cold water on his face.
"Don't do it."
Red lifted his head to the mirror.
The reflection looking back at him was not the one he had grown accustomed to over the past decade.
His hair was the same hue but quite a bit longer and parted to one side, its soft fringe skirted just above his eyebrows. His nose was a hair wider, his cheekbones a touch more pronounced, and his chin bore the faintest dimple which today was no longer visible. Everything about him carried minute differences, a nip here, a tuck there...The only trait which remained unchanged were his eyes. The keen jade irises glinted back at him, completely unchanged by time and circumstance.
The young man was him; before everything changed.
"Please."
The plea which issued from his reflection was unfamiliar. It had been so long since Red had heard the sound of his own voice. "I don't want to do that. Just go home. Please. Rosalie, we promised we would be waiting when she finished with Dr. Tiller. We-"
"I promised a great many things to Rosalie Øllegaard." Red's correction held a bitter sting, "Now, to save her life, I fear I will have to break every last one."
"No!" His reflection shouted, beating his fists against the mirror, slamming his body repeatedly against its glinting surface to no avail.
Raymond took a moment to simply observe his younger self. A decade had passed since he decided to take on Raymond Reddington's life and appearance. What a fool he'd been. He'd never once stopped to marvel at his own hale and hearty frame. He had been a tall, sturdy lad, filled to the brim with the hot-blooded wildness and passion of youth.
The volatility his family was known for showed clearly in his roaring temper, bud Red knew behind it lurked a lonely young man desperate to feel wanted, wasting away for want of safety and affection.
"Don't do it," the reflection implored him, finally giving up on trying to batter his way through the mirror, "Please don't make me walk away from her too."
It was a heart-wrenching plea, one which Raymond could not bear to hear. He stepped back into the master suite, kicked off his shoes, and undid his tie.
'My, my, my...does your lover know what you do to numb the pain of your past, Red?'
Ignoring the voice, he pulled a large pillar candle from the window sill, struck a match, and lit its wick.
While the candle's flame grew, he descended to the first floor and grabbed a metal spoon.
Once back in the bedroom, Red closed the door and armed the apartment's security system to ensure his own safety.
'Like that will help.' The voice jeered, laughing while he brought the candle to his nightstand.
Red took a pea-sized black pellet from the velvet bag, then placed it in the center of the spoon and held it over the flame.
It took a few minutes for the black matter to turn a liquid gold, the cruel voice in the recesses of his mind harassing him all the while. Finally, when the last of the opium had changed color, he grabbed the pipe and poured the concoction into the bowl.
Like a well-worn hat, the ritual was habit by now.
Raymond climbed into bed without thought, reclining amongst the pillows so he could warm the bowl over the candle without getting up.
He took the first long pull on the pipe, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs to capacity before releasing in a slow, steady exhale through his nose.
The effect was instantaneous. The intense rush of euphoria hit his system all at once, urging him to take another hit before he reached the plateau.
'What will she say, Raymond; when you must shatter her dear, sweet heart? Will you even feel it when you do?'
The voice continued its cruel monologue, getting clearer and louder by the moment. He knew who it was echoing inside his skull. He didn't want to hear her blame him all over again.
Red lay there for several minutes until he had smoked what was left in the bowl. With the last dregs, he blew out the candle, ensuring he would not burn the apartment down as he succumbed to the drug's effects.
When his limbs began to feel light and painless, he saw the same reflection from the mirror looking down at him.
"Don't leave me alone with her." The reflection looked around the room in terror, "You smoke that garbage and she comes back with a vengeance. I don't want to see her. I don't want to talk to her, please-"
But Raymond was already too far gone. The horrid memories fighting for release surged forth, occupying the whole of that newly vacated space in his mind. All Red experienced was a blissful heavy warmth engulfing him like a hot bath, allowing him to spare little more than a curious, passing glance at the chaos unfolding in his mind.
From its depths, he could hear that cold female voice drift through the rafters to settle at the foot of the bed. 'Save your pleas, he's already slipped beyond the veil. He took the coward's way out, quieting my presence with substance abuse. He's left you to fend for yourself once again.'
A slight frame with long red hair loomed over his reclined body, standing next to his younger self with a cruel smirk.
'Weakness and shame...that's all the Rostov name is good for...isn't it Raymond?'
The name dripped from her lips like acid, mocking him with the truth. Thankfully, Red could not feel any of its sting as he drifted off into blissful oblivion.
Three Days Later... Rosalie's Apartment - Place Furstenberg, Paris, France - 3 a.m. - March 1st, 2000
Rosalie was sitting hunched on the velvet settee in the master bedroom, her focus trained on the quiet street below. She had shifted the piece of furniture so it was flush with the exterior windows, a safety hazard her security had not shut up about for a full 72 hours.
Not a single car had entered the lamplit square since Raymond had left. No contact had been made. The burner he'd been carrying was left carelessly behind, leaving them with no way to contact him at all.
No amount of digging provided a trail to follow. Rosalie had spent the past few days discreetly digging into the underground. She had used every last contact in her considerably large circle of employees, clients, and cohorts in an attempt to unearth his whereabouts, to no avail.
Horace had also disappeared, which was nearly as disconcerting as Red's absence.
Rosalie knew her guard would not return to the Armels after lying to Florian, and that put him in considerable danger. Nobody could protect Horace from Florian's wrath if he was out in the open. If she did not find him before the Corsicans did, he was a dead man.
"You should get some sleep."
Cedric was stood in the doorway, slouched against the wood frame and nursing a healthy snifter of cognac. He was still clad in his usual suit, though his shirt was uncharacteristically untucked and half its buttons left agape to reveal a small v of skin bisected by a long pink scar.
She turned her head to rest a cheek atop her knees, which were drawn up so her arms could wrap about her thighs. "I can't. I need to know he's alright, Ced. Raymond has never done something like this before."
He closed the door and sidled over to the settee, flopping himself gracelessly into its opposite corner. Cedric smiled when Rosalie continued to peer at him over her kneecaps, her deep gray eyes wide with concern. "He's alright, sœur. Reddington just needs some time."
Rosalie glanced out the window once more, looking wholly unconvinced.
"I pulled a gun on him. I pulled a gun on him, and now I haven't seen him in days."
Cedric snorted and reached out to tug her sock-clad feet into his lap. "An event he has never experienced, surely."
An unamused glower was the only response he received.
"Come now Rosalie, you can't honestly believe Reddington was upset at having a gun aimed at his face? It's a common occurrence in our line of work, and you were terrorized. Anyone who knows you knows you would never purposefully do such a thing."
She fidgeted with the settee's tufted buttons for several seconds, "...Then why did he leave?"
Cedric shrugged, holding Rosalie's attention with one earnest look. "Men, we are taught from an early age our role in the world is to keep our loved ones safe and provided for. Everything we do, everything we are, and all that we will become, we are taught it all hinges upon those expectations. What I believe is difficult for you to recognize is how much it eats us alive inside, how dreadfully destructive our belief in that role can be when life throws us a set of circumstances which rob us of our ability to protect and provide."
He patted her legs with a broad hand, his lips pursed in thought.
"I once told you leukemia took both my parents from me, and that was true. Though my mother was the one who suffered the disease's physical toll, but I watched my father deteriorate right alongside her. It tore him apart every day while he watched her get sicker and sicker, knowing there wasn't a damn thing he could do, nothing he could give to heal her or ease her pain."
Rosalie reached out and placed her hand on top of his, silently offering her condolences once more.
He grasped her fingers in response, brushing his thumb over her knuckles and bestowing a wry smile. "It's difficult to come back from those feelings of helplessness, of complete and utter futility. I suspect your Mr. Reddington is battling that demon as we speak. He can't keep you safe, sœur, and he knows it now. I don't doubt providing for your life together will never be a source of difficulty for either of you; but keeping you safe from all comers, that's a tall order for a man of his occupation and notoriety."
"It's no different than my connection to Florian." Rosalie defended staunchly, "Keeping me alive and out of enemy hands would be a constant concern, even if I had never met Raymond."
Cedric shrugged, "That counts for very little, Rosalie. It's not going to change his concern for your well-being."
Rosalie fiddled with the ring on her right hand. She'd recently taken to wearing the jewel on her ring finger as opposed to the middle one, where a particularly deep cut was still healing, and Cedric couldn't help but take note.
She caught the knowing arch of his brow and dropped her hands back into her lap with a scowl.
"It's not an engagement ring."
He barely managed to restrain a chuckle at the retort. "Whatever you say, but it looks like one to me. It's even on the right hand."
She swatted his arm playfully, "Americans wear it on their left, as do the French."
Cedric lifted her hand so he might better examine the gem. Its deep green faceting glinted beautifully in the warm light. "A number of countries in Eastern Europe, the Netherlands, Spaniards, Russians, they all wear it on their right hand."
Rosalie sniggered and shook her head, "It's not, he told me so. It was right before we came to the château back in December. We'd stayed the night at-"
Something finally clicked into place.
"Oh my god..."
A dark brass key and its emerald ribbon could be seen beside the jewelry box atop the vanity when Rosalie's eyes went in search of it.
"How could I be so stupid?"
"What?"
Rosalie leapt from the settee, crushing one of Cedric's knees in the process.
He hissed a string of curse words and glared at the unfamiliar trinket.
Not bothering to dress, she pocketed the key, then donned a heavy trench coat and her tall leather boots.
Cedric rose from the settee, immediately concerned. "Where are you going? Should I rouse the security?"
Rosalie nixed any such notion, "Nobody can come with me. I know exactly where Raymond is. I'll be back in the morning."
"Wait, Rosalie," he followed her out into the hall and down the staircase whereupon she nabbed the nearest set of car keys.
"I've got to go, Cedric. I'm not going far, but it can't wait. I've left him alone for far too long as it is."
The front door closed with a snap behind her, leaving Cedric stood in the home's foyer with a look of utmost confusion on his face.
The sound of an engine turning over and tires peeling out echoed in the square before the world was silent once more.
Raymond and Rosalie's Secret Pied-à-terre - 4th Arrondissement Paris, France - 3 a.m. - March 1st, 2000
Red rolled over with a groan.
His body felt heavy and uncoordinated. His muscles and joints ached. Three days later and he was still crawling out of the hole his poppy fix had thrown him into.
Several hours after he'd taken his third hit, Raymond managed to come to his senses long enough to flush the rest. This proved to be of paramount importance, as the withdrawal symptoms began to set in, so too did the craving for the drug's comforting numbness. He smoked the last of what he had, barely able to spare a passing thought for the dreaded come-down he would experience in another 10 hours.
Red had now been sober for a full 36 hours, and still felt like hell.
After returning to awareness, it took him another 12 hours to fall asleep. Periodic bouts of nausea, vomiting, fever and chills punctuated what little rest he was able to manage. He'd finally put down a bit of food a couple hours ago, ensuring he would at least have the energy to get out of bed.
Dragging himself to the edge of the mattress, he dropped each foot onto the hardwood floor with a heavy thump. Every muscle and nerve protested when Red eased himself into a standing position, intent on the ensuite.
After relieving himself, he splashed a bit of cold water on his face and tried to ignore the colossal headache in the back of his skull.
'Ты похож на смерть, саша.'
The woman's voice echoed in the bath, antagonizing him still. Whenever he came to consciousness, she was there to harass and chastise him. For three days he had ignored her, yet still she remained.
"I'm quite aware that I look like death warmed over, thank you."
Looking up into the mirror, Red saw his younger self reflected once more.
His eyes fell to the marble vanity, noting his hands looked smoother, younger. The hallucinations had only progressed in the hours after he'd come down from the high, blurring the line between imagination and reality until he was no longer sure his eyes could be trusted.
"Why won't you leave me be?" He grumbled, turning to step through the door and make his way downstairs.
'We did all of this for Masha, now you're dragging someone else into this hell you've created?'
Raymond clenched his teeth so hard he heard an ominous cracking sound. "I'm not dragging Rosalie into any of this."
'You already have. You're in love with her.'
He rummaged through the cabinets in search of a glass, hoping the sound of drinkware clinking together and cabinets being slammed shut would drown out the sound of her voice.
When he gave no response and instead sidled into the living area with a hearty glass of scotch, she spoke again.
'Honestly, I never thought you would do something so foolish. What do you think our enemies would do to get their hands on that kind of leverage?"
"I can- I can keep her safe."
His voice sounded strange once more. A glance for the mirror still showed the face of his youth.
His younger self was not hardened like the man he was now.
'...Like you kept me safe?'
Raymond collapsed onto the sofa, beyond weary of this recurring fight. "That's not fair. You were the one double-crossing the KGB and the Cabal, not me. What happened was not my fault."
'Do you remember what the Cabal did? What we had to do to ensure they would never get hold of Masha?'
"Of course I haven't forgotten." He could barely get the words past his gritted teeth. How could she ask such a thing?
She refused to let up.
'Do you think there's any length they wouldn't go to in order to get their claws into you? Our enemies won't hesitate to use Rosalie. How are you so sure she hasn't already turned on you-?'
Raymond vaulted out of his seat, the apartment around him dissolving into a familiar old log cabin.
The weathered old leather sofa shone in the low light of a crackling fire. He could smell the smoke from the chimney, could feel its warmth ghost across his skin.
He could see her, clear as day, standing in the center of the dark living room.
Katarina Rostova.
It had been her voice which plagued him for days, her voice which taunted and mocked him for hours on end.
"Don't you dare." He snarled, stepping toe-to-toe with the hallucination. He spared a glance for the long mirror hanging next to the cabin's entry and watched as his face melted and shifted before his eyes, slowly taking the shape of Raymond Reddington. "You don't know a damn thing," he told her, "You have no idea what it is to be good, or kind, or loyal. Rosalie would never do what you did."
Katarina glared up at him, her arms folded across her chest, 'You've lost sight of the plan, what we gave up to protect Masha. I forfeited my life!'
Red felt his insides burn with contempt.
"You're just as selfish now as you were then, every bit as self-centered. You upended two global superpowers and expected us to fix it all for you, which I did!" Raymond bellowed, "Don't you recall it was I who gave the most? I gave everything so that you and Masha could live. My life. My future. My body! What more could you possibly want from me?"
Katarina shrank from his fury.
"I will never hear my name again. Never!" His voice fractured at the word, a shuddering breath forcing its way into his lungs. "With all that you have taken from me, you want to rob me of Rosalie, too? You expect me to push away the only woman I've ever truly loved? You and I promised each other when we were mere babes that we would always protect one another; tell me, Katarina, as I stand before you wearing the face of another man, where is my protection? Where is mysanctuary?"
'My daughter,' she whispered plaintively, 'You promised-'
"My promise hasn't changed," said Red, "I will continue to protect her with my life. Rosalie does not negate that promise."
Katarina's expression fell even further, 'If you can't protect Rosalie from a mere drug cartel, how do you expect to protect Masha from my past?'
Raymond collapsed onto the couch, the log cabin starting to dissolve once more around him as the unthinkable truth began to sink back in.
He could still see Katarina clearly before him, her dark eyes glinting with the victory she knew she had already won.
'I don't begrudge you her love, but you made a promise to me on your life.' She reached out to touch his cheek, her transparent hand failing to make any sort of contact.
'If this were allowed to continue, if it came down to the two, Rosalie or Masha...How could you possibly choose?'
Rosalie burst out of the iron elevator, breathing heavy and scrambling out of her boots. The security system chirped its ten-second warning as she fought with the sleeves of her peacoat, managing to free one hand to punch in the disarming code Red had given her.
25-3-84
"Raymond!"
Her feet carried her swiftly through the entryway, past the rows of photos and into the warm apartment.
The lights were on and a handful of Raymond's personal effects lay scattered about the hall. He was definitely there.
"Raymond?"
The sitting room was empty, as was the kitchen. Her instincts led her to the far corner of the apartment, where the library door stood closed.
Rosalie jiggled the handle only to find it locked.
A sigh left her lips, unsure whether she was relieved or furious at finding him here after four days of zero contact.
A soft clicking sound could be heard before the lock sprung and Rosalie came striding into the room, flicking a bent bobby pin into the nearby bin. She slammed the door behind her, quite content to wake the whole city with her roaring temper.
Raymond was seated behind the ornate mahogany desk, his face in his hands, barely lifting his head at the sound of her entry.
"Rosalie, I-" he began, his argument at the ready.
"No." She interrupted, her arms crossed and an irate scowl gracing her features.
"No?" He hadn't even said anything yet. She couldn't possibly know what he'd been planning to say.
"No. Whatever reason you have for pushing me out, some sod-all sense of nobility, no doubt," she spat, making Red's mouth twitch reluctantly, "It's unreasonable, and I'm not having it. You've been sulking in this apartment for nearly four days, now I've come to take you home."
"Rosalie," Raymond sighed, desperately trying to do the right thing, "We can't do this. I can't do this"
"Don't tell me you believed a single word of Horace's tirade..."
Her head tilted expectantly, dark eyes staring him down, waiting for an answer.
Red was pointedly silent.
Rosalie tutted, moving a few steps closer to the desk, "You seem to have forgotten, Raymond, I was a criminal long before you turned up in my life."
"Yes," he conceded, shaking the tinge of guilt from his thoughts. "However, the level of danger you are exposed to is exponentially increased by your relationship with me."
The statement held none of the weight he thought it would. Rosalie merely shrugged in response, "If it wasn't you, it would be one of my clients bringing trouble to my doorstep. Do you know why?"
She plucked a glass from the bar cart and poured herself a few fingers of bourbon.
"Rosalie," he growled back, forcing himself to press onward, "I-"
"Because I'm a criminal!" Rosalie blasted, the irritation of the past few nights burning her inside out. She took a long sip of the dark amber liquid and muttered irritably to herself as she settled into the chair across from Red, fixing him with an irate glower that could curdle milk.
Raymond struggled to stay on task. He didn't think he could ever get tired of seeing Rosalie's hackles raised on his behalf. As difficult as she was making this already miserable process, a part of him basked in the comforting knowledge that she was still in this with him. She was fighting for their life together.
She was fighting for him.
"Stop looking at me like that." Rosalie groused, having watched his emotions play clear as day across his face.
"Like what?" Raymond feigned ignorance.
"All besotted and whatnot," she snapped, "I'm angry, it's not cute, and it's your fault."
Red begged to differ, from where he was sitting it was damn well adorable, and yes, it most certainly was his fault. He took great pride in being able to bring her fiery temper to the fore. It was a part of herself she fought tooth and nail for him not to see.
"Come home, Raymond. Come back to me, we can find a way forward-"
"I can't," he insisted; though his insides screamed at him to close the distance between them, Red's conscience wouldn't allow it.
Rosalie tilted her head once more, trying to get him to make eye contact with her. "What are you saying?"
He could put it off no longer.
"Rosalie, we can't do this anymore. I can't keep putting you in danger like this; it's not right; it's not fair. I thought I could keep you safe but that's obviously not true-"
"Please don't let Horace's bad blood drive a wedge between us," Rosalie pleaded, her voice fraught with emotion, "We've encountered a sizable threat, but it's nothing we can't manage, Raymond, if we fight it together."
Red shook his head, biting back the compulsion to comfort her, to take it all back and tell her it would all be okay. He had to do what was necessary, no matter how much each word made him die a little inside.
"Rosalie, you have no idea what kind of criminals are after me on a daily basis. There are things lurking in the shadows, waiting for me to make the slightest slip-up, and they are more than happy to use or destroy anyone who can get them to me. I couldn't keep you safe from a run-of-the-mill drug cartel, how could I possibly profess to keep you safe from monsters whose entire livelihood is built on finding ways to capture and kill me?"
"I don't need you to keep me safe," Rosalie tried to explain, but Raymond held up a hand, unwilling to hear any of it.
"You may not need me to keep you safe, little dove, but I need me to keep you safe."
"Why?" Rosalie asked, barely able to breathe as he finally met her eyes.
A warm, bittersweet smile played at his lips.
"Isn't it obvious, Rosalie?"
She shook her head, slender brows furrowed with confusion, her thoughts muddled by a rising tide of panic which told her this was the end of them.
Red lifted his glass, took a gratuitous sip, and set it onto the black leather ink blotter once more. When his green eyes lifted to Rosalie's once more, he felt them prickling with moisture.
"I never stopped to think about what I wanted for our relationship, where I expected things to go. All I knew was that I wanted you. I wanted to be with you, to know what it was like to be yours. I wanted to feel what it felt like to find refuge in your arms, to be the man with whom you spent your nights. I longed to know what it was to be the one to make you laugh, to be the first person you looked for in a crowded room. I thought I wanted simple, fleeting things...but when they took you from me, what I truly wanted was painfully clear."
"What- what do you want?" Rosalie asked, looking for all the world as though she were terrified to hear the answer.
Pained though he was, Raymond couldn't help but smile at her once more, "I want to give you a life, Rosalie."
He stood and circled to the front of the desk, resting against the edge and beaming down at her with every drop of adoration he possessed.
"I want to give you so much more than all of this."
Rosalie stood, setting aside her glass and placing a cautious hand on Red's chest. "I don't understand," she said, resting her palm over his heart to feel the steady rhythm thrumming within.
Red placed his hand atop hers and brushed his thumb soothingly over its surface as he'd always done, the smile never leaving his face.
"I look back now and I can't even remember what life was like when you weren't here. Rosalie, I can barely string together a single memory from before. My life has irrevocably been split in two, to the time before you and the time after you." He took a deep, steadying breath, "I scarcely have the luxury of thinking past the current crisis, but when I do, all I see...is you."
Rosalie took a step closer, moisture already beading at the corners of her eyes at his words.
He continued, "Rosalie, for the first time in my life I find myself wanting a future. I want it in a way I've scarcely allowed myself to want anything."
"Raymond," she sounded bereft, "You never thought of what you wanted your life to be like?"
"Not like this," he smiled softly, reaching to brush his fingertips through her curls. "Now.." he tilted his head thoughtfully, "Now I know I want a quiet house in a sleepy town. I want to watch you cultivate roses, peonies, and all manner of living things in its sheltered garden while I read you my favorite books..."
A tear tracked its way down her cheek, wiped gently away by a broad, calloused thumb.
"I want to argue over how many Christmas lights are considered tacky, and whose turn it is to take out the trash. I want birthdays and holidays, todays and tomorrows, three months down the road and fifty years from now."
"Ray-"
"And one day..." his hands dropped to her hips, thumbs smoothing over the mulberry silk of her chemise. He knelt before her, unable to bring his eyes to leave that expanse when a staggering realization overcame him.
"One day I want to wait with baited breath to hear another heart beating alongside your own."
The statement sounded like a confession one made to a priest, the kind of fervid wish which he dared not speak aloud, lest it not come true.
His honesty left Rosalie frozen in stunned silence, disbelief etched in her every feature. Just as she had known instantly when she did not want to marry Francis, Rosalie knew immediately that Raymond was the only man she wished to build that future with.
"I- I want that too."
The fervid whisper didn't seem to reach him, so she cupped his cheeks and guided his attention back to her. "I want all of it, Ray, everything you described. So don't do this, don't push me away."
Raymond shook his head, unable to tear himself from her imploring gaze. "I want so much more than a few fleeting minutes of you, Rosalie. I want our life together to be measured in decades, not days. I fear a thousand lifetimes would never truly be enough, but I want your whole life, and I want more than anything to give you mine."
His face fell as the heartbreaking reality set back in. He stood slowly, taking her hands in his own. "All those possibilities seem out of reach when I know our relationship makes you a target."
"Dembe gets to stay," she finally whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "You love Dembe, and he gets to stay. You- You love me, don't you?"
Rosalie had known for a while now, that Raymond loved her. She had known even longer that she was irrevocably in love with him.
"Rosalie I can't-"
"But you do," the word fractured from the weight of the feelings behind it, "I know you do."
Raymond's left eye twitched visibly, a tell-tale sign of his displeasure. "I said no, little dove."
"Then say it!" She snapped, her anger flaring with a white-hot vengeance at being given a glimpse of the future she longed for only to have it cruelly snatched away.
"...What?" Truthfully, he was taken aback by the sudden fury which overcame her.
"Say. It."
"I don't understand-"
Rosalie hurled her glass as hard as she could, interrupting his sentence and shattering the item into a thousand pieces against the wall behind him. "If I'm wrong, tell me now. Say it."
Red clenched his fists, not giving so much as a flinch when shards of glass rained down on the back of his shirt. "No."
"Say it," she seethed, infuriated further by his lack of response.
"No," repeated Raymond, becoming annoyed by her persistence. He knew she wasn't wrong, and it was destroying him not to tell her that he truly did love her.
The fact of the matter was Red thought it too cruel an act to entertain. Something in him believed Rosalie would not consider it an honest declaration if he said it now.
Regardless, she had not said it either. Perhaps he was wrong...
What if it was she who did not love him?
Raymond didn't think he could bear to find out such a painful truth tonight.
Rosalie charged suddenly forward, grabbed the man by his lapels and jerked him forcefully nose-to-nose with her, "You don't love me? Then say it. Say you don't love me!"
Red came forcefully back to the present, his hand gripping her waist and practically slamming her into the nearest bookcase, bracketing her seething frame with his intimidating bulk. "I can't, damn you! Is that what you want to hear?" His booming voice bore down on her with a fearsome, graveled timbre, "I can't say I don't love you because it's a goddamn lie!"
"You promised." Rosalie whimpered, still holding tightly to his shirt yet shrinking before his eyes.
Raymond's heart sank further, unable to bring himself to speak of the promise he was fully aware he was breaking.
"You said we're not like the Pruitts." She let out a choked sob, "You said this would never be an option for us."
Raymond bit the inside of his cheek, anger and frustration pooling in his gut, warring with the unimaginable guilt and sadness he felt at letting her go.
"I was- I was wrong."
God, he hated how his voice cracked when he said it.
"I'm not going to let you do this-"
"Rosalie-"
"No, Raymond-"
"Why are you making this so difficult-"
"Is this who you are?" She bit back, refusing to admit defeat, "The others in your life, Josephine, Elizabeth, your family, they've lead you to believe that love is walking away? They've allowed you to feel like you were doing the right thing by sacrificing any semblance of your own happiness for the sake of their continued existence?"
Red could feel the color drain from his face, "What they've allowed me to believe is irrelevant. All that matters in this moment is the absolute fact that I am a threat to you, and a deadly one at that."
"My entire life is a threat to me!"
Rosalie rose to her full height holding his imploring gaze with one of absolute determination, desperate to get through to him. "There's not one sacred corner of me which has been spared from the ravages of my criminal identity Ray, not one. My safety will forever be compromised, and I have long since made peace with it. Your goal is to keep me alive, but tell me this, what's the point of ensuring I survive if I can't choose the life I lead and with whom I share it?"
"I can't profess to care for you as deeply as I do and put my own selfish wants before your life-"
"Then don't do the right thing!"
The conviction in her voice moved him. Red reached to cup her cheek in his palm, trying to calm her down once more.
She wasn't having it. The anger she felt still crackled in the air around them, but he knew it would not hold out for long.
"For once, just stop being the martyr. Be selfish with me!"
"I won't."
Tears fell in earnest down her cheeks, and to Red's surprise, a lone droplet managed to breach the corner of his eye to carve a path along his jaw.
"Has it ever crossed your mind," he soothed, "What I feel for you, I feel it so damn deeply that everything in me insists I let you go, despite how much I don't want to?"
Rosalie lifted her chin from his hold, shaking her head emphatically, "Does it matter at all what my choice would be?"
"No," he confided at long last, "What you would choose bears no weight in the choice I've made. I won't be the man who comes home to find you beaten, tortured, or worse, Rosalie. I don't have it in me to be the cause of your demise, not when I know I can change that outcome by biting the bullet and distancing myself."
Rosalie pulled away, holding him at arms length, her eyes wide with shock.
Red knew in that moment she had unearthed the shameful truth of his sudden change of heart.
Rosalie was a mastermind at reading people. Like him, her profession demanded it. She observed clients, competitors, and partners with quiet scrutiny, mentally cataloguing their every word and move. She took the truth behind who they were, peeled back the facades they tried to erect, and easily read the hidden pages of the person lurking beneath.
Raymond was no different, Rosalie knew him in ways he had never wished to be known.
Her teeth caught at her bottom lip, wincing when she managed to break the skin. Understanding swept across her features like a death mask, visibly draining the fire from her eyes with sickening efficacy.
"You aren't doing this to keep me safe, Raymond. You're ending this so you never have to face the pain of losing me again."
The barb hit its mark with excruciating accuracy, and that's what made Red's insides positively roil with indignation.
Rosalie stood upright and brushed past him without so much as another look.
When she reached the door, she turned and held him with a gaze so foreign, so frighteningly frigid, Red felt goosebumps ripple across his skin.
"I told you once, if you were ever in a scenario where you had to choose, I wouldn't want you to go alone."
Raymond remembered that conversation well, and all the broken promises that now came with it.
"Nothing has changed for me, Raymond. If you feel you must end our relationship as some sort of penance for what happened, I will not stand in your way while you fall on your sword, no matter how pointless I believe it to be. I can't force you to want to be with me, but I can assert this one promise: I'm not going anywhere. I told you I'm in this, good, bad, or otherwise, and I suppose this is the bad. As angry as you have made me by ignoring my wishes, as much as you have infuriated me with your noble attempts at martyrdom" She lifted her palms in surrender, "Despite being abducted and beaten, and left alone with a perfect stranger in Paris while you went about your criminal politics, despite it all...I still want the life you described. I want the quiet house in the sleepy town. I want you to read me books in the garden. I want every last moment of the life you've imagined for us, and I'm willing to wait until you pull your head out of your ass and realize that future is only possible if we're both in it."
It took everything in him not to chuckle at the cheeky remark. Despite the painful course of events, Rosalie was still the woman he had fallen in love with, and she'd just proven it.
She too fought a wry smile, catching the minute twitch of his lips which belied his amusement.
"I'm yours, Ray. Circumstances may have changed, we might be facing bigger adversaries than we'd planned on, but I'm not walking away from this. I'm not walking away from us, and I utterly refuse to allow you to walk away from me."
Leonardo da Vinci Airport- Flumicino, Italy - March 2nd, 2000
A strange day dawned hours later, whereupon their whole brigade boarded the jet en route to Rome.
Raymond and Rosalie met up with the others at the hangar early after a restless, uncomfortable night sleeping in separate rooms.
Any hopes their security had of the two having reconciled were dashed when they settled at opposite ends of the plane, not a word spoken between them.
Upon seeing Rosalie's downcast expression, Cedric altered his itinerary. He'd originally planned to return to Corsica that afternoon, but one look at her had told him something was amiss. A short call to Florian cleared his schedule, ensuring he could remain at her side for a few more days.
Dembe and Kate had observed the couple throughout the flight, sharing looks of concern at the matching dark circles under the pair's eyes and the complete lack of communication or physical contact between them. They buried themselves in work the entire flight, barely looking up from their tasks long enough to take a sip of coffee, let alone strike up a conversation.
When Edward landed the bird at a private airstrip outside Rome's city limits, there were two vehicles waiting for them. One was a carbon copy of Reddington's classic black Mercedes sedan, the other, a familiar tank of a Rolls Royce sent from the Armels' vineyard estate.
As Cedric had expected, Florian too had become suspicious that something was awry, and was now making it a point to reassert his presence, offering support from the shadows until Rosalie was willing to divulge what had happened.
Reddington seemed surprised by the separate vehicles, hesitating a millisecond before loading into the back of the sedan.
"Directions to the safe house are in the glove compartment," Rosalie directed Dembe and Kate, "I have business to attend to this afternoon, so unfortunately I won't be able to show you around."
Kate merely nodded and boarded the passenger's seat but Dembe reached out to gently grasp Rosalie's arm, his face asking the necessary question.
Rosalie could barely bring herself to meet his eyes, her own stinging with moisture all over again. "I fought him to the bitter end, Dembe. I told him I refused to accept that our relationship was over. I told him at least a dozen times that I'm still in this, that I'm not going anywhere, but...he's already ended it."
Her focus fell to his shirt as a tear managed to escape her lashes.
"I am sorry, Rosalie." He squeezed her should in an attempt to comfort, "I'm sure he will come to see reason."
"See if you can't get him to rest a while," she murmured sadly, "I'm sure he didn't sleep at all last night."
He watched her board her own vehicle, the sleek cream-colored sedan peeling off in the opposite direction at a steady clip.
Blacksite #?- New Construction Site - Rome, Italy - March 2nd, 2000
Teddy brought the vehicle to a slow stop behind the newest addition to Rosalie's network: a sprawling villa tucked in the heart of Rome's historic center.
His charge had been uncommonly quiet during the entire ride, burying her nose in paperwork once more and barely offering a word in response to his and Cedric's occasional questions.
Exiting the vehicle, they flanked her on either side and passed through the gated archway leading to the home's private gardens. The finely milled pea stone covering the walkways crunched beneath their feet, emitting a very satisfying crackling sound with each step.
Rosalie's scrutinizing gaze swiveled this way and that, looking for repairs and improvements which needed to be completed before she could have clients occupy the space. Her scanning halted for a moment at the sight of one of the garden's far walls, its stone facade completely overrun with green foliage and climbing roses. She recognized the variety as Joseph's Coat, akin to peaches in their coloring for their bright orange centers and blushing red outer petals.
They suited the rustic, sun-drenched home quite well.
"Teddy, please make a note to contact my man in Milan, I want the contact information for that florist we used in Lake Como. The stone walls in the courtyard gardens are rather unsightly, I believe it would look better covered in Joseph's Coat from wall to wall."
Ted whipped out a notepad and began jotting down the various requests she made as they traversed the home's exterior, finally ending up at the home's hidden entrance.
Two men in hardhats came bustling forward from a nearby alcove, one in a pale blue suit and horn-rimmed glasses, the other clad in a sweater, dark jeans, and heavy work boots. The former extended his hand first, taking Rosalie's gently and kissing each of her cheeks in turn before producing an assortment of blueprints for her perusal.
The man's name was Paolo, and he was one of Rosalie's most prized architects. His casually-clad comrade, Peori, was his long-standing contractor of choice when it came to remodeling safe houses. The pair had been working together exclusively since Rosalie began her first expansion into Southern Europe.
"Signora," Paolo gestured graciously to the home's grand staircase, "Lascia che ti mostriamo a cosa abbiamo lavorato."
A lengthy tour of the sprawling property provided ample diversions on which Rosalie could focus. Walls had been removed since her last visit, floors resurfaced, antique windows replaced with their bulletproof counterparts. Even the plaster work had been completed overtop the new kevlar panelling.
Her tech team would be arriving the following day to begin wiring the home's extensive security system and underground surveillance bunker, then the final structural details of the remodel could be put into place.
"I sincerely hope your dear Analia would be willing to assist with the interior?" She asked, catching herself and rephrasing the question in Italian for Paolo's benefit.
He beamed at the mention of his new fiancée, an interior designer whom Rosalie had hired to furnish and decorate the last six homes she'd purchased in Italy and Greece.
"Sì, certo, ne sarebbe stata felicissima."
With the assurance her preferred designer would be handling the interior, Rosalie felt comfortable in leaving the top floors in Paolo and Peori's capable hands.
They returned to the main level where the sounds of tools of all shapes and sizes could be heard banging and whirring away. Various craftsmen nodded as they passed by, immediately recognizing the owner of the estate they were restoring. A team of tile setters lay on their stomachs in the front foyer, meticulously reassembling a tile mosaic with tens of thousands of tiny glass shapes. Other artisans stood on ladders restoring millwork and moulding and plaster throughout the halls and rooms. The whole of the first floor was perfectly orchestrated chaos.
The rear of the home held a bank of rooms whose floor plan was being restructured to a more cohesive layout; most of the remaining workers were congregated there.
"Signora, non dovresti essere in questo casino," Paolo tried to divert Rosalie from the mess therein, but she strode into the array of men without so much as batting an eye.
One lone wall remained in the center of the room, waiting to be demolished to make way for the new floor plan.
"Di 'ai tuoi uomini di fare un lungo pranzo, Peori, ci penso io." Rosalie told Peori, indicating his men should take a long lunch while she demolished the last structure in their way.
The men in question perked up immediately at the prospect of a long lunch break, though a number of them seemed amused at Rosalie's belief that she could handle the wall's removal herself.
"Signora-"
Rosalie hoisted the nearest sledge hammer, crossed the room and swung it as hard as she could, busting a large, jagged hole in the wall's surface. Plaster fell in crackling shards at her feet, the white powder turning the tips of her boots a dull gray. A huff of satisfaction left her lips, followed by another deafening bang as she swung the hammer again.
Teddy, Cedric, and the others all watched with wide eyes from the open archway as Rosalie continued to release blow after devastating blow to the rapidly crumbling wall.
"Buon dio..." murmured Paolo, turning to shoo the remainder of their construction crew out of the house.
Peori, on the other hand, found the whole thing terribly amusing. After a few minutes of chuckling to himself between echoing bangs, he turned to Rosalie's security and asked, "Diavolo per capello...I'd think twice before setting her off, gentleman."
Vecchio Safe House - Rome, Italy - March 2, 2000
It was later in the evening when Rosalie finally arrived back at the safe house.
Red had been pacing the study, unable to focus on anything of real consequence while she had basically gone awol.
She stepped into the home ahead of her guards, covered in plaster dust from the top of her wild curls to the very soles of her tall boots, which she immediately kicked off with a groan once inside.
"What the hell happened?" He asked, taking in her appearance with concern.
Rosalie blinked up at him, barely registering his presence. "Just doing a bit of remodeling," she replied, giving him a forced smile before making straight for the master bath.
Red's brow puckered, his suspicions sufficiently piqued. He managed one step onto the staircase before Ted's hand shot out and grabbed him.
He turned around to see him and Cedric shaking their heads vigorously, their eyes the size of dinner plates.
"What?"
"Shhh!" said Ted.
Cedric tilted his head away from the stairs, "We do not recommend following her."
Raymond left the staircase and accompanied the two into the sitting room. "What happened, is something wrong?"
"Rosalie just singlehandedly tore down a plaster and beam wall with a sledge hammer." Cedric explained, brushing remnants of plaster from his person as well.
"I don't think she broke a sweat," whispered Ted, sounding slightly horrified, "Did she eat a bowl of nails for breakfast? What the hell's going on with you guys?"
"We-" Red hesitated, having truthfully expected Rosalie to explain the change of dynamic to her own guards. "I chose to end things between us, for now."
Teddy's eyes narrowed to slits, "On second thought, go right on up-"
Cedric interrupted before he could berate Reddington further, "Theodore, please go up and guard the door, I'm certain Rosalie wishes to wash off all that plaster and you know she won't go in the ensuite without someone keeping an eye out."
It took several long seconds before Ted could bring himself to turn away.
They both watched the younger man reluctantly ascend the staircase, then Cedric returned his attention to Raymond.
"You don't look surprised." The latter noted, spine straightening at the other man's scrutinizing gaze.
He shrugged, "After everything with Horace? No, I am not surprised. Disappointed? Certainly. But no, I am not surprised in the least at your attempt to keep Rosalie safe."
Raymond found himself relieved to at last find a sympathetic ear. "She doesn't see it that way."
"And she never will." Cedric replied, waving him into the study so they might discuss the matter over a drink. "The substance of Rosalie's life is far too important to her to sacrifice happiness for the sake of safety."
They each took a glass and a seat at each of the matching chesterfields before returning to the matter at hand.
"You know her well," Red conceded, hoping to find an ally in one of Rosalie's closest confidants.
"Your knowledge of her was just beginning to extend past the first glance. I learned her at her most volatile, after she set out for France hot on the heels of the absolute carnage she left in her wake."
"You helped with that carnage."
"Without question, and I'd do it again." Cedric reclined regally in his seat, fixing Red with a piercing stare. "She is my family, Reddington. There will never come a day where I am not on Rosalie's side. She and I, we've been through enough. I won't let her walk any stretch of this road alone. My concern is why you seem to be content to push her to the same brink as the last man who professed to love her."
Raymond's upper lip curled unpleasantly, "Francis."
"Yes," said Cedric, "You obviously despise the man as much as I do; yet here you are, pushing Rosalie away, insisting it's for her own good. Do you know what that must be doing to her? To hear you say you're doing something in her best interest, despite the fact it is the very last thing she wants? No wonder she went on a destructive spree with a sledge hammer; she adores you, yet you're painting yourself in the same colors as the man who robbed her of herself. You, Raymond Reddington, are giving her every possible reason to run away from you."
"That is the very last thing that I wish to do," insisted Red, clearing his throat and setting his scotch aside. "Be that as it may, I cannot be in a relationship with her any longer, it puts too large a target on her back."
"Yet you intend to keep her on the run with you? You are fine with continuing your business arrangement? Raymond, precious few people know about your romantic relationship, if you really want to keep her safe you would-"
"I'm. telling you, I've made up my mind."
"And I'm telling you, if you continue in this way, Rosalie will never be the same."
Red fought to keep his expression neutral. "Perhaps she needs to change. Perhaps I have to be the one to tear the blinders off and force her to look out for herself. She's not safe with me, Cedric. If these past two weeks have taught me anything it's that I was wrong to believe I could keep her from harm. The cold ugly truth is I can't begin to protect her from what's lurking out there. I know that now. I love her, Cedric. I love her, and my love is her death sentence. I won't do it. I won't be the reason this world exists without her in it."
Cedric set his empty glass aside and straightened his jacket, "Have you considered that what you're doing is going to rob this world of her spirit, only in a different way? This will change her, Raymond, and not for the better."
"I can't sit idly by, waiting for the day she's murdered or worse for her connection to me."
The disagreement had already been settled. Raymond's tone indicated as much, pointedly alerting Cedric to the fact he was no longer willing to discuss the matter.
"Has anyone told you you've got a bit of a hero complex?" The man asked, lifting a lone brow toward the heavens.
"I'm nobody's hero," Red grunted, rising to his feet, "Of that, I am absolutely certain."
He wanted nothing more than to go to bed. His body was still shaking off the remaining effects of his opium high, and the mental effort it took to keep himself from Rosalie was positively exhausting.
Without another word, he made for the master suite, taking the stairs two at a time. Ted passed him at the landing a querulous look, but thankfully held his tongue.
Red was grateful until he reached the master suite and was forced to halt his progress before crossing the threshold.
Rosalie was settled on top of the sheets, her ankles crossed atop the headboard as was her custom. A thick book was held above her, its worn red cover oddly familiar. The sight of her made Red ache from head to toe.
Nothing compared to the view of those lovely legs he'd grown so fond of over the past year. As if a mouth-watering glimpse of upper thigh wasn't enough, at this angle he could see the whole line of those supple limbs all the way up to Rosalie's hips.
God hated him, Red was certain of it. The meddling old coot was planning to strike him dead in the doorway to his ex-lover's bedroom, he just knew it.
The sight of her laying there, just waiting for his attention threatened to take him out at the knees, then and there.
"There's room for two," she offered magnanimously upon seeing him; she gestured to his side of the bed, "All I require is that you admit you're being ridiculous."
Raymond again looked as though he were emitting the kind of whine only dogs could hear.
Despite the riotous protest occurring in his every nerve ending, Red gnawed at his bottom lip, refused to respond and instead turned to retreat downstairs once more.
Some time later, and much to Raymond's surprise, Josephine arrived at the home's front entry.
Without so much as a hello, she stormed his chosen sanctuary within the home's study, rifled through the bar cart for a pair of heavy crystal glasses, and whipped out a ridiculously expensive bottle of cognac, sparing but one scathing look for Raymond, who glared back in response.
"What are you doing here?" He asked, noting the small suitcase Cedric quickly eased from her grasp and carried upstairs.
The look she gave him could have curdled milk. "You know damn well why I'm here."
Raymond sighed, "She called you?"
"No, Cedric called me. Apparently he knew something was wrong this morning and thought I might be of some solace."
"I thought you were my friend." Red couldn't help but tease, finding it rather telling that Josephine had happily dropped whatever it was she was doing to fly to Rome and be with Rosalie.
"I am your friend." She waved aside such nonsense, "however I'm now also Rosalie's friend. Right now you've hurt my friend, and I don't like you very much."
"Yes, well, get in line," he advised as he reached past her for the nearest bottle of scotch, preparing to top off his glass.
"You need another drink like you need a hole in the head," Josephine chastised, snatching the bottle from his hand and stoppering it.
Raymond grumbled under his breath, "I'm surprised your all-powerful patriarch let you out of his sights, let alone fly to Italy at a moment's notice."
"Apparently my father has no qualms about me having female friends, particularly ones as well-aligned as Florian Armel's daughter."
He chuckled when her eyes rolled expressively, obviously as disenchanted with her father's double standards as he was.
"Now, off to bed," she patted his backside in a shoo-ing manner, "Try and sleep off this stupidity which seems to be ailing you."
"Nothing is ailing me, Josephine."
"Really? Because it seems to me that you've succeeded in pushing away perhaps the single most consequential woman to ever enter your life. Am I wrong?"
"Well...no-" he began,
"You've thrown away the love of a good woman because you believe she is not safe with you, and if she is not safe with you, you believe you will have to reckon with losing her at some point in your life. You're afraid Raymond. So go to bed, sleep it off, and perhaps you will feel more pragmatic in the morning."
"I don't know where to sleep," he finally confided, a distinct note of chagrin entering his voice."Rosalie and I have been sharing the same bed for over a year and now I don't-" he heaved a sigh, "I don't know where to sleep."
A drop of sympathy softened Josephine's disgruntled features. "Take my room."
"What?"
"Take my room. Top of the stairs, last door on the right." She set the liquor bottle on the nearby shelf and gestured to the rear of the second floor.
"Where are you going to sleep?" He asked.
"With your girlfriend." Josephine stated matter-of-factly, shrugging out of her coat and draping it on a nearby sofa.
Red blinked up at her with a look of devastation that would have made her laugh were it not so heart wrenching. "That's...cruel."
Josephine leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to his forehead, "She needs a patient ear, Ray. Go, get some rest, you look like hell."
With that she made her way upstairs, her arrival met with a shout of excitement from Rosalie.
When Red readied for bed, he made a point to pass the master bedroom.
The door was ajar and the lamp lights were on, showcasing a small slip through which he could see.
Rosalie and Josephine were nestled amongst the blankets, murmuring back and forth in French. Josephine was brushing her fingers through Rosalie's curls in a soothing gesture, quite obviously commiserating with her new friend.
The sight gnawed at him. A tinge of regret mixed with an unpleasant pang of jealousy which he fought to smother as soon as it made itself known.
With a resigned sigh, he turned and headed for the bedroom at the far end of the hall, slipping into the pillowy soft bedding without turning on the lights.
It would be the first of many long, sleepless nights.
Three Weeks Later...Blacksite #4 a.k.a "Spruit" - Brussels, Belgium - March 22, 2000
The atmosphere in the safe house could only be described as volcanic.
The home's occupants seemed to be waiting on pins and needles for something to happen, whether good or bad, they couldn't say.
Josephine had finally been forced to return home, her irate father insisting she had spent too long in Rome. In reality, she had traveled with their little band of fugitives from Rome to Portugal, then on to Luxembourg before she could delay her departure no longer. She and Rosalie said their goodbyes on the tarmac of the Rouvres Airport nearly five days ago, already scheming for their next get-together.
The first three days after Josephine's departure were rough sailing, with more than a few arguments breaking out between Raymond and Rosalie.
By the fourth day, Dembe Zuma should have considered himself a lucky man.
Cedric had earned himself a place in the dog house the night prior by mentioning to Rosalie that she might be overreacting, whereupon Teddy too had voiced his concern.
Dembe was now the only person in the big house to whom she would speak.
The man in question had been sequestered in the study with Raymond and Kate most of the past three weeks, reviewing what little intel they had to go off of on the German.
The latter was reviewing information from their associates in London regarding their search into the German being a UK national. "The agent in charge of reviewing immigration cases within MI-6 is a young woman named Emma Knightly," she relayed, dropping a slim file on Raymond's desk.
"What do we have on her?" He asked, flipping through the scant few documents. A small government-issued photograph was pinned to the paperwork, showing a thin, pretty woman with light blonde hair in a standard-issue button-down and a practiced smile.
Kate took a seat next to Dembe, "Jeremy, our man at Interpol, compiled the dossier. Knightley is young, new, and easily malleable. If you're looking for a better avenue to access Britain's immigration files, you won't find it."
"How should we approach?" Red continued reading through the paperwork, only looking up when he did not receive an answer.
Kate and Dembe shared a look.
"I believe if you simply made an offer to Knightley for information, you would not reach your desired result." The latter informed him,
Raymond turned questioningly to Kate once more, "I thought you said she was malleable?"
"Malleable?" She nodded, "Yes. Crooked? No. She would turn you in if you approached her directly. Knightley is also lacking in the proper security clearances to dig for information without her superiors signing off on it."
"What other avenues are available to us for the sake of accessing her intel?" He asked, scratching at the new stubble on his face before flipping the dossier shut.
Kate considered the ceiling for several moments, "Her supervisor is bendable for the right price, but the issue lies in the hierarchy. He too can only access a certain level of files."
"Perhaps the most direct path would be to get agent Knightley a much higher security clearance." Dembe suggested evenly, looking between the two. "Our best bet at keeping this all under wraps is to have as few people know about it as possible. Bypassing her superiors and putting her in an elevated position could accomplish what we require."
"How would we go about doing that?" Raymond believed the idea had merit, but it needed serious fleshing out before it could be considered an actionable plan.
"I do not know," Dembe admitted, "But it is worth pursuing. If we can get access to the MI-6 databases, there's a great deal of intel which can be reached. That kind of access would go a long way in protecting you and Elizabeth."
Kate stood and gathered her things, "I have a meeting with Jeremy in an hour. I'll see if he can't get us a definitive look at the information clearance hierarchy for MI-6. At least that way we'll know just how far Agent Knightley would need to be hoisted before her position could be of value to us."
"Thank you Kate."
Once the door closed behind her, Raymond and Dembe returned to reviewing what little remaining information they had left.
"Was Oliver able to unscramble the wire transfers between the German and Los Reyes Sagrados?"
"He's close," Dembe handed him a page out of his notepad, "Funds were sent from a shelf account in the United Kingdom, so I gave him Pendleton's contact information to see if he can't assist in unearthing its location and owner."
Raymond nodded his approval, "We can't put it off any longer. If you can get her to talk, I need Rosalie to get long-term accommodations ready for us in London. It will take at least a month to sort all of this out. I recall her mentioning a new black site in the city a couple months back, I believe it was supposed to be ready by now."
After Josephine departed, Rosalie avoided the safe house at all costs. She left in the early morning hours long before she could possibly have any meetings and returned in the dead of night, just in time to catch a few hours' sleep before doing it all over again.
Red was not sure where she went. They hadn't spoken more than a couple words to one another in nearly a week.
It was not for trying, but whenever he attempted to strike up a conversation, he received little more than curt civility in reply. Even on the jet, Rosalie kept to one side of the plane, keeping herself busy with running her empire so she had an excuse not to talk. She never even looked at anyone, merely answered any questions posed in as few words as possible, then promptly returned to her work.
Raymond had thought he was well-acquainted with Rosalie's anger, had thought he already knew what disappointment looked like on her. He was woefully wrong. The warm, affectionate woman he adored was now a stone wall, her emotions completely indiscernible, hidden layers deep beneath a husk of grief which only grew thicker as the weeks went on.
To add insult to injury, Teddy was now fielding all of Rosalie's calls, so Red couldn't even try to reason with her on the phone.
He hadn't realized being unable to talk to her would prove such a devastating reality until now.
Dembe twiddled his pen between his fingers, a lone brow lifting at Red's request.
"What?"
"I know we have spoken regarding the matter, but I must implore you to reconsider the route you have taken with Rosalie. You are unhappy, and she is unhappy. How is this better than the potential danger she might encounter by being with you?"
Raymond pinched the bridge of his nose, his irritation complete. "As I've told you, and Kate, and Ted, and Rosalie several times, I am keeping her safe. Ending our relationship was a necessity, it removes
"It does not." Dembe staunchly disagreed, "Our intel indicates the German, along with the rest of the world is completely unaware of the intimate involvement between the two of you. He only knows of your work relationship-"
"Which we are taking steps to bury as well." Red barked back, in no mood to be lectured on something which already causing him a significant amount of pain and frustration.
Dembe wasn't fooled. "Having her travel ahead to locations, taking separate transport everywhere you go, allowing yourself to be seen meeting with other safehouse providers, it is merely a band-aid, Raymond. We all know it. You may feel as though you're doing your part to protect her, but what you're really doing is driving the wedge between you even further."
"If I were taking opinions on Rosalie and I's relationship, I would ask." Raymond fixed him with pointed look, "I can handle the rest of this. Once Rosalie has returned from wherever it is she's ran off to, broach the subject of the London black site. That is all."
Canal Bruxelles - Brussels, Belgium
Rosalie left the black site that morning and spent the first several hours working from a separate safe house she owned before the ungodly quiet threatened to drive her out of her mind.
Cedric and Teddy finally coaxed her into going for a long walk, getting some fresh air while she wandered the cobbled length of the Canal Bruxelles and avoided Raymond as had become her custom over the past three weeks.
Contrary to popular belief, it wasn't because she didn't want to be around him.
In truth, Rosalie missed Raymond terribly. It was like a piece of herself had just up and disappeared, and she was struggling to fill the void.
However, as the weeks went on and the distance between them increased, so too did Rosalie's feelings of betrayal and abandonment.
Red seemed somehow indifferent on the matter. After the breakup, he was always the first to shut down any arguments, the last to escalate when tensions between them ran high. He was the epitome of unflappable.
It infuriated Rosalie to no end.
His calm demeanor made her question if any of it had been real. Had he really cared for her? Or had it all been an act?
The sound of two men arguing in rapid French drifted to her ears, bore upon a strong, cold gust of wind. The sound drew Rosalie from her mind's renewing downward spiral, forcing her to turn around to see what was the matter.
Horace was damn near in a fistfight with Cedric, who was outright refusing to allow him any closer.
"Let him through." Rosalie called, waving a hand for Cedric and Ted to stand down.
The two reluctantly took a step back, permitting Horace to step forward.
He straightened his leather jacket with but one querulous look at Cedric before sidling up to Rosalie.
She stood with her arms crossed, her own leather jacket zipped tight to ward off the chill.
"Horace, you shouldn't be here."
"I know..."
The pair turned in tandem to continue walking the length of the canal, Cedric and Teddy following at a closer distance than they were before.
"Where did you go, after Paris?" She asked, truthfully curious as to his whereabouts for the past month.
Horace shrugged, "I've been around."
"You never left." She corrected knowingly, looking up at him with a most curious expression. "Did you follow us?"
"It wasn't easy," he admitted, "But, knowing Reddington's jet tags and your pre-existing plans in Rome allowed me to stay close."
The notion was oddly comforting. Despite the tumult of their last meeting, it somehow felt like Horace was still on her side.
"You should have ran."
He shook his head emphatically, "I couldn't just leave you after everything that happened; not again."
Was that an apology she just heard?
Rosalie considered him for a long moment before responding. "I'm sorry I hit you."
Horace actually chuckled, a deep throaty laugh which actually managed to make Rosalie smile too. "You're sorry for clocking me when I kind of deserved it, but pulling your gun on me, that was warranted, hmm?"
Rosalie fought a wide grin, "Well, as you said, you did kind of deserve it."
The two laughed in spite of themselves, then settled into an amicable silence.
"I take it you heard about Raymond and I."
It was the only event which could explain Horace's sudden reappearance.
He focused on the pebbles strewn at their feet, kicking a stray one here and there. "I'm afraid not. I did notice you've been traveling in separate cars, though. I assumed it was for your security?"
"Partially," Rosalie sighed, "Though it has significantly more to do with the sudden dissolving of Raymond and I's romantic relationship."
Horace's head turned sharply, "I'm sorry to hear that."
Rosalie actually snorted with derisive laughter, "No you're not. You hated him, you always have."
"I don't," he tried to reason, his cheeks flushing a dull pink when his former charge leveled him a look which told him she would buy no such bullshit.
"Okay, I was never fond of him," he admitted, grinning when Rosalie smiled triumphantly, "But that had little to do with him as a person. It was his carelessness with you which drove me to loathe him."
A flat, destitute expression crept over Rosalie's features, her tone turning quite acerbic. "Well, you seem to have gotten through to him."
"I'm sorry," she apologized immediately. Hearing those words seemed to bring her back to herself, "I shouldn't blame you for that; I don't blame you for that."
"Think nothing of it."
Rosalie turned to look at Horace, who beamed back at her. It was so strange, as though no time had passed between her early days with the Armels and that very moment. No network, no Raymond, no cartel. It was as though their friendship had never changed.
"Perhaps it's time you gave a thought for what's best for you, Rosalie." Horace suggested gently, unexpectedly arriving at the purpose of his visit.
"I know what's best for me," she groused, another sudden flare of annoyance curling in her gut. "It's everyone else's opinions of what's best for me that seem to be causing the issue."
Horace nodded agreeably, "I understand you wish for the rest of us to butt out. I only said what I did because I would hate to see you trapped."
Rosalie's brow puckered at the comment, " What- What do you mean, trapped?"
"I don't mean to put my nose in it," he demurred, waiting for Rosalie to wave him on before continuing, "It's just...Your empire is already inextricably intertwined with Reddington's. If you continue to stay on the run with him, you will be subjected to him moving on, seeing other women...Would you be able to handle that? Would you ever truly be free of that failed relationship?"
The idea hadn't even crossed Rosalie's mind. Did she really want to keep things as they were? Did she even want to be free of that relationship?
They continued their slow walk along the canal while Horace continued to make his case for her departure.
Blacksite #4 a.k.a "Spruit" - Brussels, Belgium - March 22, 2000
Rosalie and her guards returned that evening, heading immediately for their separate rooms on their arrival.
Dembe believed now was as good a time as any to discuss moving to the London safe house with Rosalie.
He ascended the swooping staircase, casually admiring the floor's herringbone pattern and brass inlay. When he reached the topmost floor, Rosalie's door was ajar.
A soft knock preceded his entry, whereupon he encountered a most disconcerting scene.
The mahogany chest of drawers was opened and emptied. The ensuite countertops he could see from the doorway were completely cleared of their various accoutrements. A garment bag lay folded in half on the bedspread beside a heavy trench coat and umbrella. It looked for all the world as though she were going somewhere.
"What are you doing, Rosalie?"
Rosalie froze mid-step, a stack of sweaters in her hands.
Her bags lay open on the bed, half-filled with various articles articles of clothing and personal items.
She placed the items garments in her duffle bag and zipped it closed.
"I've tried, Dembe. I can't do it. I can't live under the same roof and pretend like I don't love him."
Dembe closed the door behind him, "He is miserable too. Perhaps if you just calmly discussed the matter..."
Rosalie gave him a sympathetic smile, "Raymond has no desire to talk this over, and unfortunately this isn't a side of me I can simply shut off when it becomes inconvenient. I've tried to get him to see reason, tried to show him that I'm still in this with him, but...there are only so many times I can bare myself to him and receive the stone wall of silence in return."
"I implore you to just give it a little while longer," he persuaded, watching helplessly as she packed away the few remaining items and closed up her bags. "Where will you go?"
A shaky breath forced its way past Rosalie's lips, "I don't know just now. Anywhere but here."
Dembe would not let her go quietly. "If you just talked to him-"
Rosalie shook her head vigorously, picking up her bags and dropping them beside the door, "I am not the kind of woman who can take a partner's continued rejection and keep coming back for more. I'm a fugitive, Dembe, my sense of self-preservation is far too developed for all of that."
"We're ready."
It was Cedric who came striding into the master suite, his face bearing a look of distinct displeasure.
Dembe silently lifted one of her bags onto his shoulder, hoping to continue arguing his case as they boarded the elevator to the first floor.
This proved easier said than done, as Rosalie and Cedric were stone silent the whole ride.
"Thank you, sweetheart. For everything." Said Rosalie, who stopped at the doorway to the study, her hand clutched about the doorknob, yet unable to turn it.
Her courage had failed her.
Or perhaps it was her subconscious's last-ditch attempt at keeping her from doing the unimaginable?
It no longer mattered. The decision was taken from her when Raymond swung the door wide open.
He halted in the doorway, eyes wide with surprise. "Oh...hello."
"Hi," Rosalie scrambled to return to the task at hand, "May I come in?"
Red stepped aside without hesitation, waving her inside and closing the door behind her.
"To what do I owe this pleasure?" He asked, hastily adding "Not that you need a reason to join me, I just-"
"I think we should travel separately for a while." Rosalie blurted without preamble, wincing at her lack of tact.
"We are," Red assured, setting aside the stack of papers he had been carrying, "I thought Dembe would have told you. As discussed, we'll return to having you fly ahead on my jet for the next month or two. I'm reviewing co-pilots to help relieve Edward as we speak. It'll double the miles on the plane, but it will be safer by far-"
She shook her head, "I. I need to travel separately for a while."
Raymond lifted his eyes from the array of paperwork, "I guess I don't understand?"
Rosalie took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth, "I have property managers and hosts of teams who ready the homes for your arrival and maintain them during your stay. There's no justifiable reason for me to continue to be on the run with you. I believe it is in everyone's best interest if I take some time away."
The statement sent Red's heart plummeting into the soles of his feet.
"What about our mutual clientele?" He asked, admittedly grasping at straws. There was no good reason for him to insist Rosalie continue moving locations with him, and they both knew it.
She shrugged, "The satellite phones will suffice for plotting logistics. Teddy knows the drill backward, forward, and in three other languages no less. Maintaining our operations should be easily done."
"Is this really what you want, Rosalie?"
For the first time in weeks, Rosalie looked Raymond square in the eye.
The pain behind that gaze stole the breath from his lungs. She had never looked at him that way.
"Rest assured Raymond, none of this is what I want. Not one drop of it." She crossed her arms and leaned back against the desk's polished top. "You made the decision to end our relationship, and despite my best efforts to stay at your side, you have shown you are determined to push me away. I've never been the kind of woman to chase what is no longer mine, Ray... So now I have to do what's best for my well-being, and at the moment, my well-being hinges upon a need for solitude."
"I can't protect you if you're moving separately." He whispered plaintively, dredging up every last excuse he could offer to get her to stay.
She gestured at the door, "I have my own security, and for now that will have to do."
Red caught the subtle hint, "You've re-hired Horace, haven't you?"
"Yes." She stated, not asking how he knew. "He knows my operation, and despite his horrendous attitude lately, he's been my guard for years. Without my protection, Florian's men would kill him on sight, and I needed someone familiar, someone I could trust."
Horace's return was the last thing he wanted to argue about now. There were far more dire issues to attend to. "Stay, Rosalie. Please."
"I can't."
"Stay."
Raymond knew he had no right to ask it of her, but he refused to simply watch her walk out the door.
"You've barely been able to look at me these past three weeks, why the hell would you want me here?"
"I want you here because it's where you belong," he retorted, "Even if there is nothing left of our romantic attachment-"
Rosalie threw her hands up in exasperation, "That may be the case for you, but it's not the case for me. I'm not over it, Ray, and I can't stay and force myself not to care about you."
The confession turned the words in his mouth to ash.
"I can't just shut those feelings out, Raymond." Rosalie explained calmly, "The desire to be with you, to be the person you turn to in an increasingly cruel world..." She chewed her bottom lip, biting back the fresh wave of despair threatening to take her under, "I can't be that for you anymore...and you can't be that for me."
Red felt a sickening finality begin to creep over him, "Are you ready for such a change, Rosalie? Can you honestly say you're ready to just walk away from us?"
"You haven't given me a choice in the matter." She held her palms up in a helpless gesture, "Now all I can do is what's right for me right now. It's not permanent; when I've come to terms with the end of our relationship, I'll be back and our day-to-day business can resume as it once was...but until then, I need you to leave me be."
Raymond hated the subdued facade she was presenting him. The calm demeanor, the closed-off body language, the reserved way in which she spoke...It made him long to shatter the mask she wore, to bring that untamed hellcat he had fallen in love with roaring back to the fore.
"I know it's not convenient but-"
Red suddenly leapt from his seat, crossing the space between them in a single stride to cup Rosalie's cheek and bring his lips crashing into hers.
The action pulled a whimper from her throat, sending her hands clutching at his shirt, longing to pull him close and push him away at the same time.
Without a thought, Rosalie found herself kissing Raymond back with equal fervor.
"Don't-" she pleaded against his lips, "Don't kiss me like that."
"Like what?" He panted, clutching her tighter and kissing her again.
Rosalie couldn't bring herself to push him away.
"How am I kissing you, little dove?"
"Like you're a drowning man, stealing one last breath before he's dragged under."
"Then don't go," Raymond persuaded, hands cradling her close, clinging to her like the lifeline she had become. "Please, don't."
The facade was shattered, showing him the broken woman underneath. Moisture beaded at the corners of her eyes, try though she did to subdue it. "Raymond you can't ask me to stay and expect me not to try and fight for us. I am not the kind of woman who can love a man one moment and feel indifferent the next, and I don't ever wish to be."
This sufficed to garner Red's undivided attention.
"Love? You...you said love."
Rosalie ran a gentle hand through his short curls. "I'm not afraid to say it Ray...but I won't say it now, not like this."
"Why?" He couldn't help but ask; he had longed to hear that sentiment from her for so long.
"Because you wouldn't believe I meant it if I said it now, at the very end." She cradled his cheek in her hand, smoothing a gentle thumb over the stubble there as she had a thousand times before.
"Darling when you hear those words, you deserve to believe them. Without question, without the faintest shadow of a doubt. I refuse to cheapen that moment with a last-ditch effort to get you to change your mind."
Raymond managed a small, pained smile.
She did love him, then.
He wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse.
Rosalie rested her forehead against his for several long seconds, seeming to steel her nerves for what would have to come next.
When she rose to leave, Red followed her outside, his feet carrying him mechanically through the hall where Kate and Dembe stood waiting. Teddy undoubtedly informed them of their imminent departure, giving them the opportunity to say their last goodbyes.
Rosalie bid them both a fond farewell, wrapping Dembe in a rib-cracking hug before doing the same to Kate.
Unbeknownst to the others, she took that time to whisper a plea in Kate's ear.
"Take care of him, Kate. Please? Take care of them both for me?"
Kate reciprocated the embrace, squeezing Rosalie tightly and lifting a soothing hand to pat her blonde curls. "I have room for them," she assured, leaning back to meet the other woman's imploring gaze with one of absolute reassurance. "Just until you come back. You will be back. Do you hear me?"
Rosalie nodded shakily, amicably holding her emotions in check as she exited the home for the last time.
Raymond remained at her side, taking her hand in his as they took to the front walk.
Ahead of them, a familiar Rolls Royce sat waiting. Horace had already boarded the driver's seat, while Teddy and Cedric finished loading their belongings into the boot.
Rosalie turned Raymond's hand over and placed the key to their Paris apartment and her ring in his palm. "I can't keep these."
He looked down at the trinkets with a confused expression, "I suppose I understand the key, but the ring was a gift."
"Which I now can't bear to look at, let alone wear," Rosalie explained with a hearty sniff, "There was a great deal of meaning behind that ring, Raymond."
The returning of these items seemed to bring the reality of what was happening crashing around Red. He reluctantly pocketed them, reaching out to open the car door for her one last time.
Rosalie leaned forward and brushed her lips against his cheek, lingering several seconds before lowering herself into the back seat.
Red hesitated before closing the door with a snap.
Teddy gave him a solemn nod as he too boarded the rear of the vehicle.
Raymond moved to stand behind the sedan, watching the straight, delicate line of Rosalie's shoulders through the rear windshield.
His shocked stare remained fix on Rosalie, at a loss for what he could say to keep her from leaving. He could easily see her head bowing with grief through the glass. She didn't want to go. She was miserable, he could see it in her body language, clear as day.
"Look at me." He rasped, willing her to turn around, "Come on Rosalie, Look at me."
Inside the car, a flicker of doubt took brief hold within Rosalie's chest.
"What am I doing, Teddy?"
"You're doing what's best for you." Horace interjected, clicking his seatbelt and revving the engine noisily.
Cedric threw him a nasty glare.
Ted too managed a scathing look in the rearview mirror before turning sympathetically back to Rosalie.
She had pressed a hand to her mouth, tears carving glistening tracks down her cheeks and over her fingertips to fall in her lap as she worked to stifle the sadness which was rapidly swallowing her whole.
Without a word, Teddy placed his upturned palm on the seat between them.
Rosalie placed her hand in his, giving a grateful squeeze as she turned to spare one last look for the man she was leaving behind.
Raymond stood directly behind the vehicle, frozen with a look of horrified despair plastered to his face, his green eyes too were overly bright.
One look from her, and it was as though the whole universe ceased to exist. One look, and Red's world stopped all over again.
"I do love you."
Nothing could have stopped him from whispering that sentiment. Knowing it could be the last chance he had, despite the fact she couldn't possibly hear him, he had to say it.
Just once.
Rosalie reached up to touch the edge of the glass where Red's fingertips rested, tears falling in hot lines down her cheeks. The sight made him ache to brush his thumb along that expanse, to tell her it was all going to be okay.
This was wrong. This was so very wrong.
But this was what he wanted...wasn't it? To let her go, to keep her safe?
No.
Things weren't meant to happen this way.
He didn't want this.
It wasn't what Rosalie wanted, either.
What happened to them? What happened to being a united front?
The armored car began to roll forward, cementing the rift between them with a heartbreaking finality.
Red's feet carried him a few staggering steps, trying to maintain that contact for a little while longer when the car started to pick up speed.
Kate and Dembe stood just outside the door, watching the scene and nursing their own silent grief. The latter descended the steps to join his friend in observing the vehicle's departure.
Raymond could only watch in abject misery while the car's brake lights faded into distant darkness.
His voice finally managed a graveled whisper when Dembe's hand came to rest on his shoulder.
"My God...What have I done?"
Author's Note: Stick with me, I promise this is going somewhere really, really fun before I ultimately right the ship.
Preview: A Fool's Game
"You're...you're Raymond Reddington."
"Agent Knightley, I must say it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Now, not to jump right into things, but I believe there's a pair of handcuffs in the third drawer of the davenport in your study. You may wish to bring them along."
