The Concierge & The Citadel

by RosalieReddington

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

41. The Mi6 Years: Pt 3- Dr Death Cont'd

The Tripoli Express - Jericho, Israel - July 8th, 2000

Red's head shot up at the sudden disturbance, his feet coming to a halt in the center of the compartment.

The woman who burst through the door was almost unrecognizable.

Rosalie's hair had skirted the small of her back the last time they'd seen each other. The soft honeyed curls now tickled her jawline with each step, shorn in a French bob that was both familiar and very becoming.

"My god," he whispered, "You look so much like Marietta Armel, the resemblance is uncanny…"

Rosalie's posture and stride had changed as well. She now occupied the space with a formidable confidence Red couldn't help but find thrilling as she came toe-to-toe with him.

"Please, take a seat."

He moved to pull out a chair for her, but she had already settled herself in the one opposite the ornate writer's desk situated in the center of the room.

Raymond followed her, taking the seat behind the desk despite how oddly formal it felt.

He took a moment to simply look at Rosalie. His eyes drank in the sight of her as though he had been dying of thirst these past four months.

Shoulders back, chin held high, keen eyes dark and disarming...he felt the urge to reach out and touch her, just to make sure she was real.

Red chuckled from across the desk, the warm sound interrupted by the rumble of the train's wheels below, "You've no idea how difficult it was for me to keep this a secret."

Rosalie, on the other hand, looked as though she might be sick.

"What are you doing here, Raymond?"

An alarm bell rang suddenly inside Raymond's head.

Her clothes...

"You're wearing a suit."

The fitted jacket and slacks Rosalie wore were in her signature deep emerald, the lightweight wool complimented by black detailing throughout. She wasn't wearing a shirt underneath, instead utilizing the buttoned jacket as a top with her bare sternum left perfectly visible in a deep 'v' leading from her delicate neck to mere inches above her navel.

"You once told me your typical uniform played on classic femininity because it put your clients at ease..."

Red got distracted when he caught a glimpse of a platinum chain circling her throat and descending to the base of her sternum only to surge upward and disappear beneath the green fabric covering her chest. The body chain was so fine, had it not caught the light he would have surely missed it and the effect such decoration leant to her physique.

The ensemble looked striking on her, but something about it made Red uneasy. It took him a few long, rather uncomfortable moments of silence to figure out what it was.

"You don't wear androgynous attire when meeting with clients. You always told me that. Why are you wearing it now? What am I missing?"

Rosalie cleared her throat, and Red found that her voice had changed too.

Gone was its gentle warmth, that note of playfulness that had lingered just beneath its surface. Her tone was one of polite coolness when she said, "My coming to this meeting was meant as nothing more than a courtesy. I have no interest in working with your client; I told him that the first time."

One knee crossed over the other, showcasing the black leather mules she wore. They carried a most characteristic heel, shaped precisely like the knight pieces of a chess board.

"The first time?" Red caught the qualifier immediately, "You've met the man before?"

"Once, in Amman."

There was something Rosalie was holding back. Something happened in that exchange that made her deeply uncomfortable.

What did David Edgar do to elicit such dislike?

...And why did he lie about it?

Red pressed the matter once more, "The man you thought you were meeting…you wanted to intimidate him. Why?"

"I would like to stay on topic, please," stated Rosalie, her polite, impassive mask slipping just a touch, "If we aren't going to talk business, then I'm afraid I'll have to leave."

Raymond felt that familiar tension building in the air between them and chased it.

"What happened, Rosalie? What did he say? What did he do in your last meeting?"

"It doesn't matter."

Rosalie's eyes remained fixed on the desk, but Red caught the telltale clench of her jaw. He was right on the cusp of something, he could feel it.

"It does matter if the very thought of seeing that man again made you want to rattle him."

"It's none of your business."

Her cheeks had started to flush hotly. The woman he knew now lingered just beneath her surface. If he just pressed a little more...

"I'm just asking-"

" Stop ." She snapped, at last meeting his gaze, "Please, just stop asking."

Raymond had found Rosalie's tipping point, but the landscape did not look as he'd so fondly remembered. She looked...angry.

"You seem upset-"

"I am upset!"

Rosalie got up and slammed the door shut, garnering identical looks of concern from Dembe and Ted through the round glass window whose curtain she drew shut with a snap. When she whipped around to face him, it was a stranger who Red saw.

"Dammit Raymond, just when I think I'm over you, just when I think I'm okay again you turn up out of the woodwork. You inserted yourself into an exchange I'm already uncomfortable with and you didn't even have the decency to warn me first!"

"You won't talk to me." He countered with a scowl. "You won't take my calls. How the hell am I supposed to warn you, let alone know what you're thinking in regards to an upcoming deal?"

"Why do you think I've become unreachable?" Rosalie threw her arms wide, "Why do you think you can't get through to me? It's because I'm not ready! I'm not ready to talk to you, I'm not ready to be around you, and I'm sure as hell not ready to play criminal with you!"

Raymond watched as though frozen as she began to frantically pace the room.

"You talk to Horace or Teddy every single day; you couldn't have let one of them know so that I wasn't blindsided?"

"I didn't think you would mind it so terribly." He confessed, though he was now thoroughly second-guessing that decision.

"Precisely!" Growled Rosalie, "It hasn't even crossed your mind that your utter refusal to give me the space I need has been putting me through hell. Once again, I'm drawing a line and you're ignoring it, Raymond. For Christ's sake, London was bad enough-"

"I know you were there." He interrupted, grasping at straws, "Why didn't you talk to me? Why didn't you stay?"

"Because I couldn't bear to be at your side."

Rosalie tried to keep her chin lifted defiantly despite the hurt look on Raymond's face.

"...Why?"

The question was asked so softly, so innocently, it made her chest ache.

He truly didn't understand.

"Raymond," she sighed, "Nothing's changed, has it?"

...Has it?

Red sat there for several seconds. He hadn't realized it until that moment, but something had changed, deep down. She didn't know that he knew all about Norrick and Basír, nor that he knew his own syndicate was clear of blame for what happened in Colombia. A part of him was screaming to tell her the truth; that, for now, she was safe with him. Damn the consequences, damn the other threats lurking in the shadows. He could tell Rosalie his syndicate was safe, and that...god, that changed things.

She took his stunned silence as confirmation.

"Nothing's changed for me, either."

Red's head snapped up so quickly it made his neck crick. His thoughts ran wild.

Does that mean...Do you still love me?

The question must have shown in his eyes, because Rosalie crossed her arms and said, "Don't give me that look. You've no idea what it's like trying to get over someone you know still wants-"

"No idea what it's like?" Raymond scoffed, now rising out of his seat, "Ending our relationship was the most painful thing I've had to do in a decade. Letting you walk away was even worse."

"Then why did you let me do it?" She challenged, "Why let me go if you profess to care for me so much?"

The fight died in Raymond's chest, making him deflate before her eyes. His own turned soft and gentle once more, the sight making her uneasy.

"Rosalie, you must know how I feel about you."

He loved her. She had to know he loved her, there was no mistaking it…

"I could no more force you to stay than I could force myself to ignore the fact that some maniac is after the woman I lo-"

Rosalie crossed the room before he could finish that sentence, potent fury and unbridled rage rippling from her in palpable waves.

"Don't you dare tell me you love me now," she snarled, jabbing her finger at his tie, "Don't you dare. 'I love you, Rosalie, so I withdrew from you when you needed me most. I love you, Rosalie, so I robbed you of the right to choose the life you wanted. I love you, Rosalie, so I broke your heart and drove you as far from me as I possibly could!'"

Raymond took a step back.

He had never truly heard Rosalie yell. The deafening volume at which she aired her grievances was punctuated all the more by the furious whisper of her next words.

"How dare you even think of saying those words after what you've taken from me."

"What I took from you?" Red hissed, "Rosalie I did what I thought I had to do to keep you alive. That doesn't for a single second mean that I don't-"

She shook her head vehemently, "If making decisions for us with no regard for what my choice would be is your idea of love...then you. do. not. love me, Raymond."

Each word hit Red's already aching heart to profound effect.

"That's not love," she gritted, pushing back the small tremor which had worked its way into her voice, " Love is steadfast in a fickle world. Love is certain in the face of uncertainty. Love is all that's left standing when everything else crumbles to ruin; and I was there, Raymond. I was atop the rubble waiting for your hand in mine, and you left me there."

"I couldn't..."

He struggled to explain himself this time; a part of him knew he was now eating his words. "I couldn't fathom this life without you in it anymore. Losing you, I couldn't stand it."

Her restless eyes settled on his once more, begging for their understanding, "Exactly. You didn't do it for me, Raymond; you did it for you. Taking that choice from me was nothing more than cruelty in the service of self-preservation. Darling, I-"

Red would have gladly melted into the carpet, so shameful did he feel at the sight of hot, angry tears clinging to her lashes, at the sound of that endearment falling from her lips the way it hadn't in months.

Rosalie shook her head, correcting her mistake, "I've known you to be many things Raymond, but cruel was never one of them. So why now? Why me? Why am I the one who brings out your cruelty?...Is it because you love me?"

A hollow silence stretched between them like a cavernous rift.

"I'm not cruel," he whispered fervently, taking a tentative step closer, "I did what I thought I had to do..."

"You made me lean on you," said Rosalie, finally giving voice to the hurt which had been scalding her from the inside out since the day he had ended their relationship. "You made me rely on you. You made yourself a foundational pillar of my life, assuring me we would build our life as we see fit and then you quit on us when things got difficult."

Raymond had no counter argument for this. He knew, as she did, there was no word of a lie in what she said.

He had coaxed her into relying on him, being vulnerable with him. When Rosalie's world became unsteady, it was Raymond she had clung to.

The way she sought him, confided in him, believed in him...Red couldn't describe the beauty of having such trust placed in his hands.

For a man like him, it was more addictive than any drug on the market.

"D'you want to know the worst thing about it?" She threw her hands up once more and gave him a watery smile, "You weren't even the threat. That's what I've learned in the time you've been gone. The leak is in my network, Raymond. My people are betraying me and I can't fathom who it might be. I don't know if there's a soul in my sphere that I can actually trust...All I know is that it wasn't you. It was never you."

She turned to leave, then stopped once more, her slate eyes holding his green ones with stifling sincerity.

"Even if it had been you; even if being with you would have meant my life would have forever hung in the balance...I want you to know I would have chosen you. Every time. I can't tell you the agony of knowing you wouldn't choose me even once."

Rosalie slid the compartment door open with a bang and walked out with her chin held high, stopping to place a brief kiss to Dembe's cheek before retreating back the length of the train.

Ted Beaumont stepped forward, but rather than follow her, he turned and stepped into Red's compartment.

The towering fugitive Teddy had once known looked little more than an echo of his former self as he stood there in the center of the compartment, so shell-shocked he couldn't bring himself to speak.

"I just wanted to say…" Ted's bravery faltered slightly, but he gathered himself back together long enough to say what needed saying. "I just wanted to say you ought to vet your clients better. The man who set the meeting is a downright cad who called Rosalie some horribly nasty things when she declined his interest. She's angry now, but deep down she would want you to be safe."

Ted's hazel eyes settled on Red, who still hadn't looked up from the floor. "Rosalie's not herself right now, Ray. She wasn't ready for this. Don't take it too personally."

He retreated, shaking Dembe's hand once before hurrying after Rosalie.

Dembe turned and entered the compartment, sliding the door closed behind him. "Now I understand why you were so restless this morning."

"Don't start-" Raymond barked, finally finding his voice. The words lacked their usual fullness.

"You lied to me." Said Dembe, not letting the matter get pushed aside.

"I didn't lie," said Red, "I withheld."

He looked up to find Dembe's normally serene countenance carved into a deep, angry scowl.

"You are hurting her. At every available turn, your actions are cutting into what is left of Rosalie. You knew I wouldn't willingly be a part of it and so you kept it from me. This is not our agreement, Raymond."

Red slumped back into his seat, "I didn't mean to. I didn't think seeing me would hurt her…"

A terse silence enveloped the compartment, heavy with the weight of Dembe's disapproval.

"There were no falsehoods in the dressing-down she gave you."

His tone was still reproachful.

"I know," growled Raymond, rising quickly from his seat.

"Where are you going?" Dembe asked, following the man as he tore through the opposite end of the compartment and pulled his gun from the small of his back.

"I'm going to vent my anger on the only worthy candidate." Red kicked the next car's door in as he fished the silencer out of his coat pocket, "Mr. Edgar! I need a word."

---

Rosalie was seated in the secluded compartment she and Ted had entered on their arrival, eyes focused on the distant dunes which passed by the windows.

Teddy came upon her shoulder minutes after she had left Red's compartment.

"Did you warn him about Mr. Edgar?" She asked, her voice flat and emotionless.

"Yes," said Ted, taking the seat opposite her. "I made sure Dembe heard it as well. They should be more careful from here on out."

A silent nod met this.

"I still can't believe-"

Ted stopped himself.

"What?" She asked.

"I don't know, sometimes..." he gave a small huff, "Sometimes I wonder if Horace has been right about Ray all along. Lately, all he's done is hurt you."

Rosalie slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet beneath her. "Between you and me, I've never wondered that until this very moment. But even now, I can't truly bring myself to believe it."

Ted frowned, "Why not?"

She gave him a watery smile, "Because I saw the way he looked at me. He was exactly as I remembered. Raymond couldn't fathom why seeing him would hurt me, because when it comes to me, there's not a malicious bone in that man's body."

Understanding dawned on Teddy's features. "He doesn't understand that his affection is now painful for you."

"No he doesn't," Rosalie agreed with a heavy sigh.

They sat for several long minutes in total silence, listening to the steady rumble of the train as it barreled toward Jerusalem.

"...Teddy?"

Ted looked up from the hallway where he had been vigilantly observing the passers-by.

"What I said in the compartment earlier, about you and Horace-"

"Rosalie, you have to know we would never betray you like that." Teddy's tone was defensive at having his loyalty called into question, "I dunno, I really thought we had built up a great rapport in Horace's absence...I thought you knew you could trust me as your right hand."

"I agree," sighed Rosalie, "It's just this business with Norrick. There's no chance the elusive Mr. Maharaj didn't have someone else in my sphere at his disposal to pass messages along to Norrick. Someone close to me is a mole, and until I've unearthed who it is, you are all under suspicion."

Teddy sat there for several long moments, thinking.

"Take out your gun." He said at last.

Rosalie's eyes narrowed. "What on earth for?"

Ted stood and drew the curtains on their compartment so nobody would see. "Take out your gun," he repeated, retaking his seat opposite her and resting his hands on his knees.

Rosalie stared at them distractedly, noting the many little scar lines which riddle his knuckles. A tattoo rested on his ring finger, the only ink work she knew him to have and yet she'd never once thought to ask him about.

"Take out your gun, Rosalie."

As though on command, she reached to the small of her back and pulled out the new Beretta '92 she had taken to carrying.

"Remove the safety." Ted advised, keeping his hands on his knees.

Rosalie hesitated, her suspicion mounting by the second. Finally, she removed the safety and leveled the barrel at Teddy's chest, though her finger refused to go anywhere near the trigger.

Something about the action felt wrong.

"You feel that, don't you?" He asked knowingly, "That feeling in your gut that says you don't want to point that thing at me? That's your intuition, Rosalie. You'd feel the same way with Horace."

"No, Teddy." Rosalie grimaced and racked a bullet in the chamber, making Ted's eyes widen. "Loyalty and affection are what make me want to point the gun at anyone but the two of you. Intuition is what tells me that's exactly where I should be pointing."

"I would never betray you." Teddy defended staunchly, "Horace would never betray you. I understand your hesitancy to trust us after the German's plan has been unearthed, but we wouldn't do that to you, Rosalie."

She lowered the gun, put the safety back on, and stowed it at the small of her back once more. "I want very much to believe that...but I need proof, Ted. I'm going to start looking into everyone in my immediate circle. You and Horace included."

"Okay," Ted shrugged, "Go right ahead."

"I need you to promise me something," Rosalie's dark eyes held him unflinchingly, searching for the kind of assurance Ted was only too happy to give. "Raymond's presence here and the things that were said between us can never reach Horace."

A comforting smile calmed her worries at once, "Of course, can trust me."

---

At the other end of the train, Raymond had shunted his way through the compartment door to where David Edgar was seated nursing a cup of tea.

"Mr. Edgar! I need a word."

Upon seeing the wild look in the other man's eyes and the silencer being screwed to his firearm, David leapt up to make a run for it. The tinkling crash of fine bone china shattered the train's quiet as a fine tea set was sent rocketing across the compartment, having been sent airborne by one of David's polished boots.

He hadn't made it more than a few steps from his seat when shards of glass, porcelain, and heavy projectiles began to rain down on him with all manner of calamity.

Red was stalking him through the lengthy carriage, hurling glassware, paperweights, potted plants, anything he could get his hands on to use as a projectile, utterly heedless of the array of faces now trying to peer through the window of his own compartment.

Dembe quickly pressed the automated buttons to close both cars' curtains, ensuring they would not be interrupted as the train was slowing into Jerusalem.

"You lied, David."

Raymond sent his suit coat flying into a nearby chair, the rage he felt insisting he needed full range of motion. His hand shot out to snatch the back of David's collar and rip him backward, sending him crashing into a nearby bar cart.

"You needed my help convincing Rosalie to the deal because she already denied you access. That's dirty pool."

The smell of a dozen different liquors filled the air, mixing with the coppery scent of blood as a measure of the bottles' glass shards embedded themselves in David's back.

The man scrambled to extricate himself from the mess, hissing as the alcohol seeped into the freshly torn wounds. A desperate lunge for the compartment door was met with a bullet blowing through his right knee, sending him sprawling onto the ornate oriental carpet at his feet with a howl of pain.

There was no sympathy in Red's gaze. He'd allowed the rage he felt to consume him like an inferno, and there was no looking back.

"Raymond-"

Dembe's call was duly ignored in favor of Raymond placing the sole of his polished shoe between David's shoulder blades.

He felt a surge of vindictive pleasure when he lowered his weight onto said shoe and heard the other man's spine pop ominously.

"I don't-" David stammered, scrabbling to gain purchase on the rug beneath him, "I- I don't know what you're talking about!"

Red removed his heel from the man's back, bent, and roughly turned him over.

David's face turned a sickly white when his shattered knee was jostled unceremoniously. He looked up to find Raymond Reddington's face mere inches from his own.

"What did you do in her presence to elicit such a reaction?"

"I didn't. I didn't-" David screeched with pain when Red lifted his foot and leaned his weight against the bloody remnants of the man's kneecap. "N-Nothing! I didn't do anything!"

"I tell you what," said Red, setting his blood-soaked heel back on the carpet, "I'll make a call to her bodyguard and find out for myself," he reached into his own pocket and pulled out a burner which he flipped open with a flourish. "If I find out that you've made any untoward advances or called her anything other than miss or madam, know that I'll hogtie you like the stuffed pig you are and gift you to the Iranians. Which would be a shame, because I heard Shike Al Fahrid has developed a newfound fondness for tossing people in the palace scorpion pits, and we all know his deep-seated loathing for the Envoy Collective after that nasty bit of business in Qaemshahr."

Raymond watched David's pupils turn to pinpricks as he pulled the phone to his ear. "No...no..no,no,no!" He whimpered, clawing at Red's pant leg.

"Horace! I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time..."

The whole compartment fell silent while David stared horror struck at Reddington.

'...What do you want, Reddington?'

"Oh, many, many things," said Red, not once lifting his eyes from the sniveling man before him, "A cellar full '82 Chateau Margaux, a ravishing blonde, and a first edition 'Don Quixote' for starters…but for now, I'll settle for you telling me what happened in Rosalie's first meeting with a certain David Edgar."

A pregnant pause stretched through the connection.

'...Is he there with you?'

"Yes."

Another lengthy hesitation.

"Come now, Horace. I know you well enough to know you'd gladly flatten anyone stupid enough to make Rosalie uncomfortable in your presence. I'm not about to believe you aren't the least bit tempted to rat him out on the off-chance I'll break him in half."

David let out a terrified whine.

'...You didn't hear it from me, but Teddy implied that Mr. Edgar threatened her network and called her something particularly crude.'

Reddington's gaze seemed to be burning a hole into David, who started squirming like an ant under a magnifying glass.

"What, exactly, did he call her?"

"I didn't!" David wailed, but it was too late. He could see the exact moment when the woman's guard gave him up.

Reddington's face contorted into a thunderous scowl.

"Thank you, Horace. I am in your debt."

'You can repay me by making the man regret the day he was born.'

The burner snapping shut might as well have been canon fire, so quiet was the rest of the compartment.

Red snatched David's lapels and hoisted him bodily from the floor.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" He snarled, flecks of saliva landing on the man's face. Red slammed him against the nearest wall, pinning him there, "Her empire could swallow your employer whole and spit out the bones, and you have the unmitigated gall to call her a vulgar slur?"

David, unfortunately dazed from impact and blood loss, let his mask of innocence slip. "She's just an innkeeper-"

"And you're just a sniveling pissant who's forgotten his place." Roared Red, cocking his fist only to send it crashing into David's jaw.

Blow after blow landed against the man's face, chest and torso. Blood soon coated Raymond's stinging knuckles.

David's nose and mouth dripped profusely. The chipped remnants of a couple teeth clattered to the floor and one of his eyes was starting to swell shut. He could hardly stand when Red yanked him upright and threw him forcefully into the compartment's opposite side.

The damaged knee didn't have a prayer of holding his weight, and so David went crashing into a delicate little chinoiserie table which exploded into a million tiny splinters upon impact.

"Why would you care?" David huffed, agony etched in every line on his face, "You aren't even one of her clients, she's nothing...nothing to you."

This was the wrong thing to say.

Raymond had slowly been losing steam before that little comment. His rage now seemed to gain a second wind.

"...Nothing?"

The deadly whisper made David tremble.

"She's everything."

The room turned unfathomably cold as Red made his way to where David lay.

"When you're at the top of the food chain everybody wants to be your friend." He snarled, "You think I'm angry? Wait until the kingpins of the underground who call her network home hear about your bullshit. She's a Corsican, and the adopted daughter of Florian Armel. There isn't a player worth their salt that isn't in her network, and anyone looking to have a semblance of standing in the criminal hierarchy would gladly put a bullet in your skull to get into her good graces. Yet you say she's nothing?"

David tried feebly to drag himself away from Red's looming figure, but the man's shadow followed him like an omen.

"No, David. The cold, cruel truth is...you're the one who's nothing."

Another silenced gunshot zoomed through the air. David crumpled to the ground, a rivulet of blood trickling from the newly-made hole in his forehead.

But it was not Raymond who fired the shot.

He spun on the ball of his foot, gun rising in the direction of the opposing party, trigger at the ready. Red pulled back, however, when he saw that one of the interlopers had a gun trained on Dembe, whose hands were raised.

There were two men standing curiously in the doorway leading to Red's compartment. One was obviously a guard, dressed in similar civilian attire to Dembe, on whom his gun was aimed. The other newcomer was a tall, robust man a year or so older than Raymond with deep brown hair and eyes so dark they were nearly black. He was dressed in a fine navy pinstriped suit, a crimson silk tie knotted neatly at his throat.

The man considered Red with a tilt of his head, his still-smoking revolver pointed down where David lay in a heap on the floor.

"Impudent little rat; no wonder he called you in to broker." He holstered the gun and gestured for his man to stand down. Once Dembe had returned to Red's side, the fellow held out his hand with a cunning smirk, "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Reddington, I'm Earl King."

---

The Tripoli Express slowed to a stop in Jerusalem, whereupon Ted and Rosalie hurriedly disembarked.

The latter stopped for a moment on the platform, looking to the third compartment from the train's engine, where Raymond was undoubtedly still.

She had been hard on him, but not without justification. Seeing him there, after all this time, expecting her to fall right into their old lovers' games...something about it just made Rosalie's blood boil.

It was as though she were outside of herself, watching the argument happen from the role of spectator.

Every disgruntled thought, every grievance, every hurt she'd felt in their time apart all queued up to say their peace, to unravel his betrayal of her love at his feet and make him take a good long look.

Though Rosalie loathed to admit it, Dr. Tiller had been right. She was angry, and failing to work through that anger resulted in her taking it out on the wrong person, just as he'd said.

'You told him you liked his surprises.' a reproachful voice in her head reminded her, circling back to that day in Hong Kong when Raymond had surprised her across the table for the first time. 'You used to love going into a deal only to find out he was the broker. You know he did what he did to keep you safe, and yet you called him cruel. How are you any different?'

The hurt look on Raymond's face was now seared in her mind's eye, making it the only thing Rosalie could think of as she turned to follow Ted out of the station and into the waiting town car.

It had been so long since she'd seen him...why did she have to go and blow up like that?

The angry side of Rosalie reared its ugly head once more.

There were no lies in what she said. Yes, perhaps if she'd approached things differently, they could have had a clear, civil conversation, but...

Rosalie continued to stew all the way to the private airport where Caspian waited with Marietta's jet.

When they boarded, however, her silent meditation on Raymond Reddington was upended by Horace's dour face glaring as they walked in.

"What?" She snapped defensively. Her temper, already so close to the surface these days, flared up immediately upon seeing him.

Horace lifted a lone, haughty brow when she chucked her coat and keffiyeh on the seat opposite him. "Word on the street is Raymond Reddington commandeered your meeting with Mr. Edgar."

Rosalie whipped around to level Teddy a look of utmost betrayal.

"It wasn't me!" He insisted immediately, "Rosalie, I've barely been out of your sight since we got back to the compartment."

This got Horace's attention well enough.

"You were going to keep that little tidbit of information from me, were you?"

He and Rosalie glared at each other, a fresh battle of wills forming between them.

"Yes," said Rosalie, "I was going to keep that from you Horace, because I have no interest in listening to you moan on and on about your dislike for Raymond."

Horace shook his head, "You're still so wrapped up in him, you can't even see it, can you?"

"See what?" She snarled, fixing herself a drink before the plane could start taxiing for take-off.

"That you don't mean anything to him."

A frigid hush fell over the cabin.

Teddy inserted himself between them. "That's way out of pocket, Horace. You know that's not true."

Despite their discussion on the train, it seemed he was determined not to allow Horace's bad blood to taint Rosalie's view of Red.

"It is," said Horace, "and she has a right to see him for what he is."

"Stop acting like she can't choose for herself." Ted barked, taking a threatening step forward.

"If I'd been there, none of this would have happened-"

"He was the broker, you twit!"

Horace leapt from his seat, getting right in Teddy's face. "So what if he was the broker. You vetted the client this time, how did you miss that?"

"How would any of us have known Edgar called in a broker?!"

The two men sneered at each other, months' worth of animosity getting churned up with each back and forth.

"I'm just saying," said Horace cooly, "Had I been there, I would have turned her right back around so she didn't have to face him again."

"He barely managed two words with her!" Teddy bellowed, "It wasn't as though he were haranguing her up one side and down the other. She finally got to give him a piece of her mind!"

"At what cost?" Horace snapped, throwing his arms wide, "She got to vent at him, yes, but at what cost to her? She was doing just fine before he turned up again. She was getting better."

"You're barking mad-"

"He's right, Ted."

Rosalie's cool, even voice took both men by surprise. They turned to see her stirring the contents of her glass.

"Is that what you want, Horace?"

She leveled him a glare so fearsome he shrank a little.

"Is that what you need to hear from me for you to stop acting like such an abominable boar? You're right. I was doing well until today." Rosalie blew a long, heavy sigh through her nose, "Things were getting better, but I was still holding onto that anger. You can bitch and moan that you would have handled it differently, but the fact of the matter is Teddy was there and you were not."

The two guards spared each other another contemptible glance.

"I've been fighting tooth and nail to get the space I need to heal from all of this, and I, for one, am grateful Teddy knew well enough to stand down and let me have that space." Rosalie raised her glass in gratitude, "So the pair of you stop bickering. I'm fine. We're all fine. The sun will still rise and set tomorrow in spite of it all."

Horace did not seem to agree with this.

"But the client-" he began. Rosalie cut him off.

"I don't give two shits about the client." She said, her tone acidic. "Horace, whether Raymond had been there or not, I was going to turn down David and his client with no small amount of explicatives. He disrespected me, and frankly I don't need the headache his client would undoubtedly cause. By all means, today was no loss. So for god's sake, just let it go."

He scowled when she downed half her cocktail and waved Teddy over, pulling out the folio she'd received from Hayashida that morning so they could mull things over.

---

Dembe rummaged through David Edgar's pockets, pulling out the two burners that resided within and pocketing them before he and Mr. King's bodyguard hoisted the man's body into the gap between the cars.

They would wait until the train was well into the Israeli wilderness before pitching the corpse overboard.

"My apologies for the mess," Red was saying idly, taking a brief, furtive look around the absolute carnage he had left in his wake.

There was glass, toppled furniture, and all manner of shattered valuables laying pell-mell all over the place, a fair amount of it spattered with blood.

"Nonsense," said Earl, waving for his man to grab a pair of crystal glasses and one of the few unharmed bottles of amber liquor still remaining. "I'll have a cleaning crew board in Bethlehem and the proprietors will be none the wiser."

The foursome trudged through the wreckage single file, closing the door once they were all back in Red's compartment.

He and Earl took opposite seats in the car's far corner, settling into the plush leather club chairs with similar groans of satisfaction.

The latter took the offered bottle and glasses from his associate, unstoppered the vintage and poured them each a stout couple fingers.

Raymond took the beverage with a toast of thanks. He grimaced as he habitually flexed his fingers, feeling the jagged cuts reopen with the action.

Earl turned to his associate once more, "Get the man an ice pack and a first aid kit, will you? Those knuckles look like minced beef."

The man nodded and left the room, and Earl's eyes flitted expectantly toward Red.

"Dembe, please make sure the proprietors aren't looking into the disturbance David and I made. Once you've managed that, reach out to Cuthbert and request that he meet us at the safe house in London tomorrow evening."

Dembe nodded curtly and left the room as well.

Red & Earl eyed each other with a mixture of interest and caution.

"Raymond Red Reddington; can I call you Red?"

Raymond nodded, still considering the other man with polite but wary curiosity.

"I take it this young innkeeper is important to you."

The blatant interest Earl showed in his and Rosalie's connection unnerved Red. He tried desperately to remember if he'd uttered anything incriminating during his thrashing of David Edgar, but his memory remained a rage-fueled haze.

"She is a close associate," he replied a little too casually, "I have a great deal invested in her syndicate, and she in mine. It's a symbiotic tight rope act, but it has worked to our flagrant profit these past few years. She's merely an asset I am most eager to protect."

His expression remained schooled as Earl's man returned with a cold pack and first aid kit. Red promptly took the offered items and set about cleaning his tattered knuckles.

Earl's scrutiny didn't waver. "You were livid at his slight toward her. I too am a man of chivalry, but your fury bordered on personal affront..."

Raymond hissed as the alcohol seared a burning path along every cut.

"I find dispassion to be the businessman's best friend." He lied smoothly, "However, business at our tier of the criminal food chain is based first and foremost on respect. David was merely found lacking."

A tight-lipped grin spread across Earl's face. "I like you, Red. You're much more my speed. You've got old money principles, not like these young bucks with their cheap suits and entitled bullshit, trying to make a million at any price...What's your bread and butter?"

"I'm a broker mostly," said Red, starting to wrap his newly-dressed fist. "However, I admit I dabble in just about everything. You?"

"Dispassion may be the businessman's best friend, but diversification is his mistress," Earl inclined his head knowingly, "I'm very much the same, in a way. My family and I specialize in the trade of certain commodities. What do you know about the underground in South America?"

Red couldn't help but give a derisive snort, "Not much, I lost my first fortune outside of Asunción."

Earl roared with laughter, "I like a man with nerve. If you've never lost something, you've never truly taken a gamble."

He watched as Red finished wrapping his hand and rested the cold pack on it with a comfortable sigh.

"How would you consider being my conservative consigliere on an investment I'm making?"

"What is it you're hunting for?" Red countered, swallowing the last of his scotch and nodding his gratitude when Earl topped off the glass.

"There's a massive natural gas site out on the Altiplano owned by a competitor, who is currently fighting with the Bolivian government for fracking rights. If he manages to get them, the interests I hold in the southeastern corner of the country will be practically worthless. I need to keep him from cutting the deal with the higher-ups in La Paz."

Raymond's brow puckered in a frown. "How were you planning to do that?" He asked, crossing one leg over the other, "A well-timed chain of protests and riots calling on the site's shut-down could easily get the job done."

Earl shook his head, "I was planning for something a bit more substantial. The kind of investment that could make us both astronomically wealthy...How do you feel about organizing a military coup?"

"A coup?" Red's brows flitted toward his hairline, "I find them to be volatile, difficult to predict and impossible to control with any accuracy. Why a coup?"

Earl smirked, "Why settle for blocking my opponent's path when I can stone wall him and line my pockets at the same time?"

"I see. You want to cut off his potential revenue and increase the value and quantity of your own assets as well."

"Yes," said Earl, "And I need to put a few of my own supporters in positions of power in order to do that."

Raymond sat for several long moments mulling the proposition over.

"I'm willing to help Earl, but I won't gamble my own finances on a coup. It's bad business; I don't trust it."

Earl shrugged, "I can front the capital. We can negotiate a forward rate as you see fit." He grinned slyly, "You're not as bullish as I thought you were. That's good; I like having at least one cool head in my corner."

Red chuckled, "As my father used to say: 'Pigs eat, hogs get slaughtered.' I make it a point to keep my ship as even-keeled as possible. I can do the same for you."

The two shook hands and toasted their glasses before relaxing into their seats once more.

A cleaning crew trooped through the compartment with bags and cleaning supplies in tow once the train stopped in Bethlehem, and Earl waited until they were alone once more to bring up his next proposition.

"Now, about that innkeeper friend of yours...What's her name?"

Raymond kept his expression neutral, though his every nerve ending seemed to go on edge at the mention of his companion.

"Rosalie."

"Lovely," said Earl, heavy fingertips tapping rhythmically on his glass, "Since David failed so spectacularly at gaining her cooperation, I hoped that you might be willing to step in, for a healthy finder's fee, of course."

"Why not just seek out another innkeeper?" Raymond suggested evenly, "I'm not opposed to assisting you in the matter," he added earnestly, "It's something I have done for other parties a number of times before. However, the proxy you hired made such a horrid impression, it will take some time to unravel the damage."

Earl nodded his understanding, "Time is on my side in that regard. As for why I cannot seek out another innkeeper, it is because I need the best of the best, and Rosalie is it. My brothers are hunting for her as we speak, and I simply cannot tolerate them contracting her before I do."

Another snort of laughter left Red's lips, "A little sibling rivalry, eh?"

He was surprised to see Earl's countenance darken to a haughty frown.

"You wouldn't understand; you're not a King."

"Right..." said Red, "How much time can you give me?"

Earl considered him for a moment, "If you can instigate the deal by the first quarter of next year, I'll be content. My deadline is two years from then. that should give her ample time to get the safe houses completed."

Raymond set his glass back on the tabletop and held out his uninjured hand once more. "It's a deal then."

Earl took it with a devilish grin, "Deal."

---

Black Site #88: "The Abbey" - London, United Kingdom - July 9th, 2000

Raymond and Dembe landed back in London the following evening feeling jet lagged and dog tired.

The two had no more than pulled the car into the safety of the Abbey's underground confines when the burner rang expectantly, making them both groan.

Dembe answered it once they'd boarded the elevator. The glass wall was the only thing holding him up while he listened to the quickly chattering voices on the other end. "The DC6 want to meet." He grumbled lowly, not bothering to cover the microphone, "They've got Alan Edgar in custody."

Raymond gave an irritable sort of grunt which Dembe took as agreement.

"We will have our transport team waiting at the Bull's Head when you are ready."

Once Dembe had hung up on the DC6, Red added, "When you've finished with Christopher, please give Dr. Tiller a call and let him know I need to push back our session by a half-hour or so."

Dembe considered him with something akin to relief. "I was supposed to have a session with him tomorrow, I can take mine today so he does not have to alter his plans."

"Good," said Red, "I'll meet with him once the two of you have finished."

The capsule arrived on the Abbey's ground floor with a 'ding' to reveal Kate Kaplan, who promptly bullied them toward the lounge to decompress before the team of agents could arrive.

---

The DC6 arrived a short twenty minutes later with Alan Edgar in tow.

Raymond had stared lazily as they handcuffed their gagged and struggling prisoner into one of the dining room's seats.

"Where's Emma?" He asked expectantly, looking around at the others.

Emma raised her hand.

She was at the opposite corner of the table, with her back to Red so he could only see the back of her head, over which she had drawn the hood of her sweater.

Something about it seemed off.

Raymond circled the table, not once taking his eyes off her hooded figure.

When he reached the opposite end, she rotated so she was facing profile.

"What are you doing?" He asked abruptly, leaning over to catch her eye.

The striking blue iris blinked back at him.

"Nothing," she said, keeping her face turned to the side.

"The hell it is," growled Red, cupping her chin and forcing her to look up at him.

The hood shifted, illuminating the left side of her face where a purple and yellow bruise had blossomed from the apple of her cheek to her eyebrow. Her left eye was almost completely swollen shut.

A thunderous look was cast toward the other agents.

"What the hell happened?"

Sika, Skip, and Ezra all looked down at the table, a frisson of chagrin whispering in the space between them.

"It's not their fault-" Emma began, but one querulous look from Red silenced her.

"What. Happened?"

Sika lifted her head at last and muttered, "There was a minor altercation when we went in to make the arrest. Ezra and I ran point into the establishment, while Emma and Skip covered the back exit."

Red gestured for her to continue.

"When we informed Mr. Edgar he was under arrest, he flipped the table and made a break for it out the back door, where he happened upon Skip and Emma...having a bit of a row."

Skip's face turned a sickly green.

"What happened then?" Asked Red, holding the weight of his disapproving gaze on Skip's bowed head.

"There was a scuffle. Edgar swung, Skip managed to dodge the punch but...Emma got caught in the crossfire."

Raymond turned to Alan Edgar's bound body with a snarl.

The man flinched.

"I see..."

A collective shiver ran around the room. Red turned back to the agents with a growl.

"The four of you can't manage a simple snatch and grab without leaving one of your own to the wolves? Honestly, had I known the MI6 was this painfully inept, I would have chosen differently. Back to the bilge-pump, all of you. I have ways of making Mr. Edgar talk. He'll provide the necessary intel on the Jailbreaker when he's decided he's had enough."

Albert cleared his throat as Alan started flailing about in his chair. "You know we can't let you keep him, Red. We need to book him into custody if this arrest is going to stick."

Raymond rolled his eyes. "I'll make you a deal; you can hold him while my man from the states is making his way here. Until then, he has no contact with the outside world. I mean it." He gave the whole team a look of utmost seriousness, "None of this by-the-book bullshit. Until he cracks he goes into the no-man's-land that is the Cromwell's holding cells. No phone call. No lawyer. Not so much as a carrier pigeon. Understood?"

The others nodded and rose to file out of the room one by one, Skip and Ezra hoisting Alan Edgar out of the seat and taking him with them.

"Agent Knightley."

Emma stopped in her tracks, turning to peer cautiously up at Red when they were once again alone.

He reached out and gently cupped her cheeks with warm palms.

Her eyelids fluttered as a broad thumb brushed tenderly over the apple of her cheek, where the bruise was darkest.

"Are you alright?" He murmured, brow still puckered with concern.

"It's just a bruise, I'll be fine."

She found herself unconsciously leaning into him.

"What did Colin have to say?"

The reminder of Emma's husband snapped her body upright once more.

"Er...Well, he wasn't happy. He's over at his mum's for a bit."

Raymond frowned, "Assure him it won't happen again. Obviously the rest of the team can't be trusted to keep you safe. The next time I send you in undercover, it will be under my care."

Emma felt her cheeks burn white-hot.

"Thanks," she murmured shyly, a soft smile brightening her face. She winced when the action made her face smart something awful.

"I'll send Kate tomorrow morning with a few topical remedies," he added decisively, releasing her and turning to fix himself a cup of tea, "I've needed to cover up my share of shiners over the years; we might not be able to undo it, but we can certainly make it heal faster."

He looked up to see Emma blinking dazedly back at him. "Are you sure you'll be alright at home on your own? You're welcome to stay here at the Abbey. There's plenty of room-"

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, a tad breathlessly. "I should get going; the others are waiting. Goodnight, Red."

"Goodnight."

Raymond's mind was already far away when Dembe rounded the corner of a nearby painting five minutes later.

"Dr. Tiller is ready for you."

Red stood and patted his shoulder in thanks, "When Alan eventually caves and Agent Boateng initiates his transfer, we will need to intercept. Reach out to Toddrick and Wallace, they can run point." He looked back at the notable silence, and only then did he notice how Dembe's eyes were bloodshot and tired, "On second thought, just pass it along to Kate. She can handle it while you get some rest."

Dembe nodded exhaustedly and set out to find Kate so he could go to bed.

---

Dr. Tiller was already waiting in the master suite's sitting area when Red arrived.

The man smiled genially and gestured for Raymond to take the seat opposite him.

"Can I interest you in some tea?" Red asked, trying for politeness.

Tiller's eyebrows flitted toward his hairline, "No, thank you. I must say, I'm rather surprised to see you so soon after how our last session ended."

No hint of a blush stained Raymond's complexion. "I apologize for the outburst. I was taken by surprise and found I didn't like it much."

"That's understandable," said Dr. Tiller. His hand gestured for Raymond to begin, "What brings you into session today?"

"I need your help." Raymond murmured, his voice turning uncharacteristically soft, "Please, help me understand."

"Understand what?" Tiller asked, brow furrowed.

"Rosalie. Her anger. Help me understand her side of this rift."

"What happened?"

"I was approached for a business deal." Raymond hurriedly recounted what happened on the Tripoli Express verbatim, his mind replaying the entire exchange for him in vivid technicolor.

"I've seen her angry before, but this...It was like releasing a tiger from its cage. She's not the kind of person to be unjustly angry but I simply don't understand."

Dr. Tiller's head bobbed rhythmically, his pen zooming across his notepad all the while. "Well Ray, you've always told me you prefer people to be straightforward with you. Would you rather I be blunt?"

"Yes."

The response was curt but sincere. Red's eyes never left Tiller's, their look expectant.

Tiller took a deep breath and set his notebook aside, "Raymond, your constant need for control is getting dangerously close to irreparably destroying the most honest relationship you've ever had."

Raymond felt his top lip curl in spite of himself, but he kept his mouth shut tight.

"Your intentions were noble, I agree, but they were also selfish. A part of you keeps forgetting that Rosalie is not someone you can control or make decisions for when you are the one afraid of being hurt."

"I'm not afraid."

Cuthbert wasn't fooled.

"You are, Raymond. You're terrified of what losing Rosalie would do to you, whether you could continue the monumental task you've set out for yourself after such a loss." He leaned forward, "And that's all perfectly normal when you love someone. There's nothing wrong with you for feeling that way."

"Then why is she so angry?" Red pleaded, "I know she wanted our life together, but she must realize what I'm trying to do? If I can just get the German out of the way, that would be a start-"

Dr. Tiller interrupted, "Raymond, Rosalie isn't some petulant child, angry because she's been denied something she wants. That is the piece of this that you're missing. Rosalie's angry because you decided you knew what was best for her. She took on your life together and all that it would entail, even after Colombia, but you wouldn't let her make that decision. It doesn't matter that your intentions were good, you took away the life she chose for herself despite it being the life you wanted too."

Raymond scrubbed his face with his hands. "She said I was cruel, that I didn't choose her."

"Do you believe that's true?" Asked Tiller with a tilt of his head.

"No," said Red, earnestly, "She doesn't understand it...but I did choose her. I chose her life over everything. Over us. I didn't want to-"

A shaky breath forced its way into his lungs.

"Keep going," Tiller encouraged, waiting for him to find his voice.

"I didn't want to push her away either." Raymond confessed at last, "I thought going back to my bachelor existence would be unpleasant, but much like riding a bike. I convinced myself that after a while, I would fall back into my old life and the mere thought of her wouldn't make me ache anymore but...it's been hell. The only thing making it worthwhile was the belief that she was safer outside of my sphere, but now I don't even have that to cling to."

An eyebrow lifted towards Tiller's hairline, "You know about the leak she's discovered in her network?"

Raymond nodded, quickly explaining how Cedric had called him and told him everything a few short weeks ago. He shook his head, "I pushed her away and now she's in even more danger, all because of me."

"It is good that you recognize you were the one to push her away...but is everything your fault, Raymond?"

The question made Red falter.

"Pardon?"

Tiller shrugged, "I broke my coffee cup on the way to the airport this morning, were you responsible for that?"

"I..." Raymond frowned, "No?"

"Ms. Øllegaard becoming an innkeeper, are you responsible for that too?"

"No," said Red, a little more forcefully, "What's your point?"

Dr. Tiller picked up his notepad, "What I'm getting at is that you seem positively hell-bent on becoming the martyr for every bad thing in Rosalie's life, and I truthfully don't understand where that's coming from."

"I've put her at risk," Raymond reiterated, "The people prying their way into her network are there because they're looking for me."

"So?"

"So?" Red repeated, gaping like a fish.

The response seemed so callous, so inadequate, it made his blood boil all over again. "I've set her in the crosshairs of who knows how many vicious criminals, and that's your response?"

"Raymond, Rosalie is a criminal innkeeper," Tiller reminded gently, "Hiding people whom others are hunting is her entire life's work. She knew the risks associated with it, with you, and she took up that role anyway. Her being pursued by your enemies is an occupational hazard at best."

"An occupational hazard?" Raymond barked, finding the man's cavalier attitude offensive, "You don't get it, do you? You don't understand at all." He rose from his seat, pacing the room to keep his anger at bay, "And how could you? You work in the underground, but you aren't a part of it. You have no idea what it's like to live this life."

"Then help me to understand, Raymond."

Tiller took up his pen and waved the man on, giving him the floor once more.

"It's like…" Red searched for the correct words, "It's like your entire life is surrounded by this cold, damp, darkness. It seeps into everything. Your clothes, your skin, your guts, your dreams. Everything is dank and derelict and god , underneath it all you're so miserable, but then-"

He halted at the foot of the bed, turning to lift his eyes to the massive stained glass mosaic which loomed above, its colors just beginning to come alive beneath fledgling shocks of moonlight.

"Then you meet someone like her, and she's like a lit match in that dark room."

The statement gave Tiller pause. The scratching of pen on paper ceased as he stared openly at his client, whom he could tell was unknowingly on the cusp of a massive breakthrough.

A small smile tugged at Raymond's lips, "You look at her and you wonder when you forgot what a match was...But then she takes you by the hand and casts herself on the hearth that is your heart and for once, everything's bright. For once, everything's soft and gentle. For once, you're warm and safe and understood."

Tiller's countenance softened, "That sounds like a wonderful thing, Raymond. I can't imagine why anyone would want to give that up."

"I know I was wrong to push her away, but I don't know where to begin to try and get back to that." Any semblance of a smile fell from Red's face. "I'm terrified if I look too long, if I hold her too close, there'll come a day when all that is good and kind and loving in her will be destroyed because I was too selfish; because I couldn't give up her love."

He turned back to Tiller, "The way she made me feel...the thought of never feeling that way again is crushing; but the thought of watching my world rip her apart right before my eyes is a reality I cannot endure."

---

Two Weeks Later...

Black Site #113: "The Alexander" - Sitka, Alaska - July 23rd, 2000

"Hayashida, he's absolutely gorgeous."

Rosalie had just stepped over the threshold of her newest black site, The Alexander.

Located in the sheltered cove of a private island Rosalie had purchased years ago, Alexander was a beautiful, robust log and stone home named for the port whose waters it shared.

Various construction teams had finished weatherproofing just in time for her arrival along with a massive cold front bringing with it a torrent of tumultuous thunderstorms. They were now bustling about inside, carrying flooring and electrical supplies to various rooms throughout the house.

Hayashida rushed forward with a pair of hard hats in hand, handing one each to Rosalie and Horace. "I recommend you keep your boots and jackets on. Just because he's weatherproof doesn't mean he's very comfortable to move around in just yet."

The pair donned their hats and the latter nodded to Rosalie, indicating that he would remain at the entrance so she could meet with Hayashida alone.

Hayashida led her through the basement floor first, showcasing the home's off-grid capabilities, as well as the walled-up partitions for a bunker-style pantry and wine cellar. The first floor held a spacious kitchen, formal seating area and study, as well as two of the home's three guest rooms.

"I took the liberty of including a small gardening room off the rear suite," he gestured toward the windowed room in question, "There will be raised garden beds in the lot's far corner come next summer. That way, your property manager can plant and harvest a variety of fresh foods here onsite."

Rosalie beamed at the tilled section of landscape leading from the corner of the house into a sequestered clearing near the forest's edge. "That's a fantastic idea."

Hayashida smiled at her praise, then ushered her around to the rear of the home, where a stairwell had already been built leading down onto a rocky slope. "There's one more addendum I made to the floor plan without your express consent; I do hope you will forgive me, but when we unearthed it while setting the foundations, I simply couldn't let the space go unutilized."

Rosalie peered around the corner, her curiosity sufficiently piqued.

She grinned at Hayashida again and gladly allowed him to rest her hand in the crook of his arm as they descended the makeshift staircase into the house's rocky underbelly.

A cool breeze could be felt coming along the stone hall, but it was mixed with something hot and humid.

The tunnel he led her down grew darker and darker until they reached the far end, where a sharp turn brought them into a bright space that made Rosalie gasp.

A long embankment of roughly hewn granite in a cacophony of different colors came right up to the doorway's edge. Stone steps were carved into the rocks past the threshold, disappearing into the depths of a crystal clear hot spring.

"My god..." Rosalie murmured, admiring how the stalactites clung to the cavern's ceiling, which sloped toward a wide gap in the rocks that gave a stunning view of the crescent-shaped bay beside the house.

"We found it about a month ago," Hayashida explained, pleased by her excitement, "With it being so close to the house, I couldn't resist having a granite cutter come in and open the space to the exterior. The hot spring hovers at a balmy 101 degrees fahrenheit, and is fed by the thermal activity running the southeastern edge of Alaska. It will be a magnificent addition to the abode year-round."

Rosalie actually laughed, "Good lord Hayashida, your intuition for these things is remarkable." She ascended the short steps leading into the stone cavern so she could get a better look, the hot, steamy air turning her cheeks a rosy pink. "I absolutely love it."

She turned to see a wide grin had taken over Hayashida's features. "I am most glad. Shall I show you the rest of the house?"

He held out a helping hand, which she took with a nod and followed him out of the cavern.

On the home's second floor sat the third guest bedroom and the master suite.

Upon entering the master bedroom, Hayashida pulled out a clean tarp which he draped over the pallet of flooring materials which were situated in the center of the room.

"So," he said, guiding Rosalie to sit on the tarp, "Sofia assured me this is roughly where the bed will be once everything is completed..."

"Wow..." she murmured, looking up at the soaring ceilings and the bank of square windows which made up the whole of the bedroom's south and east sides.

Hayashida took a seat next to her and pointed beyond the windows. "You'll have a lovely view here through the trees, especially in the winter. I came out to survey the spot back in December and it was simply stunning with the falling snow making the property so beautifully quiet. This will be a wonderful place for you or your clients to get away from it all."

Rosalie beamed once again, "Hayashida, you outdid yourself. This is exactly what I had in mind for this place." She turned and sniggered, "If you're leveraging for a raise, it's yours."

Hayashida let out a throaty, genuine laugh. "Well now that you mention, there is something I was hoping to ask of you..."

"Name it," said Rosalie, "After everything you've done for my network, I'm happy to lend a hand however I can."

"Well it's not so much a request for assistance as it is a request for your presence," he muttered, his cheeks growing hot. He looked furtively up at her, "A friend of mine is hosting the premiere of a spectacular new Hasegawa Tōhaku exhibit in Kyoto on Friday. I would be honored if you would accompany me as my date for the evening."

The quiet in the suite was only broken up by the sound of construction crews working below. Rosalie had frozen on the spot, admittedly taken aback by the sudden proposition.

"Hayashida..." she began, but he quickly added:

"If I have perhaps misread our easy camaraderie I will of course ask your forgiveness. Know that it was merely my awareness that your previous companion has been gone for some months and the recollection of you once mentioning your fondness for Tōhaku's work that made me believe now might be the opportune time to ask."

A smile that felt more like a grimace tugged at Rosalie's lips.

"Hayashida, I'm terribly flattered..."

"Ah..." he nodded his understanding, "But?"

Rosalie sucked a breath in through her teeth, stealing a furtive glance only to find him regarding her with gentle reassurance.

"But I'm not in the mental space to be seeing anyone right now," she explained, "You yourself have pointed out that I'm battle weary. This year has not been kind-"

"I understand," Hayashida soothed expertly, "I don't wish to pressure you into accepting a proposition which you don't want-"

"It's not you," Rosalie blurted, feeling awkward, "Truly, at any other time I would be happy to accept. I'm just...I'm not in a place to be dating anyone. Right now I just desperately need solitude."

He gave a wry smile but nodded all the same. "That's perfectly understandable, and I will of course honor your decision. If you would indulge me for a moment longer..."

Hayashida waited until Rosalie nodded before continuing.

"I would be remiss if I didn't make it known that when, and only when, solitude is no longer your need...I would be most happy to throw my hat in the ring."

Rosalie smiled in spite of herself.

Hayashida smiled back.

A not altogether uncomfortable silence unfurled in the space between them, and for once, Rosalie found herself thinking of what life after Raymond could look like.

---

Rosalie and Horace left the black site twenty minutes later through the covered boathouse where they boarded the wooden speedboat which had carried them there.

Rosalie turned the key, then slowly backed the shining hull out of the dock and out onto the open water.

They had rounded the bend that marked the edge of Alexander's sheltered cove before either of them spoke.

Horace had been glancing furtively at Rosalie every few seconds, trying to gauge her mood.

To his surprise, a quarter of a mile past the cove, she cut the engine and slumped into the captain's chair with a huff.

"Do you have a joint?"

The question came so far out of left field, Horace let out a barking laugh. "I beg your pardon?"

"I know you carry three or four at any given time in that old metal cigarette case you keep in your breast pocket." Rosalie pouted, holding out an expectant hand, "Come on, hand it over."

Horace chuckled and rummaged in his jacket for the item in question. Plucking a rolled cigarette from the bunch, he put it to his lips, lit the end and took a long drag before passing it to Rosalie with a smirk. "Look at you, bumming joints from your security like old times. Next thing I know, you're going to drag me to the beach in the dead of night."

"What?" Rosalie blew out a long plume of smoke and took another drag before passing it back to him. "I've done no such thing."

"Do you not remember that night in Ajaccio?" He asked, taking a hit and handing it back, "I'd just started as your bodyguard. You'd only been at Florian's side for ten months...It was so bloody hot that night, and you wanted to go walk the beach."

She giggled around the end of the blunt, "Oh I remember now. God, you were such a stick in the mud."

Horace scoffed and snatched it back from her. "I was doing my best to keep you safe. If you recall, you were a tad unruly there at the beginning."

Rosalie cackled merrily, recalling those days with increasing fondness, "I was a willful youth. I think I ended up bribing you, in the end."

Another snort of laughter left her companion. Though, when Rosalie turned, she found Horace's countenance wistful and nostalgic.

"You said, and I quote, 'Get your ass in a swimsuit and come stroll the beach with me, Horace. I only live once and I'll be damned if you keep me from frolicking in the rising tide whenever I damn well please.'" He grinned at her, "That was less of a bribe and more of a threat."

"Ah well, it got you in the water," she shrugged, obviously still pleased with herself.

Despite their smiles, the conversation had turned rather maudlin.

They sat side by side as the water rocked them back and forth, passing the joint back and forth.

"You walked the beach with me for hours," Rosalie recalled, "You listened as I told you everything that brought me to Corsica; I could tell you things back then."

Horace passed the joint to her beckoning fingers.

"You can tell me things now, Rosalie."

"...Can I?" Her tone was dubious, "I'm not so sure anymore"

"Of course you can," said Horace, easing the cigarette from her fingertips. "You know, deep down, I'm always going to be your right hand man."

The statement gave Rosalie pause.

Her frown drooped into a scowl and she could only sit in silence for several long moments while they passed the blunt back and forth. Finally, she turned to her guard and gave voice to the wedge she knew still lingered between them.

"Horace, Teddy is my right hand." She waited until he turned to meet her gaze, ensuring he did not misunderstand her, "You gave up that role in my life when you left."

Her eyes stung with tears and she quickly looked away, no longer able to hold his discontented stare.

"You left me at the worst possible moment. I don't know how you could do that. I don't know why our friendship didn't mean more to you, why I didn't mean more to you than that; but I haven't forgotten. I offered you a job, not your old job."

Horace's tone turned rather cold.

"You're really going to call me out on leaving when you did the very same thing?"

"When?" Rosalie balked, twisting about to scowl at him once more, "When the hell did I leave you anywhere?"

"Corsica." He stated curtly, "You left me in Corsica while you ran off to build the empire you and I had talked about building for nearly three years."

Rosalie simply stared at him. "I...Horace, what did you expect from me? You weren't my employee, you were a Corsican bodyguard. I couldn't just take you with me-"

"That's exactly what I expected you to do. That's what everyone expected you to do." Horace shot out of his seat, making the boat rock. Rosalie caught the sullen glance he threw over his shoulder at her.

"Everyone expected that I would join you as your second in command, the gatekeeper to your empire...Instead, you disappeared off the face of the earth for two years only to turn up in Bulgaria for a deal."

"Florian came to me and told me it was my time at last. He was going to see you; a wealthy fugitive he knew and trusted had taken a liking to your network and you were on the cusp of something life-changing."

He turned around, staring at Rosalie so intently it made her stomach flutter.

"You needed me." He whispered, handing her the joint once more, "You needed guards who were as ambitious as you were, so I brought in Otto Henschke. You needed men who were loyal and malleable, so I brought on Teddy as well. I had it all planned out, and when I got there..."

A heavy sigh rushed from his lips.

"When I got there you were just as I remembered, but you were entangling yourself with a criminal the likes of which none of us had been prepared for."

"You hated him then and there." Rosalie deduced, unblinking when Horace jutted his chin obstinately.

"Yes."

"You did a bang up job of hiding it that first year." She replied coolly, "You even pushed me toward him for a while."

Horace shook his head, "I thought it was a momentary infatuation. The sooner you gave into it the sooner the two of you would tire of one another."

A smile pulled at Rosalie's lips, though it did not reach her eyes.

"Well, that backfired spectacularly, didn't it?"

"It made me hate him all the more," Horace confided earnestly.

A scoff fell from Rosalie's lips. She shoved the cigarette back into his grasp. "I can't help but notice you hate a lot of the people I love."

Horace's face remained impassive.

"A lot of the people you love are careless with your life and business. I won't apologize for trying to spare you the pain of another Francis."

"You weren't even there during the whole Francis debacle." Rosalie reminded with a defensive frown.

"I wish I had been," said Horace, "Perhaps you would have trusted me more. But you didn't trust me or anyone else when you were handling the aftermath. Only darling Cedric."

He took one last drag and flicked the tail end of the joint into the sea, "It seems like Cedric, Dembe, and bloody Raymond Reddington are the only people you trust these days."

Rosalie nodded. "Ah. Teddy told you then."

She was of course referring to the words which had been exchanged between her and Raymond in the train's compartment.

"No," said Horace. His black eyes held her with an intense scrutiny, "You've been relying on us less and less. Even Teddy, who's your right hand man, the one you are apparently keeping secrets with. Yet you don't have either of us working on any in-depth work within the network anymore."

"Right." Rosalie reached into the depths of her coat and pulled out her firearm and leveled it at Horace's torso. "No sense in beating around the bush then."

His black eyes narrowed beneath a furrowed brow. "What...What are you doing?"

"I am beyond tired, Horace; tired of trying to find out who's on my side and who's working against me. There's a mole in my network, and I can't tell you how tempting it is to just burn the damn thing to the ground and start over."

"You'd be out of your mind-"

"Trust me, I'm nearly there."

Rosalie didn't so much as blink.

"The German has been working with someone in my intimate circle. There are perilously few of you, so none of you can be spared from suspicion."

Horace's face twisted into a look of utmost betrayal. "Nearly my entire criminal upbringing has been spent helping you survive so that you can build your network. Why the hell would I throw that all away Rosalie?"

"I've been asking myself that since you left," she said, adding, "Don't worry, I've asked the same questions of Teddy."

"Yes, sainted Teddy," Horace sighed, "I wonder, did you hold him at gunpoint or was that reserved only for the likes of me?"

Rosalie smiled.

His wallowing came to a stuttering halt. "You...You pulled a gun on Teddy?"

Again, she smiled. "As I said, you're all under suspicion."

"Okay," Horace let out a long steady exhale, "That I can understand."

"I want to make this abundantly clear," said Rosalie, rather surprised he was taking it so well, "I've given everyone in my circle until the end of the week to come forward and confess their betrayal without deadly consequences. After that, I'm going to start looking into everyone."

Horace nodded, "I would advise you to do the same."

He reached into his pocket and handed her his burner.

"You can start with me. I have nothing to hide."

Rosalie took the object and pocketed it, stowing her gun in the process.

"Thank you."

Horace shrugged, "If it means you'll trust me again, you can turn my whole life inside out."

The pair chuckled to themselves, the boat settling into a comfortable silence once more.

"You were right about Hayashida." Rosalie picked herself up and returned to the captain's seat only to fiddle moodily with the keys still dangling from the ignition. "He asked me out, just before we left."

"That's good," said Horace earnestly, "It'll be good for you to get out for a night, blow off some steam-"

"I turned him down."

Rosalie met Horace's disappointed grimace with a wry smile.

"I've got my hands full as it is. Adding another man to the mix is the very last thing I need right now."

To her unending surprise, rather than argue, Horace simply shook his head and took his seat.

"Well, nobody said you have to marry the man," he sniggered, "But at least you know, should you be interested, there's at least one interested party waiting in the wings."

Turning the key once more, Rosalie actually laughed.

"Yeah, I suppose there's that..."

---

Black Site #88: "The Abbey" - London, United Kingdom - July 23rd, 2000

"Red!"

Albert Bazalgette's booming voice echoed through the Abbey like a shotgun.

Raymond and Dembe were relaxing in one of the home's intimate sitting areas overlooking the inner courtyard when the latter lifted knowing eyes from the pages of a battered Tolstoy hardcover.

Red was still pretending to read his newspaper, eyes fixed studiously on the center of the page.

A brief, mischievous glance was spared for his bodyguard, whose mouth twitched minutely in response.

When Albert rounded 'La Maja Desnuda' by Goya, he was all but foaming at the mouth.

"Albert!" Raymond chimed delightedly, "What a surprise seeing you here this lovely Sunday. I'd have thought you and Agent Boateng would've had plans today. A picnic in Hyde Park perhaps? Or maybe a leisurely stroll through the botanical gardens?"

"Alan Edgar!" Albert snapped, "I know you had something to do with it!"

A chorus of dinging noises arose from the lounge, where the remnants of the DC6 could be heard scrambling out of the pillar elevators, eager not to miss Albert and Reddington arguing once again.

"Oh good," sighed Red, "You brought the whole motley crew."

He tossed his paper to the side and strode past Albert with but one consoling pat to the man's shoulder.

Raymond rounded the corner into the dining room at the exact moment as the DC6, who let loose a barrage of outraged questions on sight.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

"What did you do with our capture?"

"Do you have any idea the chaos you've caused?"

Red' brow puckered at the sight of only three of them. "Where's Agent Knightley?"

"She and Colin were having a row when I called," Skip confessed, his cheeks turning a dull red, "He shouted that if she walked out in the middle of it they were done. I figured it best to let them sort it out..."

Raymond's frown deepened, but he nodded all the same. "Very well, have a seat. I can smell the anxiety wafting off you three. What am I suspected to have done?"

Albert came storming into the room. "Alan Edgar." He boomed, "He wouldn't talk, so you had his prison transport intercepted and stole him right out from under us!"

"Oh, that, " said Red, his head sing-songing back and forth, "Yeah, I did that."

"What- But you can't-" Agent Boateng sputtered and squawked, turning to Albert with a fresh wail of outrage, "He can't do that!"

At that moment a short, middle-aged man with a gnarly cane and a shock of white hair the agents had never seen before came shuffling past the dining room.

"I'm off to the Spread Eagle with Baz!" He shouted at an ear-splitting volume, "Ed still needs to fill up the jet, so I thought we'd stop for a shot and a beer!"

The bodyguard in question came strolling up from behind, icy blue eyes lifting to Reddington with a look of reluctant amusement.

"Thank you, Teddy," Red gave a carefree wave, "Your work was impeccable as always."

Teddy pursed his lips and tapped his snowy temple with two thick fingers, "I told you that slingshot would do the trick!"

"Slingshot?" Blurted Ezra, "Bugger all, what did you do with a slingshot?"

His eyes widened when Teddy's beetle-black eyes dropped significantly to Ezra's pelvis, his dark eyebrows arched knowingly.

The agent gave an involuntary flinch, a hand moving instinctively to shield a certain part of his anatomy from what he imagined had been inflicted upon Alan Edgar.

Teddy chuckled lowly and waved for Baz to follow as he shuffled back out of sight and toward the elevators.

"Where's Edgar?" Asked Albert, but Teddy's grating voice echoed from the lounge.

"Halfway down the River Wandle, I suspect!"

"Thank you, Teddy!" Red grumbled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

He rocked on the balls of his feet, holding Albert's irate stare with a look of utmost comfortability. "Albert, I'm nothing if not consistent. You shouldn't be the least bit surprised."

"If you killed our target-" Bazalgette began, but Red cut across him with ease.

"You'll get your target," Raymond promised, "The real one, anyway."

Bazalgette's phone chimed from his pocket just as another elevator dinged from the lounge.

He answered the call with but one bad-tempered scowl for Red, moving to the privacy of the nearby hall while the others waited expectantly.

Emma came bustling around the opposite corner seconds later, her cheeks flushed and her eyes still bloodshot and watery. "Sorry I'm late," she murmured with a small sniff.

The rest of the team nodded their understanding, each giving her a wry, commiserating smile.

Raymond knew from his earlier reconnaissance that every member of the DC6 had lost significant relationships to their work. Girlfriends, family, wives, fiancés, they'd all given more than they ought to have for the sake of their occupation. Seeing Emma toeing the same line they'd all toed during their early years seemed to have endeared her to her colleagues in a way she hadn't managed in the weeks prior.

He didn't have time to dwell on this for long when Bazalgette came hurtling back into the dining room.

"You..." the man seethed, "They found Alan Edgar bludgeoned to death on the banks of the Wandle! Dammit Red, that's not how we do things!"

"He killed him?" Gasped Emma, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. She turned to Reddington, "Why?"

Raymond shrugged, "Battering an MI6 agent isn't enough?"

"Red..." she groaned and leveled him a consternated glare, "You know that's not enough to kill someone. Now he can't stand trial!"

"If Alan were allowed to stand trial, he would make sure every criminal on the planet knew I'd turned informant." Said Red, "Not only would that put my life and business in jeopardy, it would also make me quite useless to you."

Skip groaned as well. "But now we have nothing to show for over a month's work, Red."

Red smirked, "Simply because Alan Edgar's dead doesn't mean you have nothing to show for it."

"What do you mean?" Albert was stood at the opposite end of the dining table, arms crossed, still thoroughly irate.

Raymond gestured for them all to take a seat. They did so, begrudgingly.

A hefty stack of files was tossed into the center of the table. Each tab bore the surname 'Edgar'.

"These are records Alan Edgar had access to within The Envoy Collective's internal network."

"What?"

"How did you get them?"

"Don't answer that. If we know what happened, that makes us accomplices."

Red snorted, looking at Ezra, Emma, and Sika in turn. "Before dear Alan departed this world, my associates coerced him into providing every shred of information he could on The Envoy Collective. You now have actionable intel on thousands of clients he and his compatriots have worked with across the globe. Not to mention, a slew of damning information on those at the helm of the operation."

This seemed to soothe Albert and the team's frustrations quite a bit.

They each took a folder from the stack and began to flip through them, mouths agape at the level of detailed information they now had at their fingertips.

"What about the Jailbreaker?" Asked Albert, "Is his file here?"

Red grimaced, "Unfortunately, no. Dr. Death was Alan's client, not the Jailbreaker."

Emma let out a huff of frustration, "So we're back at square one?"

The other agents groaned in unison.

"I have good news in that regard," Red assured, waving aside their discontent. "Another client has already been offered the Jailbreaker's services. He set a meeting with another proxy from The Envoy Collective on the second of August in New York City."

He sifted through the files and plucked one from the bunch. The tab read: Edgar, Carl.

"Mr. Carl Edgar will be meeting the Jailbreaker at the Cherry of all places...I expect the four of you, minus Albert for obvious reasons," he frowned commiseratingly, "Sorry old chap," his attention returned to the agents, "I expect the four of you on my jet bright-eyed and bushy-tailed August the first."

"We're- We're all going?" Sika halted in her pursuit for another evidence file.

Red considered her. "You and Albert were the ones insisting you have to be involved, I'd have thought you would be delighted, Agent Boateng."

"So…" said Skip, working to keep his tone casual, "What would we be doing then?"

"It's simple, really," said Red, "There's too many of us to infiltrate the establishment. Skip can go in as your secondary eyes and ears, he's got a dark broodiness about him that won't draw too much attention. Emma can blend in with me as my plus one."

Ezra turned at this, looking put out "What'll we be doing?" He asked, gesturing to himself and Sika.

"Yes," Sika frowned, "What menial task will we be relegated to?"

Raymond halted, matching her frown with one of his own.

"Agent Boateng- Well," he corrected himself, "I should be saying Interim Director Boateng..."

Sika's scowl deepened, though a tell-tale blush had already stained her cheeks, betraying her pleasure at being recognized as the agent in-charge.

Red smiled, knowing he had struck the right chord.

"Sika will be running point on this operation, from top to bottom."

"And me?" Ezra prodded, eager to know what his role would be.

To everyone's surprise, Reddington turned to Sika once more.

"What do you think, Direct Boateng? What would be a fitting and admirable role for our dear Mr. Yadin?"

Ezra whipped around to look expectantly at Sika, who actually smiled at him.

"You are exceptional at surveillance technology, Ezra."

The genuine compliment made Ezra's ears turn bright pink.

"I know you were trained as a sniper; but I believe you also worked extensively in the realm of portable listening devices?"

Ezra nodded.

"We need to collect evidence in order to charge the Jailbreaker," she explained, "Would you be able to drum up something Emma could bring into the establishment undetected so we could listen in on the Jailbreaker's meeting?"

An inspired grin lit up Ezra's face, "Oh go on then...I can have something cooked up by then."

The agents all began excitedly chattering away.

All except Emma.

Red rose from his seat. "Now, now, all of this will still be here on Monday. You should all leave and enjoy what's left of your weekend, none of this 24/7 malarkey."

They all stood to leave, filing out one by one until it was Emma who was left bringing up the rear.

Raymond reached out and gently grasped her arm.

"Is everything alright?"

Emma's eyes remained fixed on the floor. "Yeah...just a disagreement, that's all."

"I don't mean to pry…" Red insisted quietly, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Emma shook her head. "Colin doesn't agree with us working with you on the sly. He keeps saying it's going to get us killed."

"Emma."

She felt a calloused finger beneath her chin, lifting her teary gaze to meet Reddington's.

His voice came as a low, intimate murmur.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

---

Black Site #90 "The Bedouin" - Undisclosed Location - Wadi Rum, Jordan - July 30th, 2000

"Would you still like to go on the run with me?"

Rosalie was spread out like a starfish in the master suite's canopy bed, save for her ankles, which were crossed neatly atop the headboard.

A burner phone was pressed against her ear, held there by a shoulder Rosalie had noted was getting more and more freckled by the day.

"W-wait, what? Really?"

Josephine Moliére's voice was rife with shocked disbelief.

The women had been talking for the past hour about everything and nothing, from Rosalie's Middle East expansion to Josephine's elder sister's upcoming bachelorette party.

It had been nearly a month since the two had seen each other in person, and the distance was making each of them feel starved for the other's companionship.

Rosalie grinned at Josephine's excitement. "I'm heading to Kauai in mid-October to work on a new black site. Camille's wedding will be long over at that point. You'd love it there, and it would be so nice to have some company."

"How long?" Said Josephine eagerly, the sound of her flipping violently through her calendar nearly drowning out her voice.

"Well…" Rosalie winced, "I planned on being there up until the beginning of December. I'm sure you can't stay that long, but any time therein-"

Josephine sucked a breath in through her teeth. "I dunno...my dad, he's such a stick in the mud. I doubt he'd let me go that far for even a week, let alone a couple months."

The disappointment in Josephine's voice was palpable. Rosalie felt an overwhelming sadness for her friend.

It wasn't fair that she was cosseted away like that, unable to just pack up and go whenever she pleased.

It was a privilege Rosalie often took for granted as the adopted daughter of the Armels.

An idea struck her out of the blue, and she gasped aloud.

"What?" Said Josephine, instantly concerned.

"I'm going to Corsica soon," Rosalie confided, "I'll see if Florian can't pull a few strings and get your father to agree. Am I right in assuming you would want to come along?"

"Are you out of your mind?!" Cried Josephine, "Of course I want to go!"

The pair dissolved into a fit of laughter which lasted a few minutes before they settled down into companionable silence once more.

"What else has been going on?" Josephine sighed at last, not yet ready to hang up.

"Not much, really," said Rosalie, who stopped to pluck a bit of lint from her skirt.

She could hear the knowing smile in Josephine's voice. "You're totally lying right now."

"I am not!"

"To your best friend!"

Josephine's tone drooped to a comedic pout, making Rosalie laugh all the more.

"Cedric needs to stop telling you all my secrets before I can." Rosalie complained at length, eyes narrowing at the ceiling when she heard only Josephine cackling her enjoyment on the other end. "You two are awfully chummy, come to think of it…"

"No, no, no," insisted Josephine, "No Reddington tactics. You may have learned from the master, but you don't get to change the subject whenever you please, woman."

A snigger left Rosalie's lips, but both women knew that laugh was a shadow of its former self.

"Have...Have you seen him since London?" Josephine asked, tentatively.

Rosalie had confided everything to Josephine over the past few months, but the altercation on the Tripoli Express had been kept to herself since that day.

Cedric had been Rosalie's only confidant on the matter for weeks, as his was the only opinion she had felt she could truly trust.

If Josephine was bringing it up, it was because Cedric had confided the truth to her. No doubt, in the hope that she would reach out to Rosalie as a friend.

"If you're asking," Rosalie sighed and lifted herself upright once more, "Then you undoubtedly know I did."

A note of chagrin entered Josephine's voice. "I don't mean to pry...I understand you don't want to talk about Raymond...I just wanted you to know, if you need to talk about it, I'm always here."

A tense silence enveloped the conversation, the quiet broken only by the sound of Josephine fidgeting on the other end of the line.

"...Rosalie?" She tried after a while, hoping she wasn't too angry with her. "Rose-?"

A small sniffle could be heard, making Josephine's eyes widen.

Rosalie was crying.

"Merde, I'm sorry!" She bemoaned, instantly feeling horrible for bringing it up at all. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's not you," Rosalie murmured thickly, sounding as though she had a head cold. "It's Raymond. Honestly Josie, I think I may have made a huge mistake."

Josephine tutted softly, "I'm sure you didn't. Go on, tell me what happened."

She listened intently as Rosalie took her through the events of that day, laying out everything that was said between her and Raymond.

"And I'm just so angry Josephine, because I knew I was right. I knew he wasn't the source of the leak and still he wouldn't let me choose to stay." She flopped back amongst the sheets with another hearty sniff, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose, behind which a migraine was forming. "When I told him I had proof he wasn't the threat, I didn't know what I expected him to do with that information, but I wanted it to change something."

Josephine waited patiently, giving space for Rosalie to unburden everything which had been weighing so heavily on her.

"I was so hard on him..." she sighed at last, "He tried to tell me he loved me and I wouldn't let him. I wanted him to feel just one iota of what I've been feeling since he ended it, but...I fear I hurt him deeply in the process."

The two sat in communal silence for a few moments before Josephine offered her opinion.

"Rosalie, don't you think there's room for both?...Your response may have been a little harsh, yes, but ultimately it was your truth. Raymond may have been hurt by that truth, but his actions honestly are more than a little deserving of it. There's room for you to feel vindicated in giving him an honest dressing down, but there's also room for you to feel regret for hurting someone you love."

Rosalie couldn't help a small, watery laugh. "You sound like Dr. Tiller."

Josephine sniggered too, "Girlfriends: therapists, without that pesky moral code."

The two fell into peals of laughter, the release helping to lighten their dour conversation.

"Ah Ma Belle," Josephine sighed half happy, half commiserating, "You know the best way to move past this is to talk to him."

"What do I say?" Rosalie groaned, "'Sorry I exploded at you but you also kinda deserved it?'"

Another laugh echoed from Josephine's end. "You'll find the right words, Rosalie. Of that, I have no doubt. You know where he's staying, and you said yourself you don't have any pressing business for the next few weeks; why not go and surprise him? You never know what might happen..."

---

Red's Jet - North Atlantic Ocean - Late Afternoon, August 1st, 2000

The DC6 were scattered about the Gulfstream, sprawled over seats and sofas, some with mouths hanging wide, others snoring softly.

They were only a couple of hours from Teterboro, and Raymond was long since awake.

Having four relative strangers loitering about the space had made it incredibly difficult for him to sleep. He and Dembe each jolted awake every half-hour or so, their survival instincts far too attuned to be subdued easily.

Dembe had an arm draped over his eyes, and Red knew the young man was trying to will himself to sleep once more.

Having already given up on such fruitless efforts, Raymond rose gingerly from his seat to make a straight line for the plane's sheltered office.

Much to his surprise, he found Emma seated behind the ornate desk, her face illuminated by her phone's screen.

"You won't get service up here."

Emma practically spring-boarded out of her seat at the sound of his voice.

"Piss it," she hissed, clutching a hand over her heart, "You scared the living daylights out of me."

"My apologies," Red chuckled, closing the door behind him. He plucked a satellite phone from the nearby cabinet and handed it to her, "Why don't you give him a call? I'm sure Colin must be eager to bury the hatchet."

A worried frown creased Emma's brow. "I sincerely doubt that...This business with the DC6 has been really hard on him. He keeps saying it's not safe for us to be doing what we're doing without the government's protection."

Raymond sauntered over to the room's beverage cart and switched on the electric kettle. "He's not wrong in his concerns. I can't speak for Colin, but my understanding of the male species is that we have a bone-deep need to protect those we care for."

Emma leaned toward him, "That's a terribly medieval notion."

"Regardless, it's overwhelmingly true."

He fished a pair of teacups and saucers from the cabinet, "I only have tea bags, I'm afraid. Keeping a teapot on the jet has proven notoriously difficult."

She watched as he gave the bottom of his cup a generous swirl of golden honey, then dusted hers with two small spoonfuls of sugar.

"You always know how I take my tea..." Emma noted with a small smile.

The kettle started to boil.

Raymond turned and gestured toward the satellite phone once more. "At the very least check your voicemail. Colin very well may have left you an audio recording."

Audio...

Emma felt a guilty spasm in her stomach.

'Scrubbed audio; give to Reddington.'

The envelope and thumb drive Sika had left on Emma's desk weeks ago came to mind once again.

She had forgotten the item repeatedly, leaving it in a drawer of the writer's desk in her flat day after day.

If Emma was being honest with herself, a part of her was immensely curious what the message contained. There had been several nights where she lay awake next to Colin, thinking about taking the drive and plugging it into her laptop, just to see.

Reddington was so secretive. He never let any of the DC6 in on the inner workings of his mind, nor did he give them any semblance of honesty. He still hadn't told Emma why he chose her.

Emma felt a fresh wave of guilt crash over her as she thought for the umpteenth time that listening to the audio would somehow make them even.

He knew so much about her. If she could know this one thing about him...perhaps she might not feel so out of her depth.

"Speaking from experience," Red murmured, setting a piping hot cup of tea before her, "The waiting game of seeing which of you will cave first only leaves both parties feeling aggrieved."

Emma brought the cup to her lips and blew across the content's surface as he took the seat next to her.

"Experience, hmm?" She peered at him from over the porcelain rim, a glint of playful curiosity flickering behind her eyes, "I can't imagine you doing something half so domestic as a lover's quarrel."

Red chuckled darkly, "Then your imagination is woefully lacking, Agent Knightley."

This garnered a bright smile from her.

"Tell me about her."

"Absolutely not."

Reddington took a lengthy sip of tea, Emma's protests staunchly ignored.

"Come on, Red..." she pouted, reaching to prod his thigh with a sock-clad foot, "You're always so cagey. Tell me about this woman."

He considered her for a moment. "What do I get in exchange?"

Emma scoffed. "This isn't a negotiation-"

"Everything's a negotiation," he disagreed in a rumbling purr, "Especially between a man and a woman."

A string of curses flew through Emma's mind when she felt her cheeks singe with a vibrant blush.

She hated that he had that effect on her.

Reddington refused to say a word, waiting patiently until she caved.

"Fine," she grumbled with a scowl, "What...What do you want?"

A triumphant smirk tugged at his features, making Emma's stomach flip uproariously.

"Your life with Colin. If you could have everything you wanted, what would it look like?"

Emma's lips pursed into a thin line, the question having struck her dumb for several long seconds.

"I...I dunno," she whispered, suddenly rather uncomfortable.

Red shook his head, the clever smile he wore unsettled Emma further.

"I don't believe that for a second," he said, his tone thoughtful, "I think you've imagined the life you want down to its very last detail. I'd like to hear about it."

Another beat of hesitation met his words.

"Alright," Emma said at last, "But...you can't laugh."

Raymond gave a genuine, throaty chuckle and waved her on.

Her cheeks grew hot once more, and Emma winced as she felt the flush creep all the way down to her toes.

"Well, I've always wanted to be an agent, like I am now." Her eyes fell to the carpet, "I daydreamed about being a secret agent when I was a girl...imagined I'd wear black leather jackets with well-heeled boots and carry a shiny silver handgun. I wanted to infiltrate criminal parties in gorgeous ball gowns like a proper Bond girl..."

Emma tittered to herself, "And on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, I wanted to be home every night for dinner at our cozy flat on Notting Hill. I wanted a loving husband and an adorable little dog, maybe even a baby one day." Her head shot up, "I know it's a horrible cliché, but don't you dare laugh."

She leveled Red a fierce glare, only to find he wasn't laughing in the slightest.

He was staring at her with a most curious expression.

If Emma didn't know better, she would have thought it was envy.

"I hope you know that life is perfectly within reach, Emma." He said, gently.

The words hit a little too close to home.

Emma felt her bottom lip give a feeble tremble. "Well, it's well past dinner," she reminded shakily, "And I'm not home. And my 'loving' husband, well..."

The conversation had turned too personal.

Emma chewed at her bottom lip, unable to look Red in the eye.

Raymond leaned forward and squeezed her hand, a broad thumb brushing soothingly over her knuckles. "If he's any man at all, he won't have stopped looking at that phone since you left."

"I doubt that very much," confided Emma, taking her hand back and bringing her teacup to her lips.

"It all works out in the end." Red assured, "I know that sounds reductionist and cliché, but...at the end of the day that's all any of us are left with. You have to be able to chase that life without fear of the repercussions. It's like scaling a mountainside. The moment you stop to look down is the moment the mountain wins, and if you keep looking down, you'll never reach that summit."

"Is that how you feel about the woman?"

"Emma," Red grumbled, in no mood to discuss the matter.

"You promised." She whined, poking him with her foot once more. "I told you all my cringiest hopes and dreams. You must give me something."

A tutting noise met her badgering, but Emma grinned, knowing she'd already won.

"What's her name? Is it the elusive Miss Sutton I keep hearing about?"

A tight-lipped smile fought valiantly to claim Red's mouth.

"Her name is Virginia."

"Virginia?" Emma snorted with laughter, but managed to stifle it when Reddington leveled her a chastising look.

"Petty Officer Virginia Sherman." He sighed, eyes dropping to his teacup.

Any further laughter died in Emma's throat. "A petty officer? You're a criminal and your lover's quarrel was with a petty officer? How did she not arrest you on sight?"

Red gave a dark chortle of laughter, "I have a bit of a reputation, you see."

Emma sniggered behind her teacup. "For being an absolute scoundrel."

The shameless grin Reddington gave her made goosebumps race up Emma's spine.

"Women love a gallant scoundrel, Agent Knightley. Make no mistake, I'm well aware of the effect I have on most."

Green eyes glinted behind pale lashes, dropping to Emma's feet and searing a burning trail up her body. "Officer Sherman and I shared an immediate, carnal connection; like a moth to a flame. Though, I'm not sure which of us was the moth."

Emma, who was blushing pink from head to toe now, managed to squeak, "Yeah right, like you'd ever be a moth."

Another deep chuckle resonated from Reddington's chest, breaking the strangely sensual hold he'd been keeping her in.

"It may surprise you, Agent Knightley, but I have this sinking feeling she merely allowed me to believe I was in control. In reality, I was on my heels half the time we were together, and if it wasn't my heels it was my ass."

Emma laughed outright at the thought.

"R-" Red cleared his throat, "Really, she was like a bolt out of the blue. Just when I thought I knew all this life could throw at you...I never expected someone like her."

"What did you fight about?" Emma asked, tucking her feet beneath her and leaning forward eagerly.

"I wanted to keep her safe," said Red, "My world isn't kind to good people; it has a tendency to leach into their bones and siphon away the best of them like a parasite. I didn't want that for her."

Recognition dawned on Emma's features. "You left her."

"Not entirely," said Red, "I ended things between us. She disagreed with my reasons. We fought endlessly about it until-" He heaved a heavy sigh. "Until she decided she could bear it no longer."

A somber silence stretched between them.

"So she left you, after trying to change your mind."

"Yeah."

Raymond cleared his throat once more and stood, lifting the satellite phone and holding it out to Emma once more.

"That's how I know your husband's awaiting your call."

Emma took the phone in hand and stared at it as he turned to leave.

"Red..."

His footsteps stopped.

"Colin gave me an ultimatum before I left." She confessed in a timid voice, "He says it's too dangerous for me to be working with you on the sly. Either this mission is my last, or he and I will have to have a very difficult discussion about our future together."

Red turned around, a lone brow lifted incredulously toward the heavens."He would actually force you to choose between him and the career you've longed for since girlhood?"

Emma nodded, swallowing the last of her tea before she sniffled, "So you see, that life I told you about?...It isn't within reach at all, not really."

Raymond plucked a box of tissues from the nearby cabinet and set them in front of her, his face now etched in somber lines.

"I'll take care of it." He promised, "Call him. If having our little arrangement on the books will make the two of you feel safe, then that's what we'll do."

"But the prime minister-" Emma began, but she was silenced by Red handing her a tissue.

"There are ways for people like me to force someone's hand, Emma. Even a prime minister's."

Somehow, Emma knew Red wasn't suffering from hubris. If anyone could change the PM and the MoJ's mind, it was him.

He smiled wryly down at her.

"We'll make it work. I promise."

---

Marietta's Jet - North Atlantic - Early Evening, August 2nd, 2000

"I can't believe you're on board with this."

Horace heaved a bone-weary sigh and set his magazine aside. "Rosalie insists on ramming that old knife into her chest and twisting it. How many times am I expected to forcibly drag her away from him?"

He and Teddy were seated at the front of the plane, bickering back and forth as they'd done the whole flight.

The latter flung himself into the seat opposite Horace, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"He's going to hurt her again."

"You don't think I know that?" Insisted Horace, "As far as I'm concerned, you're partly to blame for this nonsense."

Ted's tone was indignation, "Me? What the hell did I do?"

Horace glanced moodily toward the opposite end of the plane, where Rosalie was emerging from the jet's sleeping compartment, having just changed into a fresh set of clothes.

"You enabled them all along by encouraging their recklessness." He accused under his breath, returning his attention to Ted, "It's too late now. We're just going to have to wait it out while Reddington inevitably puts the final nail in the coffin of their relationship."

Teddy frowned. His suspicion fell heavily on Horace. "What do you mean, the final nail?"

"Nothing," said Horace.

"You know something." Said Ted, sitting forward in his seat and keeping his voice low. "What do you mean by that?"

Horace spared another furtive glance toward Rosalie, who was busily packing away her papers and folios in preparation for landing.

"When I spoke with Christine, the Manhattan property manager, she mentioned Reddington wasn't alone."

A scoff left Ted as he flopped back into his seat. "Of course he's not alone. Kaplan and Dembe are always with him. Depending on what kind of business he's handling, Baz and Brimley or Toddrick and Wallace might be there as well."

His frown deepened when Horace shook his head.

"No. Apparently there's a whole motley crew of young fugitives he was working with at the SoHo safe house all day."

Teddy sat up once more, his face etched with concern. "He's supposed to limit outsider access to the safe houses. What were they doing there?"

"Christine thinks they were planning some sort of heist." Horace intimated, "Red was seen in close parameters with one of them, a young blonde he referred to as Emma."

Ted's mouth fell open at the implication. "He couldn't possibly...He hasn't...He wouldn't have replaced her? Raymond was really cut up when she left him on that train a few weeks ago. Christine must be mistaken-"

"There was no mistaking their proximity." Interrupted Horace, "I have the distinct feeling if Rosalie goes to the Cherry tonight, she will find her former lover in a most compromising position."

He snatched Teddy's arm when he moved to stand, bent on telling Rosalie before it was too late. His voice dropped to an even lower, hissing whisper.

"We can't tell her."

"Like hell we can't. We're duty bound-"

"We're duty bound to protect Rosalie, yes, but what if I told you that protecting her attachment to Raymond Reddington was the surest way of putting her in harm's way?"

Ted hesitated. "What do you mean?"

"I learned things, Teddy, in my time away. I...heard things, about Reddington and some of the toes he's stepped on to get to where he is. We already know there's someone looking for him, and that they'll do anything, destroy anyone, to get to him."

"You can't possibly be suggesting we let her walk into the Cherry to find Reddington with another woman?" Balked Ted, "You can't be serious Horace, that would destroy her. Why can't we just tell her-?"

Horace's face drooped into a somber glower. "Teddy, with what we found at Norrick's apartment and the investigating Rosalie's been doing into her inner circle...Do you honestly think she would believe either of us?"

They both turned to stare at their charge, who was busily checking for anything she'd forgotten in her packing.

"I don't know if I can do that, Horace." Ted confided earnestly, "I don't think I can send Rosalie in blind to let her be torn apart by

Horace's attention remained fixed on Rosalie at the opposite end of the cabin, his expression devastated. "I don't relish the thought, but maybe one final rift is all she needs to separate herself from him for good? She would be safe then. The hurt he continues to cause would stop after that."

Teddy was shaking his head, but Rosalie was upon them in seconds.

"Please tell me you two aren't arguing again?" She sighed, taking the seat beside Teddy, "We're making our final descent now, and the two of you don't even have to go inside. It'll be a quick in and out conversation, then you'll have the rest of the night off."

Her guard shared the briefest of glances, then each nodded in turn, seemingly coming to an agreement.

---

The Tinderbox - Undisclosed Location, Upper West Side, New York City - August 2nd, 2000

After a night's rest and a long day sequestered in Reddington's safe house in SoHo going over their plans, the DC6 was parked outside the Tinderbox in a borrowed surveillance van provided by their colleagues at the CIA.

Red and Emma were arriving separately in one of his sleek black sedans, driven by Kate Kaplan, who would be dropping them off and making herself scarce.

When they arrived at the site nearly an hour after the surveillance van, Dembe exited the vehicle alongside them to covertly cover their backs.

Reddington led Emma down the darkening street at a leisurely pace, ensuring she didn't stumble on the aged sidewalk.

His head swiveled back and forth, eyes flitting from doors to grates to lampposts, seemingly on the hunt for something.

"That's a pretty dress," he complimented casually, sparing a sidelong glance at Emma.

She was in a dashing summer dress made with cornflower blue chiffon; yet another custom gem from Genevieve's boutique. The garment's color made the unique cerulean shade of Emma's eyes stand out even further, complemented by the glinting drop earrings and pendant she wore.

Emma smiled, "You're looking dapper yourself."

Red was in a lightweight three-piece suit, this one in a pale cream color ideal for the height of New York's humid summers.

"Ah!" He whispered excitedly, turning toward a quiet, unassuming brownstone. "Here we are."

They both stared at the building's plain door, painted a deep emerald green and bearing a brass knocker shaped like a peacock.

"This is the Tinderbox?" Questioned Emma, giving the aging brick facade a dubious once-over. "I thought you said it was a nightclub?"

"It is," Red assured, placing a hand to the small of her back and guiding her up the short set of limestone steps. "I told you the Tinderbox and Cherry both rely on utmost secrecy. Meaning, one should expect the establishment to pop up in the least likely location."

Emma checked up and down the street, seeing no-one other than the MI6 surveillance van.

To her, all the buildings looked the same.

"How do you know this is the one, though?"

Red answered her questions by reaching out and prodding the building's doorbell.

The small button was backlit by a strange blue light, while its neighbors were all varying shades of white and yellow.

The brass letterbox opened with a snap and a dreamy voice issued from within.

"Beaming sun-rival, mirror goddess, tell the truth of what you are."

"Beautiful, but annihilating." Dembe responded confidently from their back.

The voice gave a pleased sigh.

"Welcome, Patron."

The green door swung open, and the three of them stepped inside a chic, luxurious space that looked much more like Emma's idea of a nightclub.

"Clever man, how did you know that?" She asked, turning her impressed smile on Dembe.

"It is a riddle playing on a passage written by Sylvia Plath." He explained, " 'If the moon smiled, she would resemble leave the same impression of something beautiful, yet annihilating.' Beaming sun-rival is an easy clue for a smiling moon."

"Easy," Emma nodded, unconvinced, "Right."

"Mr. Reddington!"

A portly man who looked very similar to Kore's Maxwell came lumbering into view.

Red stepped forward once the man waded through the bustling crowd, quickly making the necessary introductions. "Hendrick, please meet my newest associate, Miss Emma Knightley. She'll be joining Dembe and I tonight for a bit of business."

Hendrick bowed stiffly, "Miss Knightley, welcome to the Tinderbox, we hope your visit is a festive one." He turned back to Red, "Bonnie is assisting upstairs today I'm afraid, but your requested table is of course ready and waiting. Clyde will be happy to escort you once you reach the top floor."

Reddington nodded and shook Hendrick's hand without a word.

A smoked glass elevator was called down to their right, and Red wasted no time in ushering them all inside.

"No alias today?" Emma sniggered, stepping into the elevator with but one sidelong glance at Skip Sutherland, who was busy in the thronging crowd, covertly playing his part of surveillance.

"Not necessary," said Red, with a thoughtful purse of his lips, "The Tinderbox and The Cherry are not purely criminal locales. A plethora of eccentrics come here for entertainment, and the establishment's proprietors capitalize on that. There's no need for anyone to lurk behind alternate identities."

The doors closed, and Red turned to find Emma looking quite relaxed. He smirked, "See, you're already a natural."

A bright smile met his words. "Yes, well that's all very easy when one knows they aren't walking into a den of criminals."

Raymond gave a deep chuckle and happily disabused her of such notion.

"Oh you're still walking into a den of criminals," he advised, his tone dipping to a playful purr, "The difference is that this time you won't know who the real criminals are."

The elevator opened with a soft chime to reveal an opulent rooftop establishment quite similar to Kore, only this one was positively brimming with a very eclectic assortment of people.

Emma slipped her hand into the crook of Red's arm as they stepped out onto the plush velvet carpet forming a walkway which led to a wall of tall hedges. She couldn't help but stare at every couple that passed them, trying to ascertain by looks alone whether or not they were fugitives.

Reddington saw this and chuckled once more. "Difficult to tell, isn't it? It's no mistake the Jailbreaker set his meeting for the Tinderbox's first night open after having moved," he leaned to whisper in her ear, "With the crowds at capacity, it's a good time do business; makes it easier for high profile criminals like him to slip in and out under the radar."

They came up to the hedge's edge, where a man Red referred to as Clyde led them to their alcove deep within the hedge's maze.

The host placed a wine menu on the center of the table with but one scrutinizing look for Emma, which she reciprocated with a scowl of her own.

Reddington had been too busy removing his hat to notice anything, and by the time he looked up, Clyde was gone.

Emma dropped the large clutch she carried onto the table with a heavy thunk, "I don't suppose you and the infamous Miss Sutton frequented this establishment as well?"

Red chewed the inside of his cheek.

"Right," said Emma, opening the clutch and whipping out the recording device Ezra had given them. "So this Clyde person must think I'm her replacement, is that it?"

Reddington frowned, "Of course not; why, did he say something to you?"

"No, just gave me a funny look like the maître d' at Kore..." Emma peered up at the halo of cigar smoke which crowned the hedgerows, her tone once more turning curious. "What is it about you criminals and labyrinths, anyway?"

Red smirked and pulled her seat out for her. "Labyrinths are dead useful for providing an abundance of nooks and crannies for ne'er-do-wells such as myself to meet in neutral privacy. The proprietors of Kore and the proprietors of the Tinderbox are distant cousins, from what I understand."

Emma sniggered, "Hence the shared penchant for illicit activities."

Reddington took the seat across from her with a comfortable sigh, though she could see his eyes still twinkled with amusement. "I do find criminal predilection to be a genetic trait...Now, what's this mechanism we're supposed to be setting up? I admit, Ezra's whole spiel went in one ear and out the other."

---

The Tinderbox - Undisclosed Location, New York City - August 2nd, 2000

Rosalie wasn't sure of what she was doing.

She had gone to the Tinderbox despite Horace and Teddy's uncharacteristic silence on the matter, and as the familiar smoked glass elevator climbed higher and higher, she couldn't help but wonder what she was doing there.

Was this a mistake?

Was she setting herself up for even more heartache?

Rosalie had managed to convince herself up until that point that her only reason for seeking Raymond out was so she could apologize for the altercation on the Tripoli Express. Now, however, there was a more honest part of herself which recognized how much she had missed him.

He missed her too...right?

She paused when the glass doors slid open, taking a quick scan of the rooftop before stepping out of the elevator's sheltered safety.

A shaky exhale forced its way out of Rosalie when she caught sight of Clyde, who looked quite surprised to see her. She gave the man a brief wave, then gestured that she was going to take a turn about the establishment before seeking a seat.

He nodded once, but Rosalie swore she felt his dark eyes following her as she moved.

She shook the thought from her mind and focused on the task at hand.

Surely if Raymond were doing business in New York, he would be at The Cherry...

Rosalie just had to find him.

Red hung his jacket and hat on a nearby hook and rolled up his shirt sleeves, keen to give himself a reprieve from the humidity.

"Whatever you do," he advised Emma, "Stay in our alcove. The Jailbreaker is supposed to be meeting with his client at any moment on the floor below. Have your team's little eyes and ears situated wherever need be."

"Where are you going?" She questioned, looking slightly panicked at being suddenly left alone.

He shrugged, "First, I'm going to bribe Clyde to put the Jailbreaker in the alcove directly beside us. After that I plan on getting a stiff drink. What would you like?"

Emma picked up the wine list only to see the prices and set it back down with a disgruntled sigh. "No bottles of wine worth more than my car tonight, I mean it."

Reddington snorted with laughter, "Very well then. It's muggy as all hell, how about a gin and tonic?"

He grinned when Emma's cheeks flushed pleasantly in spite of herself.

"Yeah, alright. That'll be good. Hurry back."

Raymond exited the alcove and quickly cornered Clyde on his way back from seating another client.

The man listened to the description Red gave him, then took the bribe without a word, pocketing the roll of cash and hurriedly making his way back to the host's podium.

It was uncommon for Clyde to be so stand-offish. It made Raymond wonder if there wasn't a grain of truth to Emma's assumption that Clyde believed Emma was Rosalie's replacement.

Red quietly cursed the DC6's need to stick their nose into everything.

The Cherry had always been Rosalie's favored haunt for doing business, and come to think of it, she and Clyde had always had a close rapport.

Christ, what if Emma accompanying him got back to Rosalie?

No...Both the Cherry and the Tinderbox had a strict gag-order on employees. Clyde couldn't divulge Emma's presence without endangering himself.

Though, Raymond couldn't help but wonder...If Rosalie knew...

Would she be jealous?

A part of him hoped she might be, for it would mean there was still some remnant of affection for him lingering beneath her surface. However, a more mature side of him quickly came to the fore and squashed such a notion.

It would be wrong to hope for her jealousy. He was a man above such petty, cruel things.

He exited the labyrinth and made for the bar, only to be halted by the sound of a familiar tinkling laugh.

---

Rosalie had bumped into Bonnie, who seemed very eager to talk with her at length about the Tinderbox's upcoming move.

She'd listened for several minutes as the hostess chattered on, having no real way to excuse herself. If she hadn't known better, she would've thought Clyde had sent his cohort to intercept her.

A laugh bubbled up from nowhere as Rosalie realized she was being effectively held hostage by Bonnie who'd scarcely taken a breath since she'd started talking.

She let the conversation continue a little while longer, but got distracted when she felt a pair of eyes settle on her that didn't belong to the establishment.

---

Red stood frozen in the center of the rooftop, shamelessly staring at Rosalie as though she couldn't be real.

She stood talking, well, moreso listening, to the hostess rambling on about something she obviously wasn't interested in.

Her focus faltered after he'd been staring for several moments.

Dark eyes swiveled in search of the gaze she knew was on her. Red wondered if he ought to look away.

He couldn't bring himself to do so.

Deep gray irises locked onto him with a curious glint.

"Raymond..."

Rosalie didn't bother making her excuses to Bonnie. She merely turned and closed the distance between them in a few short strides.

The reality of what she must think seeing him here came crashing down on top of Red.

"Before you say anything," he murmured plaintively, "I promise I didn't follow you here."

A small, sad smile teased at Rosalie's lips. "I know you didn't...I followed you."

Her confession left Raymond trapped in stunned silence once more as his brain struggled to compute the meaning of that sentence.

"W-" he stammered, "Well, why?"

Rosalie released her bottom lip, which she had been worrying between her teeth.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry I was so curt with you the other day," she apologized, her fingers moving to fidget with the bracelet on her wrist. "You took me by surprise that day...I wasn't prepared to see you sitting across the table."

Red simply stood there for a moment, confused.

...Was she offering an olive branch?

"I should have given you fair warning," he conceded, recognizing he may have been a bit overzealous in his backdoor meddling. "I didn't stop to think; I just knew I hadn't seen or heard from you in months and, well, I'm sorry."

"Please don't apologize."

He looked up to find Rosalie's cheeks flooding a soft, alluring pink.

To his unending surprise, it seemed she was feeling significantly more benevolent toward him today.

"I was the one who reacted poorly;" she insisted, "You were testing the waters and it was too late by the time I finally recalled that I'd once told you I loved your surprises..."

Memories of their time in Hong Kong unfurled around them without pause. The rest of the establishment was completely shut out by recollections of a much more passionate nature.

Red felt a sudden white-hot thrill pierce his chest. He could remember with startling clarity what it was like to be loved by her, to feel her warmth around him, to taste her on his tongue...

But that heated memory quickly dissipated into something else.

He recalled her laugh; the one she reserved just for him. It had been so long since he'd made her laugh like that. Their banter was always satisfying, but that day in Hong Kong, she had been so damn playful.

Red missed that about her.

He missed a lot of things.

He couldn't help but wonder, though...did she miss him too?

Rosalie was eyeing him nervously, as though she was waiting for something.

A mischievous grin plucked at the corner of his mouth, "Does this mean you take back all those things you said about me?"

He bit back a laugh when Rosalie's face puckered into a reluctantly amused pout. "I said what I said."

"You were right," he offered magnanimously, "About a fair bit of it."

Her smile widened in spite of herself, "You know I never tire of hearing that."

They sniggered softly to themselves, each wondering if the other felt that familiar magnetic pull bringing them closer together.

"Are you-" Rosalie took a tentative step forward, "Are you feeling better after what happened in Fair Isle? The people who hurt you, there weren't any lasting injuries, were there?"

"How did you know about my stint in Scotland?"

Red caught himself and rephrased the request with a scant more eloquence, "What I meant to say was, when I called the emergency line, I never once thought they would have called you personally. I didn't mean for you to get dragged into it."

Rosalie glanced down at the toes of her shoes.

"I was worried," she tried to explain herself, still not looking up from the ground, "I was worried about you...so I told my associates to contact me should you ever access the emergency line. It wasn't your fault."

Red's brows rocketed to his hairline, unable to hide his surprise.

Rosalie's smile softened when she stole a peek up at him. "Ray, just because things have ended between us doesn't mean I've stopped giving a damn about you. The emergency line patched me through and-"

"...And?" He prodded, not entirely sure of what he had said to her.

"I could tell you were badly hurt," she murmured, "and regardless of the way things ended between us, there's still no small part of me that wants desperately to keep you safe."

Raymond felt a familiar warmth bloom inside his chest.

How he had missed it; that comfort, that assurance only she could provide.

Was Tiller perhaps right? Was it not too late for them to find their way back to what they'd had?

"I know someone hurt you," she went on, her brow creasing into a worried frown, "Dembe wouldn't tell me what happened, but if you find yourself in a similar situation...I'm just a phone call away. You know that, right?"

Raymond nodded, though the very thought made him ache. That ache pressed him to stare unabashedly at Rosalie, to drink in what it felt like to know he would forever be sheltered in her care.

"Anyway," she sighed, "I should probably get going. Like I said, I just wanted to apologize for the other day. It wasn't fair of me to blow up at you for doing something I'd once adored."

Red snapped out of his daze when she turned to leave.

"Wait!" He reached out and took her hand in his, "Can't we go somewhere and talk? It's been so long since we've spent a moment together. Especially here."

Rosalie looked around at the Cherry's familiar scenery, thinking if they swapped the crimson mood lighting for indigo it would look much as it did the last time she and Raymond were there.

She smiled.

"The night Horace left...my god, has it really been a year?"

Raymond grinned devilishly, "I don't know about you, but I haven't had the pleasure of a savoy walk since. I'm still pretty light on my feet."

"I don't know, Ray…"

Rosalie grimaced up at him, unable to hold back a bright, amused smile at seeing his mischievous eyes piercing her, willing her to come out and play.

"I just…" Red groaned, then fixed her with a look of such honesty it made her stomach flip, "I miss you. I miss the fun we used to have. I didn't realize ending the romantic part of our relationship meant we couldn't even be friendly anymore."

"We can be friends," said Rosalie, "But Raymond you must understand that I need time to come to terms with that being all that we are."

Raymond reluctantly nodded his understanding, but continued to lobby for her to stay.

"Can't you tarry a little while?" He tried again, "For old times' sake? Have a drink with me and tell me what havoc you've been causing, I've been dying to know."

Rosalie started when he cupped her cheek, his broad thumb brushing the expanse in that gentle, familiar pattern.

How could she possibly tell him no when he looked at her like that?

His jade eyes flickered with subdued emotion, imploring her with a plea his own self-preservation would not allow him to voice.

Rosalie groaned.

She shouldn't.

She definitely should not-

"Fine, one drink."

The response surprised Rosalie as much as it did Raymond, whose boyish smile positively beamed down at her.

Rosalie managed to bite back another groan.

One smile was all it took to show her once again that nothing had changed between them. Red was still the man she'd fallen for…and Rosalie?

She was a goner.

Red took great pleasure in watching Rosalie's emotions play boldly across her features. Gone was the fearsome hellcat he'd encountered a few weeks ago, and in its place was the woman he'd never stopped being head over heels for.

"I'll get us some drinks," she offered with a small smile, moving to step past him.

"I'll get us some cigars," said Raymond, letting go of her cheek but not once tearing his eyes from hers.

Rosalie lingered as she came level with his shoulder, peering up at him through dark lashes in a way that made Red long to kiss her. Her fingertips just barely brushed his own before she turned and headed for the bar, leaving his pulse racing once more.

---

Emma waited poised over the transmitting device Ezra had given them, her eyes flitting between the buttons and the entrance of their alcove.

She hoped Reddington would be back soon.

Though she hated to admit it, Emma felt much safer when he was there to help guide her along.

A part of her didn't really want to put much thought into why that was.

With every case, Emma's proximity and comfortability with Raymond Reddington and his world was beginning to unnerve her.

At home with Colin, she often found herself daydreaming of the fun, excitement, and luxury that she now enjoyed on a regular basis, an action which had created no small measure of animosity between her and her husband.

Colin felt she was playing with fire, and held a fair amount of suspicion for Reddington's motives where his wife was concerned.

Emma, admittedly enjoying a bit of a proximity high from dabbling in Reddington's world, knew there was not much she could offer her husband to reassure him.

The truth was, she found herself enjoying and responding to Red's attention. He kept her at the center of every meeting with the DC6. He called her outside of office hours to discuss the case. He needled her playfully and asked her about her dreams...

Red made Emma feel like the center of his universe in a way she hadn't experienced from any man before, even Colin.

Was it so bad that she found herself a bit enticed by the dark allure that was Raymond Reddington?

It wasn't like she was going to act on it...

"Right then. Well done Agent Knightley, the audio feed is live."

Sika's voice crackling through Emma's forgotten earpiece made her practically leap out of her seat.

The microphone cable was already threaded through the hedge wall, resting inconspicuously at the opposite end, just beneath the lip of what would be the Jailbreaker's bistro table. The team on the ground was in place and recording the transmission.

All that was left to do was wait.

It had been at least ten minutes when Emma heard the sound of male voices and metal chairs being drawn off to her left.

She sat up straighter, taking a furtive peek toward the entrance to their alcove.

Where the bloody hell was Reddington?

"Thank you for offering to meet with me," a somewhat frenzied voice began, pulling Emma's attention from the hedges and back to the purpose of their visit.

Another voice, smooth and sinister voice which could only belong to the Jailbreaker replied. "My sources indicated your client has run afoul of authorities in Abu Dhabi."

"Yes," said the proxy, who Emma supposed must be Carl Edgar. "Mr. Mejia is a very high-profile client of The Envoy Collective. We are dire need of your assistance in getting him out. He's been in Al Wathba for months. No amount of bribing or blackmail has proven effective in securing his release. I am the third proxy to have been assigned this case."

"So I've heard..." said the Jailbreaker, "My contact mentioned he is being held in solitary, and any outward communication is being blocked. You can confirm his ability to make payment?"

Emma found herself leaning into the hedge, where the sound of paperwork could be heard shuffling around.

"Yes," came Carl's reply, "The aforementioned sum of six million euro is safeguarded through an off-shore account in the Canary Islands, and the agreed upon retainer fee of 40% is prepared for issue upon completion of our meeting."

"And my expenses?" The Jailbreaker asked, sounding almost bored.

"You need only submit them to myself, and I will forward to Mr. Mejia's personal assistant, who will issue payment within 24-hours."

A lengthy silence ensued, and Emma almost thought the men had left.

"Everything is in order. You need only be present for the handoff."

"Sir-?"

Emma thought Carl sounded awfully fidgety for having just closed a deal.

"There's a lady in red playing at the establishment to night. Unfortunately, I have tickets to another event. I believe you do as well?"

"Yes...Yes," said the proxy. Though, Emma got the distinct feeling he had no idea what the other man was talking about.

Another scraping of chairs could be heard, then all was silent.

"...Is that it?" Came Sika's voice once more, questioning the lengthy silence.

"Sounds like it," whispered Emma. She peaked through a thin spot in the hedge, seeing the seats were empty. "Yeah, they're gone.

"Right," said Ezra, "Well, we've got the recording saved down. Hopefully Reddington can make heads or tails of it."

"Did you see them at all?" Asked Sika, "We might still have time for Skip to intercept if we had a description."

"Red was very adamant on us not interfering." Skip reminded them all, the loud club music making his voice difficult to hear through their comms. "Remember what happened the last time we jumped in too early?"

The others groaned collectively, recalling the instance with Dr. Death all too well.

"Right..." said Sika, "Well, back to the meetup point, the lot of you. We can go over the audio and everything once we are on the jet."

"Give me a few minutes." Emma replied, "Reddington's wandered off somewhere, I'll have to go find him."

The others agreed, setting a twenty-minute hold on their departure.

Excited at having successfully completed the mission without Reddington, Emma quickly packed up the recorder and set off through the maze to find him.

Much to her own personal amusement, he was stood in line for the cigar sommelier.

As Emma approached, however, she noted Red seemed incredibly distracted.

Rather than pay attention to where the line was headed, he kept casting surreptitious glances toward the bar.

It happened every couple seconds.

Emma followed his line of sight to see what had caught his curiosity, only to find a chic blonde woman at the back of the drinks line making eyes back at him.

The two started at each other, grinned, then looked away like a pair of bashful teens.

Curiosity got the better of Emma.

Rather than make herself known to Reddington, who had rounded the corner and was now unable to make eyes at his current interest, Emma went directly for the source.

A few strides set her directly behind the woman, who spared one last glance for the direction where Reddington was headed before moving forward with the line.

Emma couldn't help a smirk as she leaned into the woman's sphere.

"Can't beat a man in a three-piece suit...Can you?"

---

PRESENT

The Armel Compound - Porto Vecchio, Corsica - August 3rd, 2000

"Rosalie?...Rosalie. We're nearly there."

Achille's somber voice called out to her, pulling Rosalie from the deep recesses where her mind had wandered, bringing her crashing back to the present.

Corsica...

Florian...

She was en route to the compound.

It felt as though months had passed since she'd left Teddy and Horace in Normandy. In reality, it had only been a few hours.

The ride from Ajaccio to Porto-Vecchio hadn't taken nearly as long as she remembered.

The car turned down a familiar pea stone lane, stopping at a set of tall, ornate iron gates where a team of security personnel stood watch.

They peered at the driver long enough to confirm his identity, then permitted the gates to open for the caravan to pass through.

Porto-Vecchio did not hold the comfortable familiarity Rosalie once remembered.

She wanted to smile at the long, beautiful lane leading to the compound, its centuries-old Italian cypress trees rising in soaring evergreen spires on either side.

The golden sun beamed cheerily down on everything, contrasting starkly with the dispassion Rosalie felt inside.

She could only think of Raymond, and she winced each time her mind replayed that night, every moment simply tearing that wound afresh...

---

The Cherry - Undisclosed Location, Upper West Side, New York - August 2nd, 2000

Rosalie joined the rather lengthy queue at the bar, shaking her head and biting back an ear-to-ear grin every time she caught Raymond staring at her from the opposite line. Her cheeks felt as though they were going to burn right off, so fierce was the blush overcoming them.

She was finally given a reprieve when the queue for the cigar sommelier curved around the corner and she was out of the man's view.

Still, Rosalie found herself peeking out of the corner of her eye to catch a glimpse of his back. With the august heat, he seemed to have left his jacket at the safe house. His customary hat was no doubt saving his seat, wherever that was.

The cream-colored suit he wore had been a fond favorite which Rosalie now made no attempts to hide her appreciation for.

"Can't beat a man in a three-piece suit...Can you?"

Rosalie turned her head to see who had spoken and came face to face with a friendly-looking woman a scant few years younger than herself.

She was pretty, with blonde hair a few shades lighter than her own. Though her attire was fashionable and modern, Rosalie could tell by the woman's posture that she wasn't accustomed to heels. Her accent told Rosalie she was from London, and simply looking at her confirmed that she was not likely a member of the criminal underground.

Rosalie smiled back at her, then spared another glance for Raymond. "Oh I don't know," she murmured fondly, "The infamous tuxedo has always been a close runner-up for me."

The woman laughed, "Well, if the men went back to dressing half as well as him, the world would certainly be more stylish."

"Oh, few men can pull off a suit like that these days." Rosalie defended staunchly, forcing herself to peel her eyes off Raymond as the line moved forward.

"I heard there are some very interesting characters that frequent this establishment..." said the woman, conversationally.

Rosalie felt a tinge of suspicion wash over her, but squashed it. It was likely this woman was merely some busybody looking for a thrill by entering an establishment well-known for being a den of criminals.

"People do love to spread rumors," she sighed, "Personally, I haven't found much of interest in the few times I've been here."

"This is my first time," the woman confided excitedly, "You'd have a better idea than I, but I could've swore I saw Raymond Reddington just a few moments ago..."

Rosalie forced a convincing laugh despite the icy feeling which had settled in her stomach. "A high-profile criminal like him? I sincerely doubt that he would be in a place like this."

"Ah, I'm sure you're right. Must've been my mistake. Well, it was nice chatting with you...?"

"Patricia," Rosalie lied automatically, "Patricia Sutton."

"Well Trish," the woman grinned again, "I'm Emma."

"Nice to meet you, Emma."

Emma wandered off with a bounce in her step, making Rosalie's concern increase tenfold.

"Ma'am?"

Rosalie turned.

She had finally reached the front of the line, where the barkeeper was awaiting her order. However, she found herself unable to utter a word. Mumbling a quick apology, she left the queue to find Raymond.

She smiled when she saw him emerge from the humidor room with two rare cigars in hand. She'd forgotten the way he swaggered moreso than walked. The leisurely, confident way he carried himself touched a fond familiarity in Rosalie which made her cheeks plump with an even brighter grin.

Her amusement wavered, however, when she recalled the woman from the bar.

She needed to warn him. Something wasn't right about her. They should leave.

Raymond swiveled in search of her, and she nearly raised a hand to wave at him, but a series of events halted Rosalie in her tracks.

The woman from the bar, Emma, came running up to Raymond and flung her arms around his middle.

She chattered away excitedly, not releasing him for several seconds.

Red seemed taken aback, but smiled indulgently all the same. He cast a brief secretive look around the bar, completely missing Rosalie.

With an obvious sense of urgency, he shooed the woman back toward the hedge, waving that he would be along shortly

The reality behind Emma's curiosity finally clicked into place.

Rosalie gasped as though she'd just been punched in the stomach, "Oh…"

This Emma was her replacement.

Rosalie's feet turned her of their own accord, hiding her safely behind the nearest illuminated iron archway.

To her surprise, the action put her face-to-face with none other than Dembe.

He stood framed in the arch, horrified at seeing Rosalie, at knowing what she'd just witnessed.

"Did...Did you know?" She murmured, looking into her friend's eyes with an absolutely gut-wrenching look of betrayal.

"No…" he said immediately, "I don't know...I don't think this is what it looks like."

Rosalie bowed her head. A fool; she was a complete and utter fool.

Raymond lied; he didn't care about her. He never wanted to build a life with her.

It was all a lie.

The temper she'd kept carefully in check licked at her insides once more, stoking the rage she felt at being so humiliated, at letting herself be fooled all over again.

Dembe reached out to her, but she pushed his hand aside.

Rosalie swept around the corner once more and crossed the establishment to come toe-to-toe with Red.

She wanted to rage at him. She wanted to smash things and yell with all her might, to make him feel just one shred of what she felt inside at that moment.

But she didn't. In the end, Rosalie could only manage one question.

"I...I meant every moment of us. Did you?"

Raymond cocked his head, "What are you talking about?"

Rosalie's eyes dropped to his shoulder, seeming to look right through him. Without warning, the mask of the criminal descended back over her features, shielding her true self from him once more.

"You seem upset; what happened?"

The only flicker of emotion he saw was when Rosalie's top lip curled, fighting valiantly to subdue the snarl attempting to claim it.

"You shouldn't keep your date waiting."

The damning statement made Red's insides plummet and his face turn an ashy white.

"Red! There you are! I see you've met my new friend. But you seem to already know each other…"

Shit.

Raymond didn't have to turn to know that Emma was standing directly behind him.

She sauntered forward, placing a hand on Red's shoulder and smiling brightly at Rosalie.

"Rosalie-"

"I have to go, unfortunately," Rosalie cut across them both, her jaw clenching tight and her sharp gray eyes sizing Emma up in spite of herself before turning back to Red. "Mr. Reddington."

She turned on her heel, making for the elevator with what dignity she had left.

"Son of a bitch..."

Catching sight of Dembe in the distance, Red gestured for him to make Emma stay put as he went after Rosalie.

Dembe blessedly stepped forward to ward off any pursuit just as Raymond managed to catch up to Rosalie at the elevator doors. He grabbed her elbow, "Rosalie, I promise this is not what it looks like."

She didn't even turn around. Instead, Rosalie wrenched her arm from his hold and prodded the call button with a vigorous jab.

"It looks to me like you had the entire criminal underground to choose from, and you brought your new..." She could barely spit out the words, "You brought her here."

Red didn't have to see Rosalie's face to know the pain that statement caused her.

You brought her here. Of all the places in the world, you brought her to ourplace. How could you?

His hand reached to touch her shoulder, to turn her around so he could explain, but the action halted in mid-air.

"It's not what you think," he murmured plaintively, "You have to believe me, she's not-"

He wasn't prepared when Rosalie turned around, suddenly so close she could have kissed him.

"I don't have to believe a damn thing, Raymond Reddington. I don't think I'll ever believe you again."

Rosalie boarded the elevator, and when Red made to follow her inside, her hand shot out, holding flat against his chest.

His heart hammered wildly against her fingertips.

She held him there, refusing to relent to the pressure of his bulk pressing against her hand.

"She's nothing to me." He murmured desperately, trying to get through to her.

Rosalie waited long enough for the doors to almost completely close, then snatched her hand back last minute.

Red rushed forward, but was blocked by the smoked glass barring his entry.

Rosalie watched as the elevator lowered down into the brownstone, the shadow of the man she'd once loved disappearing as the dark nightclub consumed her.

When the doors opened once more, she rushed out through the front door to find Teddy and Horace resting against the hood of their transport vehicle.

Two towering men in stark navy suits stood in front of her guard, each waiting with a hand closed upon a beefy wrist, jet black tattoos showing starkly on their skin.

It took a moment for Rosalie to recognize the intricate 'C' on their ring fingers.

They were Corsicans.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, her voice cracking despite her efforts to seem unaffected.

Horace and Teddy both turned at the sound, instantly suspicious and concerned.

The larger of the two Corsicans spoke first. "Le Caïd sent us. He insists you and your guard make for Corsica."

"Immediately." Intoned the other.

Rosalie's guard waited on tenterhooks to see what she would do.

To their unending surprise, she waved them aside.

"We'll leave immediately. Let him know to expect me tomorrow. Caspian will have to stop for fuel and a brief respite near Normandy."

The Corsicans bowed their heads, then stepped aside so she, Horace, and Teddy could board the vehicle.

Once the doors were closed, the threesome watched the Corsicans board their own vehicle.

"Rosalie...?" Teddy murmured, glancing in the rear-view mirror, "Did you find Reddington?"

Rosalie bobbed her head once.

"...What happened?" Asked Horace, his tone for once tentative.

Something was obviously off. Rosalie's face was completely void of emotion, her voice flat and unmoving.

She crossed one leg over the other, eyes growing more distant by the second.

"Our things should still be on the plane. Give Caspian a call to let him know we are heading straight for Teterboro. The Corsicans will undoubtedly follow us right up until we board. Let's not bother with dawdling."

Ted pulled out of the parking spot, and just as Rosalie had predicted, the pair of Corsicans whipped their sedan in a tight u-turn and followed them down the quiet street.

"Rosalie?" Horace pressed, attempting to get her to open up about what happened.

"Yes he was there, Horace. With his new little blonde fool in tow."

Both Teddy and Horace whipped around at this.

"What?"

Rosalie settled deeper into her seat. "It's a shame, I should have warned her what she has to look forward to."

"Are you okay?" Asked Teddy earnestly, his frown deepening by the second as his eyes darted from the road to the mirror and back again.

"I'm fine." She lied, "We need to focus on getting to Corsica as soon as possible. I'm afraid I've worn out the last of Florian's patience."

---

PRESENT

The Armel Compound - Porto Vecchio, Corsica - August 3rd, 2000

The armored vehicle pulled up to the front of the Armel's coastal compound and parked beneath its arched stone carport.

Rosalie looked up to see the familiar security guarding the front door, their faces uncharacteristically somber.

Her arrival at Corsica was usually a joyous occasion, but now it was obvious to everyone involved that the Corsican boss was deeply displeased with his daughter.

Achille opened the passenger door for her and ushered her out into the balmy afternoon, guiding her straight into the homes cool interior, where Florian undoubtedly waited.

---

The Night Before...

The Cherry - Undisclosed Location, Upper West Side, New York - August 2nd, 2000

Red nearly jumped out of his skin when he noted Emma was at his elbow, her keen eyes locked on the descending elevator.

"Is that your source? An old girlfriend?"

"She's off-limits." He snapped, prodding the elevator's call button vigorously.

It arrived what felt like hours later, and Red pushed his way inside amidst the exiting crowd, jamming the buttons repeatedly to get the damn thing to move.

Emma and Dembe managed to slip in alongside him. "What's her name?" The former asked coyly, "She told me it was Patricia, but I don't think that's true."

Red was pointedly silent.

"Didn't you call her Rosalie?"

Dembe made a soft 'tss…' noise, trying to silently alert Agent Knightley to the fact that she was treading perilous waters.

Emma didn't even notice.

"If she knows something, you know we need to question her."

"What you need," gritted Red, "Is to focus on the lead."

"Ezra said she arrived in a black g-wagon, got a partial plate..." Emma practically bounced beside him, tapping a finger against her earpiece and grinning at his reflection in the glass. "Perhaps our contacts at the CIA might like to speak with her-?"

"Raymond…" Dembe interrupted, trying to dissuade him as the man's hand reached out to pull the lift's emergency stop.

The elevator came to a jolting halt, making Emma gasp as a small alarm began to ring inside the compartment.

A white-hot rage licked at Raymond's insides.

He turned slowly, the thunderous scowl on his face serving to make Agent Knightley shrink before him. His finger left the emergency button only to prod Emma's shoulder with the same amount of force.

"Let me phrase this appropriately," Red growled, "If your team or any other form of law enforcement so much as blinks in her direction, the deal is off. I'll disappear back into the ether, leaving a trail of false intel so damning, you and the others will never see the outside of a cubicle for the rest of your days; let alone an MI6 black site. Am I perfectly clear?"

"Y-yeah."

Dembe calmly intervened once more.

"Raymond, we need to go."

Red held Emma's frightened stare for several long seconds, then pressed the emergency button once more, setting the elevator back in motion.

When the glass doors opened, the staff came rushing inside to ensure they were alright.

Raymond shouldered past them without a word, making a beeline for the establishment's front door.

He knew before he reached the street that Rosalie was long gone.

Pulling the burner from his pocket, he quickly dialed Ted's burner. If there was a chance for him to explain, Teddy was his best bet.

"...What do you want, Ray?"

Ted's tone was deeply disapproving, letting Raymond know in no uncertain terms he'd been made aware of what Rosalie had seen

"Let me talk to her. It's not what she thinks-"

He could hear Horace and Ted arguing viciously underneath their breath.

A scuffle could be heard over the line, whereupon Horace's voice emerged victorious.

"You're done with her. Do you hear me? You've hurt her enough."

"Horace, let me speak to her. Let me explain. This whole thing is a gross misunderstanding-"

The call dropped unceremoniously, leaving Raymond fighting back the urge to snap the damn phone in half.

Emma and Dembe burst out of the Tinderbox seconds later, both waiting patiently for Red's directive.

He turned on his heel and made for the surveillance van, not even bothering to maintain their cover.

Red ripped open the rear doors, sending the agents within sprawling for cover.

"What did you hear with the Jailbreaker?" He barked irritably.

Skip, who had already made his way out of the establishment and back into the surveillance van, quickly handed over a pair of wireless headphones.

Reddington crammed them over his head and waved for them to start the audio.

The three agents watched with bated breath, only looking up when Dembe and Emma appeared from behind one of the open doors.

Red swore under his breath minutes later, tossed the headphones aside and slammed one of the van doors shut.

"What's wrong?" Asked Emma, looking fretfully between Red and Ezra, "I thought you said we got the audio?"

"We did." Ezra insisted with a shrug, unsure as to what had made Reddington so angry.

Raymond turned to Dembe with a snarl.

"The Jailbreaker mentioned a lady in red performing at the Cherry."

Dembe hung his head, letting out an audible groan.

"Excuse me," called Sika, wedging the door open once more, "Can someone explain what that means?"

Reddington swore angrily once more, his feet carrying him to pace the street so he could decompress.

"The four of you have come across the bank robber John Dillinger in your course of studies, have you not?" Asked Dembe, waiting for them to nod before continuing.

"Dillinger was hiding out at the apartment of a Romanian woman named Anna Sage. Anna was unfortunately about to be deported from the United States, so when she got the idea that turning in the fugitive whom she'd been hiding might get her a green card, she helped set up an elaborate plan for the FBI to arrest him."

"So?" Said Sika, "What does a 1930's gangster have to do with what the Jailbreaker said?"

"Do you remember what the papers called Anna Sage?" Dembe countered, a lone brow rising in question. He looked from one agent to the other.

They all shook their heads.

Red, having finally gotten his temper under control, sidled up to the van once more.

"The Lady in Red. That's what they called her."

Furrowed brows greeted this.

Raymond sighed, realizing he was going to have to spell it out for them.

"Ever since that day in June, 1934, the phrase 'Lady in Red' has been part of the criminal code. That phrase is used to covertly alert one's conversation partner to the presence of a snitch, wire, or setup of some kind."

All eyes turned to Emma.

"What?" Her cheeks turned a dull pink, "We were there before them, and nobody saw me place the microphone in the hedge...How could he have known we were listening in?"

"I don't think he knew at first," said Ezra, "Surely if he had, he wouldn't have let the proxy mention the client's name."

Red nodded. "Ezra's right. Either someone tipped him off or he looked a little too closely at that hedge. Either way, he's in the wind now."

"We still have the name of his client." Emma reminded timidly, still keeping a fair bit of distance between them. "We can try and track him from there?"

"We'll have to give it a shot." Sighed Red, turning to head for the black sedan which had just pulled up with Kate Kaplan inside. "We don't have any other recourse for finding the Jailbreaker."

Skip leaned out of the van. "Where are you going?" He called.

Reddington didn't turn around, nor did he halt his stride.

"Go get some rest. We're leaving for London early tomorrow."

Dembe followed after him, slipping into the front passenger's seat without a word.

The sedan sped off, leaving the four agents looking confusedly after them, wondering how their well-laid plan had gone so awry.

---

PRESENT

The Armel Compound - Porto Vecchio, Corsica - August 3rd, 2000

Rosalie followed Achille through the sunlit hallways that felt as familiar as her childhood home, eyes drifting comfortably along the various artwork poised upon the home's walls and decorative tables.

The rest of the security which had accompanied them halted at the end of the hall, allowing Rosalie and Achille to step over the threshold before closing the massive oak door behind them.

An expansive room brimming with wall-to-wall bookshelves and ornate antique furniture unfurled around them.

It was warm and sunny. The air carried the scent of old books and the slightest whiff of tobacco. The plush rugs beneath their feet made Rosalie want to kick off her heels in the worst way. Everything about the place was comforting familiarity.

They were in Florian's study.

Marietta was the first person to catch Rosalie's eye.

Her motherly smile was kind and reassuring as she looked upon her adopted daughter.

"Tout ira bien, ma rose sauvage." She whispered calmly, reaching out to squeeze her hand as she passed.

Rosalie felt her eyes start to sting, just then realizing how deeply she longed to stop and bask in Marietta's comfort.

This did not go unnoticed by Marietta, whose brow furrowed with concern.

Cedric was stood by the arching glass doors which led to the courtyard, staring out into the quiet flower beds.

He turned at the sound of newcomers, his green eyes zeroing in on Rosalie, just as concerned as Marietta's had been.

"Sœur."

Rosalie rushed forward and flung her arms around Cedric, having never been more relieved to see him than in that moment.

Cedric squeezed her tightly, holding on for several seconds before letting her go. "I gave you as much time as I could."

"I know," she murmured, patting his cheek fondly, "I can't thank you enough for that."

A hush fell over the room, and Rosalie didn't need to turn around to know Florian was in their midst.

She turned away from Cedric, toward the center of the room where another figure was seated in a tall wingback chair she knew to be made of ebony wood.

"Pére."

Florian's snowy curls were a tad wilder than usual. His customary midnight blue suit was firmly in place, save for the jacket, which was draped over the arm of his chair.

His sleeves were rolled up to provide a little relief from the heat. The exposure showcased the scant few tattoos which resided on his arm.

Rosalie's eyes dropped habitually to the middle finger of his right hand, where the bejeweled signet of Le Caïd rested on his finger, directly over the Corsican tattoo he too bore.

She looked up to find Florian's icy blue eyes fixed on her, their depths sparking with outrage.

"You have been unreachable for some time, Fille."

The cold words chilled the room further.

Rosalie felt the same chagrin she'd felt when caught in open wrongdoing as a child consumer from head to toe. Her head bowed when her eyes stung with moisture once more.

"I'm sorry to have worried you."

"No," said Florian, his tone sharp and unyielding. "Crocodile tears won't work this time, Rosalie. You have ran from me, kept secrets from me, and blatantly ignored my calls for you to return home to Corsica. Now you show up without even your security to watch over you. I want to know why."

Rosalie looked up at him, and in that moment she felt the full weight of how tired of all this she truly was. It had been exhausting, keeping ahead of him, and for what? All she'd managed to do was make Florian angry with her. She wasn't better off emotionally for having kept him in the dark. In fact, she was far worse than she'd been before.

Finding out Raymond had essentially replaced her had been the final blow Rosalie needed to realize she hadn't been coping at all. She wasn't getting better, and it seemed there was no hope in sight.

She was so tired.

The child in Rosalie kicked off her heels, nudging them off to the side before crossing the oriental carpet to stand directly in front of Florian.

"Okay," she murmured wearily.

Florian's frown deepened when Rosalie knelt at his feet.

She took a deep, steadying breath.

"What I've kept from you, Pére, was that I was abducted by a drug cartel back in February and held captive for four days..."

---

The Knightley's Flat - London, United Kingdom - August 3rd, 2000

Emma arrived home late on the third to a quiet apartment.

"Colin?"

No one answered.

She kicked off her trainers, locked the front door, and made her way up to the second floor bedroom.

Her stomach dipped unpleasantly when she found the bed sitting empty in a strip of moonlight from the window.

A slip of paper could be seen resting in the center of the quilt comforter. Emma picked it up.

It was a note from Colin.

Gone 'round my mum's. Need time to think. Took Crumpet with me, wasn't sure when you'd be home.

She flopped onto the bed, feeling more miserable by the second.

He even took the dog with him. The quiet he'd left behind was deafening.

Without a though as to why, Emma picked up her cell and dialed the only number that made sense.

---

Kore - London, United Kingdom - August 3, 2000

Raymond had left the DC6 at the tarmac, trusting them to handle their carpooling plans themselves.

Rather than heading for the safe house, he had informed Kate and Dembe on the flight back that he would be heading directly to Kore for a bit of urgent business.

An hour after the jet landed, the three were exiting the building's elevator to a raucous crowd of fugitives placing outlandish bets on a poker game.

Dembe followed Raymond at a reasonable distance while Kate went to observe from the shadows of the bar.

It took mere minutes for Red to find the threesome he was looking for.

Dembe's eyes widened at the sight.

Lorcan, Fearghas, and Conlan, better known as the Brothers Sionnach, sat huddled in a private booth in the establishment's far corner sharing a bottle of whiskey and arguing heatedly about their next plan of attack.

"Gentlemen."

The brothers looked up as one, each of their countenance rife with suspicion.

"Yeah mate." Said the brother known as Lorcan, "What do you want?"

Red's face contorted into a dark, cunning smirk.

"You're looking for a target. I'm looking for someone to blow up the SIS building. I'd say what I want and what you want are very much the same."