Chapter Fifteen
Raymond Reddington was frozen at the door of his apartment that he kept, Katarina Rostova standing there like it hadn't been nearly two decades since he'd last laid eyes on her. They'd communicated in the occasional coded letter and there had been one late-night phone call back in 2013 in which she screamed at him in every language they both knew and a couple that he wasn't fluent in. It had ended in a reminder of a promise: he would protect Elizabeth with his life, just as he'd always been willing to do. Then she'd been gone again, leaving him wondering if the call had been a dream his mind had cooked up in response to crashing into Elizabeth's life.
But there she was at his door, looking at him expectantly until he pivoted out of her way and let her slide into the apartment.
She'd aged gracefully, not that he'd ever expected anything different. Her hair, while lighter, still held most of its natural reddish hue that he'd loved in their youth and those eyes were as playful as they'd ever been. She was so full of life, even long after most of the world had been convinced that she was dead. Those beautiful blue eyes of hers held his own, locking him in place as she slipped passed him, every step intentional and that smile still hadn't left her even as she turned towards the living room. "Quaint," she stated, her voice light but the judgement clear. She had always had a certain level of taste.
"What are you doing here, Kat?"
Katarina turned at the old nickname that slipped from his lips. "You were careless."
His eyes narrowed and he followed her into the room, her finger trailing across smooth surfaces as she made her way to the bookshelf. He watched as she looked over the books, the knickknacks, and finally the photos. "How so?"
She paused at the framed photo of Elizabeth in her lap, young and smiling and carefree, Katarina's face washed out by the flash. It had been a carefully taken photo on a rare day in which they'd felt like a family. They hadn't been, of course, something that he'd known all too well even without the way that she had liked to remind him of it.
"Lia," Katarina answered easily as she set the photo back in place.
"Who?"
She turned, a questioning look plastered on her face too evenly to be real. "Lia. Lia Sokolova. Did you never know her real name?"
"I don't know who you're referring to."
Katarina huffed a laugh, turning back to the shelf. "Blonde, leggy…. Tried to kill my father."
"Ah," he breathed. "You never would tell me their names."
"You shouldn't have known about them at all," she said pointedly. "I shouldn't have told you."
"But you did."
"It was foolish."
"You trusted me."
"It nearly destroyed us. You, me… Masha."
"She's taken care of," Reddington assured her. Sam had started her training and he'd continued it himself over the last seven years. Now that she was the sole heir to his will she'd be taken care of financially as well. It wasn't what he wanted, necessarily - at least not like this - but it was something. He'd be damned if he died and left her out in the cold on her own.
Katarina turned, studying him. "You don't know, do you?"
He resisted the urge to show the confusion the question sparked. "I know a great many things, Kat. You'll have to be more specific."
"What she's been up to."
"I know the case she's been working. It's under control."
Katarina barked a laugh and she took a couple steps closer to him. "I'd wager by this point she doesn't give a damn about the case, not if they're anything like us when we were young."
He wasn't sure exactly what she meant by that, but he knew it couldn't be good. "What have you done?"
She covered the remaining step and a half to stand directly in front of him, leaned in, and whispered into his ear: "He's alive."
The tug of uncertainty that had been building in Red turned cold. "Who?"
Katarina pulled back enough that he could see the amusement in her eyes. "Tom Keen." He didn't dare say anything else and she shook her head. "Hell of an operative," she filled the silence. "He just about died protecting her at least once, so when I needed someone to keep an eye on her, I thought: who better?"
She was baiting him. She had to be, but that didn't mean that she hadn't found him tucked away at St Regis and offered Zanetakos a duffel bag or two of money as down payment for the man that had probably risen back through the ranks once he had a clean bill of health again. Reddington should have kept an eye on him, he knew, and part of him had kicked himself here and there for not doing it better, but every time he thought about setting someone out to bring back news of the man that - sometimes - went by Jacob Phelps he knew he was playing with fire. He knew nothing. He saw nothing. It wasn't like he could bring him back to her anyway.
But Katarina had. Somehow. "You know, don't you?"
"That you're the one that cost him his memories? I would have put money on it, but I didn't know for sure until you just told me." She sauntered over to his couch and took a seat, kicking off her heels and folding her legs beneath her. Her expression was a little more serious now. "I've seen the way she loves him. Why did you do it?"
"He found the bones."
"Raymond…"
"Kate sent them to him to deliver to Elizabeth."
"Raymond."
He felt a spark flash in his temper. "Don't. I've been here at the center all of this while you've been in the shadows. Safe."
"Who wanted me there?"
"I wanted all of us safe. We could have been if you'd just come with me."
He watched her stiffen at that. "You stole her from me."
"You were reckless. You put her in the cross-hairs and you… You saw what happened to him and you did nothing to protect your own daughter."
"My daughter?" she echoed.
He shook his head. "I could be her father or I could keep her safe. I couldn't have it both ways. Neither could you. That's why we sent her to Sam." The reminder of all he'd given up, all they had needed to be willing to give up, hung between them and Reddington felt a strange mix of relief and guilt in his almost-confession of who Liz was, even if Katarina has always known.
Her expression softened a little, all amusement washed away. It was something deeper now. Sadness didn't even scrape the surface. "So Christopher discovered your secret and you took his memories, just like you did to Masha."
"I never meant to take Tom's memories of her, just to replace what he found. You and I both know why no one can know that, especially now."
"Now?"
Interesting. She didn't know. "Victor Petrov was delivering a message to Emilia Schmitz in Bonn. I've confirmed with contacts here: Bonn has taken initiative to rebuild the American branch." He watched some of the colour drain from her face.
"And I thought he'd moved too quickly," she mused. "There'll be no stopping them if he sends his own people in."
"There was only delaying. We were never going to stop them."
"Maybe at one point, but no, not in a long while now." Her hand snapped out and the touch was surprisingly gentle against his arm. "I know you did your best for her."
"Little good it did any of us."
"We're not done. Raymond -" she waited until he met her gaze "- we've been in this together for too long now. We're joined. If you go down, so do I."
"And vice versa," he agreed softly.
"I'd much rather us be on the same side again."
Reddington's jaw tightened just a little. "You've already reached out to Tom, so clearly you're preparing to contact Elizabeth. What are you here for?"
He knew that look. She thought it could fool anyone into thinking she was innocent, and maybe it could fool most people, but not him. "I just told you -"
"On the same side, yes," he cut her off. "But you need me to do something for you. You wouldn't have tipped your hand yet otherwise."
Katarina's smile was both intoxicating and terrifying at once. She tipped up on her toes, her hands traveling up his sides until she loosely wrapped her arms around his neck, never breaking eye contact with him. "Is it so difficult for you to believe that I've missed you?" she asked, her voice low.
He chuckled at that. "It's difficult to believe that only that would bring you out of hiding."
There was a very subtle change in her gaze, but he knew that expression. She was relenting, and when she spoke again her tone confirmed it. "You know him better than any of us"
"I barely knew him at all. He recruited you."
"He's coming and I meant what I said when I told you you'd been careless. Taking a seat at the table here was foolish."
"It was a calculated risk to keep an eye on them."
"Is that what you tell yourself?"
"They already knew me. You made sure of that."
Katarina pushed a frustrated breath out. "Where are the bones now?"
"Destroyed."
"But people know."
"You know, I know, and Dom knows."
"And Ilya."
Reddington cringed at that. If anyone deserved a bit of peace after everything, it was Ilya. "Yes." He moved to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink. "I can't help you, Kat."
"And why is that?"
"Because I have nothing left to give."
Katarina moved to his side, pouring herself a drink as well. "That's never true."
"This time it is. I've done what I can to mobilize the Task Force to provide intel, but otherwise I'm afraid I won't be much used to you."
"Too bad you don't get that choice."
He snorted, sipping on his drink. "Do tell."
"Because I know your secrets." She flashed him a bright smile and downed the rest of her drink in one swallow.
The door to the apartment opened and both Reddington and Katarina had their guns leveled at the supposed intruder in unison. Dembe froze, dark eyes wide and his gaze fixed. "Katarina."
She lowered her weapon and the tense expression lightened immediately. "Dembe! Look at you. You grew up."
When he had been part of the first Reddington task force with Bobby, Julian, and the rest of the team, Ressler had discovered what it meant to live out of a suitcase. He had gotten good at packing at a moment's notice, so when Cooper had told him that he and Park would be on a plane to Germany that would leave out in just a few hours to catch the red-eye to Bonn, he was ready with time to spare.
Most of the Post Office had cleared out for the evening, but Ressler saw Cooper's office light on and took the steps up to it quickly. The door was open and Cooper looked up from where he was gathering his things to leave as well. "Agent Ressler. Did you need something before your flight?"
He could have called. Now that he was standing there in the doorway when he probably should already be in the cab on his way to Dulles, he realized that the more sensible thing would have been to call. It was easier to gauge a reaction in person though.
"Sir, I thought you should know that I'm running Tom Keen's DNA."
Well, it was easier to gauge most reactions in person. Assistant Director Harold Cooper didn't give any immediate tells, but instead seemed to be studying Ressler in turn. Finally, he reached for his suit jacket and shrugged it on. "I would have expected nothing less."
"Sir?"
Cooper turned to look at him. "We've seen too many strange things to count since this task force was brought together. Trusted friends that turned out to be enemies, Blacklisters with talents and means that I wouldn't have believed without seeing for myself…. Tom certainly isn't the first dead man to walk back through that door - or even the first time he's done it himself -"
"But you identified him," Ressler cut him off and Cooper nodded.
"I did, which means either someone had an excellent doppelgänger ready to use the night Reddington brought them to the hospital or has put one into play after having the time to orchestrate it."
"And using the excuse that he's lost time to explain why he doesn't know certain things," Ressler murmured, hating it even as he said it. He was a federal agent. He didn't have to like the evidence to follow it.
"The opportunity hadn't presented itself for me to quietly run his DNA yet," Cooper admitted and grabbed for his briefcase, motioning for Ressler to follow him out the door and he started down the stairs into the mostly-empty Post Office. "But he stayed the night at your home."
"And drank my beer," Ressler chuckled. He shook his head as they hit the bottom of the stairs. "If he's an imposter, he's a damn good one. I know Liz might want it to be true bad enough to overlook some signs, but…. The man on my couch last night sure as hell reminded me of that asshole from six years ago that said good luck when I told him I was going to arrest him."
"Or beat Karakurt senseless in my garage," Cooper added, more amused than not. He turned, the levity washing away. "You were right to send it out."
"I can't shake the feeling I'm betraying my partner by going around her back on this."
"You said it yourself. Elizabeth wants to see it, and no one can blame her for that. She loves him. If Audrey somehow appeared at your door, what would you do to have that second chance with her?"
"Anything," Ressler answered immediately, and from the look Cooper gave, that was the answer he'd expected.
"Exactly. I don't have to tell you that time only dulls it, it doesn't take the pain away."
"No," Ressler breathed as his fiance's smile ripped through his memory like a wound that would never quite heal, and he remembered what he'd demanded of Liz as he stood over Bobby Jonicka: What if it were Tom? It had been, and she'd been willing to burn the world when she'd resurfaced from her failed attempt at mourning.
"There's trust and there's blind trust," Cooper continued. "I hope for Elizabeth's sake that her trust is well founded, but as the people that care for her, we can make sure of that. You can make sure of that."
Ressler nodded, chuckling mirthlessly. "Trust but verify, huh?"
"Yes. Can I give you a ride to the airport?"
Ressler checked his watch. Calling a cab would cut it close now. "Yeah, thanks."
They stepped into the lift. "You're a good partner, Donald. A good friend. She'll see that, no matter what the outcome is."
He snorted. "You sure about that?"
Cooper tried for a smile. "Even if not immediately, someday."
Ressler loosed a breath as the lift started up. Cooper was right. Even if it didn't feel like it, this was how he could have Keen's back. Despite everything they'd seen, she'd never entertain the thought that the man was an imposter. Ressler hoped it was for a good reason, but he had to be sure. His friend had expedited the test. By the time Ressler was Stateside again, they'd know for sure if Tom Keen had somehow survived his own death yet again.
Liz had barely slept after she and Tom had uncovered the information that had simultaneously answered questions and dealt out dozens of new ones. Her mother - not the woman that had been posing as her mother and living under the name Maddie Tolliver, no. She'd only taken advantage of a woman desperate to know her family after so long - had found and hired Tom. She'd sought him out at St Regis over two years after his supposed death and had set him up to protect Liz. Not unlike Red had done years ago, the small and irritating thought had broken through before she had the chance to shove it aside. Still, from what Tom had said she'd expected him to cross paths with her. She'd expected Liz to find him. Despite telling him that Liz could never see him, that had been the goal all along.
It was strange, but her mother was strange. Even if her sparse memories told her that Katarina Rostova was a normal woman married to a normal man and living a normal life, Elizabeth Keen knew better than that all these years later. She knew her mother was a KGB spy, and now she knew that she was one of several women running under the name Katarina Rostova. They would pop up all over the globe, sometimes at the same time, painting the illusion that she was everywhere and nowhere at once. Sometimes a redhead, sometimes a blonde. In Russia or Germany or the United States. Liz didn't remember her being gone a lot, but she had been, otherwise Kate Kaplan never would have been hired to be her nanny while her mother was away.
Around 9:30 the night before it had become increasingly clear that Agnes would not go to bed unless Liz and Tom did. Liz had tucked her in twice, but both times she'd wandered out to interrupt the research. Finally, Liz gave, and told Agnes that they were going to bed, so she needed to go to bed. Five minutes after they'd flipped the lights off in their room - Tom awkwardly uncertain where he was supposed to sleep and Liz rolling her eyes and reminding him that he'd naturally gone to his side of the bed that morning - Agnes had pushed the door open and crawled into bed with them, snuggling up with her mom. Liz only managed a couple of hours of restless sleep before she gave up, slipping out of bed and into the living room to resume her research.
She didn't feel tired. She felt focused, even if every answer produced more questions. She spent the hours that Tom and Agnes slept blissfully unaware to study everything that Tom's friend Fitz had found on her mother and on the other women that had worked with her.
"Were you up all night?"
Liz startled at the unexpected voice behind her and she found Tom standing there, a little bleary eyed, and Agnes had ahold of his hand. Their little girl beamed. "I get pancakes again!" she announced and looked up to Tom.
"Give me just a second, okay?" he asked and she darted off to the kitchen, all the worry from the night before put away as only a child could. Tom turned his attention back to her. "Find anything?"
"A lot of questions."
"More?" he chuckled.
"So many more. You got breakfast handled?"
"Sure. You want pancakes?"
Liz stopped, finally looking around at the question, and found him waiting for her answer. For just a moment, she had been so distracted that she'd forgotten. For just a moment, despite being neck deep in research on KGB spies that were connected to her mother, life had been normal again. Tom knew who he was and he was getting their little girl up and ready for school like he would have so many times before if Garvey hadn't taken him away from her. If…. She blinked hard, the thought process slamming headlong into a possibility she hadn't considered. "Do you think my mother might have had something to do with you disappearing and losing your memories?"
Tom looked more than a little confused. "How'd you get there from pancakes?"
She shook her head, laughing at the absurdity of it. "It's… a memory, that's what got me there. I don't like pancakes."
"Good to know."
"Yeah," she said softly, biting her lip. "But Agnes loves them. Just like you."
He offered her a lopsided smile. "I figured that one out."
"I'm hungry, Jacob!" Agnes called from the kitchen.
"Just a sec, kiddo." He turned back to Liz. "I don't know who took my memories, but I'm meeting with your memory specialist friend in an hour, so maybe that'll shed some light."
"An hour?" Liz demanded and finally looked over at the clock. When had it gotten so late in the morning? "I have to get Agnes to school and -"
"Okay."
The response drew her attention. "I want to be there."
"I didn't expect you to."
"Why?"
"You seemed pretty focused."
Liz's jaw slackened, but she couldn't find the words as old arguments that they'd had years before surfaced in her mind about her absolute focus on work and the strain it had put on them. Granted, some of that had been a front in their first marriage, but she knew at least some of that pain had been real for Tom. Back then, he'd felt like he always came second to whatever case she was fixated on. It had gotten better once she knew who he was and what he did, but it had always felt like a shadow ready to creep up on them.
She shook her head. "It's important, but so's meeting with Dr Orchard. I've done what you're about to do. You shouldn't do it alone." Liz didn't miss the tiniest of smiles that pulled at him and she looked at the clock. "Okay, I'll get her ready, you make breakfast, and I'll meet you at Orchard's office after dropping her off. Deal?"
"Sounds good," he agreed.
Okay. They could do this. Liz stood and motioned to Agnes. "You want the pink top or the red one?"
"Pink!" Agnes cheered and they were off to the races.
He hadn't known what to expect from a doctor that specialized in memory therapy, but Selma Orchard was one of the most patient medical professionals Jacob had ever met. He arrived first, as they had expected, and the doctor sat down with him. She confirmed a few pieces of vital information that Liz had spoken to her about and walked him through what she believed would be the best path for treatment. All the while Jacob sat there, trying to focus and yet finding himself constantly glancing at the clock with every stretch of minutes that Liz didn't walk through the door.
"Often this kind of therapy can do severe damage if not handled with care," Orchard warned. "We'll be using a cocktail of drugs to keep you in a twilight state, but there's still a chance your subconscious will fight it, and that can put a strain on both your mind and body. I have another patient today, so if you'd like to go through your first session, we need to start now. Is Agent Keen joining you or…?"
Jacob motioned and pulled out his phone, calling to check on her status. It rolled to voicemail almost immediately. The twinge of disappointment caught him a little off guard, but he plastered an easy smile on his face. "Looks like it's just us today, doc."
She looked like she might argue that for just a moment, but decided against it.
A few minutes later he was strapped into a chair - for his own safety, Orchard explained - and hooked up to a variety of machines that somehow felt vaguely familiar. The doctor's tone was soothing as she walked him through each step, asking him to take deep breaths and encouraging him not to be anxious. They would only go as far and as deep as his mind would release. Where would he like to start?
Jacob blinked hard, struggling through the first round of drugs that he hadn't realized were already dulling his senses. He pulled in a breath, released it, and went through the motion again. Liz trusted this woman and he trusted Liz. "I want to remember Liz," he managed, feeling a little sluggish as he turned toward Orchard.
"That's a bit…. broad. That's why I was hoping Agent Keen would be here. She could help guide you through. If we go in without any aim, you could end up anywhere."
"That's okay. I want to remember it all."
She hesitated a moment before finally nodding. "Okay, let's get started. Close your eyes and let yourself drift. You'll hear my voice and that will be your anchor. Can you hear me alright?"
"Yeah," he managed, and could already feel himself slipping deeper.
"You're fighting it. That's going to make things more difficult. You need to let go. You're safe here. We're going to help you find the answers you're looking for." There was a pause and Jacob had trouble identifying the sounds she was making. When she spoke again, her voice sounded a little further away. "I need you to picture Liz in your mind. Do you see her?"
He thought he made a small sound of acknowledgement as the woman that had quickly become the center of his universe appeared in his mind's eye.
"Good. Now let her lead you to a moment you shared. Your mind will know what is important if you'll let it."
The scene shifted around him and Jacob - Tom, his mind reminded him, and for the first time since this had all begun the name felt like it fit - found himself tumbling through glimpses of moments. They were jumbled and clipped, some moving so fast that he didn't have time to register anything more than a touch or a word whispered.
"Breathe, Tom," Orchard urged. "You're alright. You're safe. What do you see?"
"Too much," he managed and felt like he was spinning in place, trying to catch more than a wisp of a memory.
"It's okay. You don't need to remember everything right now. This is a process. I want you to find one thing to focus on. A sound or a place. Something that feels familiar."
She was smiling. Happy. Laughing. He followed it and found himself standing in what looked like a courtroom, her lips on his and he melted into the kiss. He loved her. He couldn't explain it, but as the kiss broke and he found her staring into his eyes, he knew it.
And he needed to know what took him away from her.
Everything shifted and suddenly he was standing in the middle of Agnes' room. There was a duffle bag in one hand and, while he couldn't place how he'd gotten there, there was a sense of urgency.
Hide it.
He tucked it away in the back of the little girl's closet and made it to the living room in time to hear the door forced open.
It was like a memo had gone out encouraging people to take as much as they could of Liz's time. First it had been Agnes' teacher who had been determined that they needed to discuss one of Agnes' art projects, then DC traffic, and finally a call from Reddington who was as determined as Agnes' teacher to drag the conversation out. The difference was he was fishing for something. Liz just didn't care what at this point.
"Listen, I really need to go," she said as she killed the engine outside of Orchard's office. She was already so late.
"Had you planned to tell me?"
The question stopped her midway as she slipped out of the vehicle. It only took half a beat before she covered it. "You're going to need to be a little more specific. What am I supposed to be telling you?"
She had been waiting for the shoe to drop on Tolliver's death, but she certainly didn't expect the name that he gave. "Tom."
Liz felt her blood run cold and she stopped just shy of entering the building. "Excuse me?"
"I understand your husband is alive."
"Who told you that?"
"A mostly reliable source," he answered with amusement purposefully lining his voice. There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, his tone more solemn now. "Why did you feel the need to keep this from me?"
Liz sighed and leaned back against the building, her head thumping lightly against it. "You were never exactly his biggest fan."
"I saw what losing him did to you, Elizabeth. If I could have…" She heard him swallow hard, likely looking for words that didn't ring entirely hollow. He'd been the one that had cared more for his secret than her closure, after all. "I would have spared you that pain if I had been able to. Has he told you what happened? Where—?"
"He doesn't remember," Liz said sharply as she turned and pushed through the front door.
"I'd like to help you, Elizabeth. If you'll let me."
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the tension behind them. She'd blamed Scottie for this at first, but with the information they had now it looked more likely to be her mother rather than his that was responsible. If that were true she would need to be very careful how that information was released to Reddington. He'd loved her. No matter who he really was, anyone could see that. This was a delicate situation at best.
A shout that sounded like Tom startled her and she jerked around to look towards the room he and Orchard would be in. "I have to go."
She didn't give him time to argue as she ended the call and sprinted towards what sounded like a terrified Tom Keen.
TBC
Notes: Well that was a wild chapter :P
I think we've officially reached the point in the story where tons of little clues will regularly be threaded into each new chapter to build the overall tapestry.
Next Time: Tom finds some truths, Katarina visits Dom, and Scottie Hargrave receives some startling news.
