Chapter Eighteen

Liz had just wrapped Agnes in a fluffy towel after her bath when she heard the sounds of someone in the kitchen. She kissed her daughter's hair that had - somehow and miraculously - stayed dry through the bath - and told her to put the clothes hanging up on. Grandma Scottie was coming for dinner.

Tom still looked tired, albeit less frustrated than he'd been while they were at Dr Orchard's. She stood watching him move around the kitchen and he almost looked like he knew where things were. She thought it might have just been his quick learning curve until he went for a specific cabinet and then looked very confused by what he found there.

"What are you looking for?"

"One of those big saucepans. I could have sworn-"

"I moved it up because I don't use it very often." She watched him follow through to the cabinet she motioned at. "You remembered where it was."

Tom blinked, surprised, and Liz felt a small smile creep into place as he said: "Guess I did." He grabbed the pan he needed and set it on the burner. He looked so natural there, almost like he had never left. He had, there was no denying the damage done to their lives, but as he started working in the sauce Liz felt a rare tug of peace. She wanted to hold onto that as long as the universe would let her.

"You don't have to cook, you know," she said as she moved to lean against the table, never taking her eyes off of him.

She could see the barest smiles pull at the corner of his lips. "I feel like you're not much of a cook."

"I've gotten a little better."

"Not sure if it's a memory or just a survival instinct, but I'm gonna play it safe on this one."

Liz flashed a grin that felt a little more forced as someone knocked on the door. Well, Scottie was early. "Aggie, you dressed?" she called into the little girl's room as she passed.

"My ears!" Agnes' voice sounded from inside, but Liz was already tugging the door open to reveal her mother-in-law on the other side.

She had never seen Scottie Hargrave look anything less than ready to stride straight into a boardroom in her tailored outfits and heels and tonight was no different. She stood in the doorway with her head held high and her thousand dollar purse on her arm, but under it all the younger woman thought she saw a hint of nerves. Okay. At least the last sliver of suspicion could be put away.

Liz flashed a smile. "Hey, come on in. Tom's in the kitchen."

"How is he—?"

The question was cut off as Agnes' door was thrown all the way open and she piled out of her room in the clothes that Liz had laid out for her, though with an addition of her own by way of the cat ears headband. She wrapped herself around Scottie's long legs and grinned up at her. "Hi."

"It's like you didn't see me today," Scottie teased with a smile and knelt down to pull her granddaughter into a hug. "I hear you've had a visitor."

Agnes nodded. "Daddy's in here," announced, surprising Liz and taking Scottie by the hand to lead her in. They hadn't said anything, there was no way she should have known, but Liz supposed with all the oddities that surrounded her daughter since birth there was no reason that she shouldn't have believed it either. Just another strange happening in the Keen household.

Liz followed at their heels to find Agnes already chattering away, pulling up a chair to stand on so that she could see what Tom was doing. He stirred at the sauce that was simmering, teasing the little girl playfully while Scottie stood frozen next to the kitchen table. Her dark gaze was fixed on him, following every tiny move, until he finally turned around as he wiped his hands on a dish towel. "You must be Scottie."

"Agnes, why don't you go play until dinner's ready," Liz prompted softly.

She looked ready to argue, but finally hopped off her perch with a loud and dramatic huff that lasted almost to her room. Scottie's lips twitched up at the show the four-year-old has put on and her attention snapped back toTom. "She's always reminded me so much of you," she said softly.

"I don't know how much Liz has told you…."

"I know that someone has manipulated your memories and that you're missing a considerable amount of time."

Tom's dark blue gaze flickered to Liz and she tried for a reassuring smile. "Yeah. I, uh…. I don't remember you. Sorry."

"It's not your fault," Scottie answered immediately, but Liz didn't miss that subtle anger just under the words. Well, when they did find who was responsible for Tom's missing memories, Scottie looked ready to go to war with them. It couldn't hurt to have the CEO of Halcyon Aegis in their corner.

Scottie plastered a struggling smile on her face as she shifted the subject. "So, what's for dinner?"


Howard Hargrave had been a civilian engineer when Red had first met him. Halcyon was in its infancy and its young, still-optimistic CEO had happened by and offered to play translator for a Polish woman with intel that Reddington's team had needed. Their interaction had been so brief that it wasn't until years later that the two men pieced it together and had gotten a good laugh over it. Yet another amusing story in a collection of them that they cultivated over the years.

Many things had changed since those days, and it had been years since Reddington had even seen his old friend. Christopher's disappearance from the beach house coupled with a variety of other factors - both connected and otherwise - has left Howard unpredictable and not entirely stable. It had only gotten worse with time. Red had finally put distance between them when it became clear that Howard didn't have any intentions of adjusting the dangerous trajectory that he had been hurdling in. Tom's return had been too late and Howard suspected too much to put him right again. Red feared that losing his son a second time - even at a distance - might have done him in.

That's why he was surprised to find out that Howard wasn't rotting away in some deep, dark hole like the government often threatened to throw him into, or even a mental institution for that matter. He found him in a little military town in Texas working for the government. He was tethered by an ankle monitor and given a very small stipend for his efforts if the shabby, bachelor-styled apartment was anything to go by. Perhaps they really had thrown him in a hole, just of a different sort.

Reddington had time to explore the small space before Howard arrived. There was nothing there that would have convinced him that his old friend lived within the walls. Howard had always been a nostalgic man in his own way, but none of that resonated here. Red saw no sign of hidden research or projects he was tackling on his own. Just the mindless day in and day out with a little food and an uncomfortable bed between it.

By the time the door opened Reddington had settled into the lone chair at a two-person breakfast table that could be folded up and shoved in a corner if it needed to be. Howard shuffled in, shouting over his shoulder at someone, before fumbling with the locks behind him. He turned and flipped the fluorescent lights on, freezing as he did. "Red?"

Reddington plastered one of his more charming smiles into place. "Howard. You are a difficult man to find. I thought you'd be in prison."

The other man snorted, tossing the keys down on the cheap counter next to the door. "Why lock me away when I'm still of some use?"

He moved further into the living space and Reddington gave him a once over. For the first time since he'd met him, Howard looked his age. His hair had receded years ago and what was left had turned grey, but the lines in his face looked deeper now and there was a weight against his shoulders. Worse yet, there was none of that old spark in his eye. As far down as his enemies had driven him over the years, that clever spark had remained. Reddington had seen it a little over three years before when he had stood before the cameras and declared war on his wife for the whole nation to see.

"You look like hell," Reddington said, his tone more pointed than light. Nothing about this boded well.

Howard shrugged and moved to the fridge. He stuck his head in and returned with a couple of beers in hand. Reddington did his best not to turn his nose up. Ah well. When in Rome. Or Texas, as it were.

"Long days, meaningless nights. They weigh on you like life," Howard answered heavily and leaned against the table, his sole chair occupied.

"What if I told you I could change all that?"

"I'd ask you what you get out of it," Howard answered sharply.

"Katarina has resurfaced."

"So now you're playing fetch for her?"

Reddington's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You know what it means. This isn't a game."

"Sure it is. One I bowed out of ages ago." He took a long swig of his beer. "Save your effort, Red. And whatever money you intended to bribe my guards with. I'm done. I'm out. She's won."

"Your war was never with Scottie," Reddington answered softly and Howard quirked a grey eyebrow.

"Wasn't it? It was her secrets that stole our boy away and the same that ended up getting him killed. You and I both know this Garvey was more than what he seemed." Howard had always been fascinated with conspiracy theories, and while he often found a trail that turned out to be more than it appeared, Garvey was gone. Dead. Reddington had made sure of it. Digging into the man himself would yield very little.

"None of it would have happened if you hadn't reached out," Reddington pointed out.

"None of it would have happened if you'd been half the friend you claimed to be thirty years ago and gotten my boy back!" Howard countered, the old argument rearing its head. "But no. You were too busy learning from my mistakes. Then you turn around, years later, and tell him that Scottie was his mother while telling him to stay clear of me! Of course I went to him. She'd have gotten her claws in and…" He stopped, the fit of rage he had been boiling to fizzling out abruptly and he turned a dark look on Red. "My boy is dead, my wife a traitor willing to kill me. That's what your war brought to my doorstep, Red. I'm not going to help you."

Red sat very still for a long moment. He'd underestimated the pain and suffering Howard had endured these last two and a half years. At the very least he had hoped to push the right buttons to encourage a lust for revenge, but he was too hurt. Too broken. He had heard the charges levied against him at his trial. Accounts of reckless endangerment, theft, perjury, espionage, and the list went on. Tom had testified against him after everything that had happened. He'd stood in front of an open jury as Christopher Hargrave and no one had warned him the dangers of it. Clearly Howard thought it was what had gotten him killed, and that was a hell of a weight to bear. Red didn't need to know the specifics of what he'd done to know that, at least in the recesses of his own mind, Howard had thought he was protecting his child.

Red leaned in. "We're past the point of no return on this."

"I don't care."

"You're willing to rot here?"

"Here. There. What's the difference?"

Red toyed with his options. He could tell him. It was a risk in his state. He knew Katarina we'll enough to know Scottie would, eventually, be brought into the middle of this as well. Howard would be difficult to convince, but perhaps if he could manage to connect him with his son before Scottie… that might work. It was time for a calculated risk or he'd be walking out of this place empty handed. "He's alive."

Howard didn't perk at that. "Who?"

"Christopher."

Now he looked up. "Don't lie to me, Red."

"I'm not, he—"

There was a change, a flash of rage, and Howard hurled the beer bottle so that it shattered against the floor. "My son is dead. You don't get to use him as a bargaining chip, Red. You don't get to manipulate me into sticking my nose into the same chaos that got him killed in the first place. The three of you made your bed. Lie in it or don't. I don't care, but get the hell out."

Reddington sat there for a long moment before he finally stood, fitting his hat back on his head. "For what it's worth, Howard, he can't remember anything. He's lost time."

"Convenient way of using a double to try to fool me."

And there were the conspiracies again, even if it weren't as far fetched as some might have thought. Red has used a double, but just not here and now. "Point being that he doesn't remember your last interaction." He sighed. "Not everyone is your enemy unless you choose to make them. I may be one of the few friends left in this world. Reach out when you finish wallowing in your self pity."

He turned and left before Howard could respond. If he would given way or buckled down, Reddington wasn't sure, but if there were anything left of the Howard Hargrave he had once known he wouldn't be able to shake the hope of his son being alive. It would gnaw at him until he had no choice but to act.


Ressler hadn't realized just how easily spoiled to flying private he'd managed to become over the years, but the delayed flight out of Germany and delayed layover at LaGuardia International had left him missing Reddington's jet, even if not the interference he certainly would have thrown into their case. No, after what he'd done to their Blacklister when they had refused to give him five minutes with the man. He might have given them the name that took them to Bonn, but Ressler's be damned if he forked over the jumpdrive Weiss had risked so much to get to him.

Still, it was late and Ressler was exhausted. He could miss the convenience of a private jet without missing the man that provided it.

He shifted his bag on his shoulder and fumbled for his keys just outside of his front door, but as he slid it into the lock and turned, he could feel that the mechanisms had already been released. That wasn't good.

The bag dropped to the hall floor as Ressler reached for his sidearm, readying himself as he pushed the front door open. The living room looked clear as far as his line of sight reached and he inched in, every muscle taught and finger ready on the trigger. He cleared the kitchen and the living room, the bathroom, and that only left one more room in the apartment. He flexed his fingers around the handle on his gun, adjusting his grip and he pulled a deep breath in through his nose as he started into the bedroom. He made it half a step through the door frame before the door swung out hard.

The blow hadn't been what he expected, but even as he stumbled off balance he kept his grip on his gun. Ressler spun, leveling it, but his attacker was already there. He was a tall and thick man, well out of Ressler's own weight class, and the shot went into the ceiling when he slammed his arm upward. He spun faster than he should have been able to and Ressler heard his own yelp of pain rattling in his ears before realizing that the intruder had followed through and wrenched his arm around so hard that it must have popped it out of socket.

Ressler didn't have time to test the theory as the man descended on him again, but he managed to avoid the blow if only just barely. He bobbed, finding his right arm utterly useless, and was sent sprawling to the floor hard. He lay there for a moment, stunned, and blinked hard against the pain as his attacker loomed over him. "The drive," he said simply and Ressler grimaced. He could see his gun on the floor, but he'd have to be faster.

"Don't know what you're talking about, pal."

The other man snorted and pulled his own weapon from its holster. "I don't believe you."

Ressler roller for his gun and the shot went off.


Dinner went surprisingly well. They tiptoed around certain subjects until Agnes went to her room to play, but as soon as she was out of earshot it was clear that Scottie Hargrave expected more. She had been pleasant and chatty about a lot of nothing right up until that point. A cover. A well designed mask. Tom knew it well, even if no memories seemed to be shaking loose about her just yet.

He worked his way through what he knew, he and Liz reading each other's small tells to make sure they didn't let information slip that shouldn't. He was careful never to mention Katarina Rostova by name, but something like recognition flashed through Scottie's eyes as Liz shared a few choice details about the woman that had called herself both Maddie Tolliver and Rostova.

Liz excused herself as her cell phone rang, stepping into the bedroom to take the call. Almost immediately Scottie turned to him. "The woman that hired you."

"Tremblay?" he asked carefully.

"Are you certain that's her name?"

"Are you certain it's not?" he countered.

"I understand your… caution," she said slowly, almost as if she were tasting each word. "This woman. I need to know what you know."

There was something strangely familiar about the way she was looking at him. Her gaze was calculating and careful, like she thought she could unearth any secrets by sheer determination. He held it though, and felt like he might be on the verge of remembering something important about her.

"Scottie, we're going to have to cut this short," Liz said as she blew back into the room.

"Elizabeth-"

"Ressler was just attacked in his apartment. I have to go."

Tom was on his feet in an instant. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I need to get a babysitter and -"

"Go," Scottie said firmly. "I'll watch Agnes."

Tom watched Liz hesitate for a long moment before she nodded, accepting the offer. Within five minutes she'd kissed Agnes goodbye, grabbed her gun, and pulled him out the door behind her.


TBC

Notes: Well, Becca called it in the reviews: my whump quota strikes again. Aimed at Ress this time :P

I don't know if I've mentioned this here (I chatter about it quite a bit on Tumblr), but I'm been working towards a move to California for a while now. This weekend I'm flying out and signing a least if all works as expected. Wish me luck! :D

Next Time: A new clue emerges in the case, Scottie sets a clandestine meeting, and Liz forces Red's hand.