Chapter Twenty
If there was one thing she knew about Raymond Reddington, it was that he never laid all of his cards on the table, even when she begged him to. The fact that he had caved on taking her to see her mother - a woman that he had been determined Liz and the rest of the world assume was dead - meant one of two things: either Katarina Rostova had requested her presence first or there was something far more damning looming off in a shadowy corner and waiting to strike. Or both. It could certainly be both. Liz didn't trust that he truly believed her threat, even if she wanted it to be true.
And it should be. When this was over - whatever war they were caught up in - she and Tom needed to take Agnes and walk away. They needed to protect their family.
Reddington led her to the same warehouse that Liz had been visiting Dom in. He met the doctor at the door who looked put out over something or the other, though it wasn't like he would tell her anyway. Instead Liz moved past them, feeling Reddington's eyes on her as she did, but her own were focused on a figure sat curled into a chair next to Dom's bedside with a tablet in hand.
There had been too many assumptions made, too many desperate attempts to believe that she had found the family that had left her over the years, but as the woman looked up Liz knew and her breath caught in her throat.
Katarina Rostova's lips parted into a smile and she set the tablet down. "Masha." She unfolded from her place, her moments exact in a way that showed her years of training. Even edging towards sixty, Liz would bet that this woman would still dominate in a hand-to-hand fight. She was dangerous, and there was a chance she was the reason Tom lost his memories. Liz couldn't lose track of that.
"Look at you. Photos don't do you justice," Katarina breathed, her gaze fixed on her daughter. "I'm sure you have questions."
"I do," Liz answered sharply. "I have…. a million questions, and everyone seems to have a different answer if they give me an answer at all. Reddington told me you were dead, Dom said that you'd faked your death to get away from the KGB and the Cabal, and Sam -" she swallowed hard, the man who had raised her's name pulling at the thread of painful memories - "it doesn't matter. What does is what I know."
Katarina straightened a little at that, her head tilting curiously. "And what is that?"
"That you are the woman from my memories and that you hired my husband to make sure he fell back into my life."
"Was there a question there?" she asked, he tone light but the underlying condescension made Liz's blood boil.
"How did he lose his memories?"
"Why do you think I would know what?"
"Did you hurt him?"
Katarina sighed loudly, glaring past Liz as she spoke. "Raymond has made you paranoid," she huffed and her gaze returned to meet Liz's. "When I came across your husband his memories were already gone. He was working for St Regis under the name Jacob Phelps. I've watched you Masha. I knew about the milestones in your life, even if it wasn't safe to be a part of them." She reached out and Liz steeled herself as her mother took her hand. She didn't pull away, but she didn't return the hold either. "I knew who he was and it was clear that something had happened."
"So you approached him under a false name with a false story just to bring him home? Do you really expect me to believe that's all there is to it?" Liz growled, finally snapping her hand back.
"Of course not."
"Then what?"
Her gaze flickered past Liz again. "I know Raymond doesn't always tell you everything -"
"Only when he's backed into a corner and even then as little as he possibly can."
"-but he believes he's protecting you."
"Any chance you plan on telling me why he feels entitled to treat me like a child?"
Katarina's brows drew together just a little before evening back out, the hint of unfiltered emotion tucked safely behind a mask that Liz was confident that she was wearing. Heaven forbid she meet her real mother and the woman be open and honest with her. That would be too easy.
"Ask me anything about me and I'll answer you. Truthfully and honestly. That's what I can offer."
Liz pursed her lips, wondering if she would even know what the truth looked like coming from this woman. "Why now?"
"To protect you," Katarina answered. "Everything I've done since you were born has been to protect you."
Liz took the words in and she wanted to believe them. "It's late. I need to get home."
"We have time. I'm not leaving."
The younger Rostova started to turn towards the door, but stopped and struggled to keep her voice steady as she spoke. "When I was little I used to pretend you were a ballerina touring the world and you would come back for me someday. I never dreamed you were a spy. A KGB agent and member of an organization that tried to have me killed. That very likely tried to have the man I loved killed. You're going to need time, because everyone that's come before you has used up my blind trust. You're going to need to earn yours." She met her mother's gaze. "And if you had anything to do with Garvey or the two and a half years of hell that my family has been put through because of him, you won't get the chance."
And then she was gone, blowing through the door and into the warehouse and outlying street so fast she couldn't have heard it if anyone tried to stop her. She had needed to look her mother in the eye that night, to confirm she was who she thought she was, and she had. Now all she wanted to do was to go home.
6:24 AM at the park off 10th in DC. That had been the message Scottie had left for Katarina and she was late. Of course she was. Even when the time was agreed upon, Scottie had known Katarina would either already be there when she arrived or leave her waiting and exposed. It was typically the latter.
The city was moving around her and the park was filled with joggers, cyclists, and a few people trying to combine Fido's walk with a desperate need for caffeine consumption at one of the coffee carts set up. Scottie watched mothers and fathers playing with their children at the park just down the path, one little boy reminding her all too much of Christopher at that age. Just for a moment she closed her eyes and she could almost hear the waves washing up onto the beach and see her little boy toddling with a bucket and shovel towards a little girl with long brown hair.
"Have you seen Agnes yet?" Scottie asked the figure who had taken a seat on the bench behind her. "She looks just like her mother at that age, just with her daddy's eyes."
"I've had more pressing concerns," Katarina answered. "As do you."
"It's been a long time, but you could have come to me. Especially when you discovered he was alive."
She could almost hear Katarina's smirk in the words. "I had faith you'd catch up soon enough." Scottie felt something press against her leg under the bench and found a shopping bag there. "They're coming."
"I could only assume that was true with you coming out of the cold like you did."
"We need it."
"There's other ways. We've put them in enough danger."
"And this is the only way to protect them from that danger."
Scottie pushed a long breath out through her nose, waiting until a jogger passed by to continue. "Christopher is missing time. Significant time."
"I know. It should open up opportunities."
"Convenient," Scottie ground out, the implication less than subtle and she heard Katarina snort.
"My daughter accused me of the same thing just last night."
So that's where Elizabeth had been. "You can hide things from her and call it protection. It may even be true, but you and I are equals in this."
"We were never equals," Katarina said tightly. "Not when it was me that they came for."
"I understand that was handled rather efficiently. You did have Koslov wrapped around your finger nearly as tightly as he had Lia around his."
"Speaking of men eager to please—"
"No."
"I haven't even asked yet," Katarina pouted.
Scottie resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she bent for the bag. "He can't be trusted."
"You just need to play it right. Look at our children. They were able to move past a few lies needed to get the job done. Howard will too if properly incentivized."
"He tried to turn Christopher against me."
"So? Christopher doesn't remember, and I imagine you're the one holding the strings now, aren't you?"
"We're setting the facility up today."
"Always in control, but not for long if they get it first."
Scottie stood. "They don't know where to look."
"So Ian Garvey's connection to Emilia is just a coincidence then?" Scottie turned to find Katarina staring directly at her, all pretense of subtlety tossed aside. "I'm banking on you doing what you do best. Bring the outliers under control. You have everything you need."
Scottie turned back, gaze sweeping the area to find them as alone as could be expected. "I'll be in touch," she said sharply and her heels sounded her exit on the concrete path through the park.
When Scottie said she wanted to help, Tom hadn't known exactly what to expect. The resources that she offered had turned out to be a more secure location than Dr Orchard's office and an array of equipment that had the good doctor falling over herself like a teenager with a crush.
Liz had not been quite as onboard with it. Scottie had been gone by the time Liz returned from meeting with her mother - something that she hadn't seemed overly inclined to talk about and Tom wasn't sure what their history was when it came to pushing for intel - and had been very hesitant to accent the broad offer to help, worrying about strings being attached to it. It had come in steps, first with Orchard moving the treatments there, and then as some of the symptoms that accompanied the memory therapy - migraines, nausea, and a variety of other less than fun side effects - started to set in, Scottie's offer to allow the Keens to make use of the living quarters attached to the building became harder to sidestep.
Tom watched Liz's reaction as she turned her nose up at the expensively decorated setup. "I don't know what she wants, but she wants something."
He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest and clips of memories playing through his mind from the short session he had just gone through. They had been in their apartment. It had been dark outside and Liz had had Agnes in her arms. She must have been eight or nine months old. Liz had been pushing about something having to do with Scottie and working for her.
He pulled in a breath, forcing his attention back to the present. "I thought you liked Scottie?"
"I do."
"Didn't you leave Agnes with her for a while?"
"I did." Her tone was a little sharper that time and he eased himself off the door frame to meet her where she stood in the middle of the room.
He reached out and, despite the irritation at the subject matter, she melted into his arms. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, holding her close. "So maybe this has more to do with your mom than mine?"
And that got him an elbow to the ribs.
A soft, pained breath left him and he found Liz's glare that looked more feigned than not. "Ouch," he huffed and the barest of smiles tilted her lips.
"I'm sorry, which one of us has a psych degree?"
"I mean, I know a guy that could spin one up pretty fast," Tom murmured with a small smirk and she swung at him again, missing this time as he hopped back. "Damn you're violent."
"And you're rude."
"But am I wrong?" he asked softly, the tease washing out of his voice. He held her gaze and watched as her own expression turned thoughtful.
"Maybe not."
Tom watched her, waiting and gauging the situation. Part of it was training, but another part of it was the knowledge that with each memory Orchard helped him put back into place, he knew her a little better. He knew Liz's tells. He knew her micro expressions. He knew her. "I know you don't trust her - I don't either - but we're not going to pick up intel from the outskirts," he said after a long moment.
"You want to bring them in?"
"I think it's our best chance at finding out what's really going on. Your team's hit a dead end -"
"Roadblock," she corrected. "We've been up against worse."
"-and I haven't been able to track down Koslov yet. Reddington and your mom obviously know something."
"Your parents both knew Reddington," Liz said.
"Could be a connection." Tom pulled in a breath as he saw a flicker of distortion out of his peripheral vision.
"Tom?"
He blinked, her voice pulling him around. "Migraine starting."
Liz sighed and wrapped her arms around his middle, her cheek pressed against his chest. He let his own arms fall loosely around her hips and kissed the top of her head. "Agnes is down for a nap."
"You saying we should start taking cues from our four-year-old?" he chuckled, soaking in how right it felt to hold onto her like this. She stiffened, though, pulling back and his brows drew together. "What?"
"That's the first time since you've been back you've referred to Agnes as our daughter."
"Yeah?"
She smiled. "Yeah." She dropped her arms so that her hand caught his. "C'mon. If we're staying here, we might as well try out the bed."
Tom choked on a laugh as he followed along behind her, grateful to have her curl up with him as he tried to let the migraine pass. He wrapped his arms around her middle, pulling her a little closer in the king's size bed, and pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades. "Just think about it?" he asked softly and felt her fingers curl around his.
"Is that what you would do? If this were a job and you needed the information?"
"It's not a job. It's our life."
Liz let out a small sound that he couldn't identify and pulled his knuckles up to kiss them without explanation.
"But yeah," he breathed, feeling exhaustion starting to threaten. "It's what I would do."
"Okay," he heard her say as his eyes drifted close. "I trust you."
Harold Cooper sat in his office alone, hunched over the open files of evidence laid out across his desk and a frown tugging at his lips. It had been five days since Ressler and Park had come back from Bonn with intel about Emilia Schmitz damning enough that someone had been willing to break into Ressler's home and attack him just to try to get it back. Since then they had uncovered a collection of contacts spanning from government officials to military personnel across the globe to both legal and illegal organizations. It was a diverse mix, but without risking tipping their hand any further than they had already, tying those seemingly unconnected strings together to make sense of it all was proving difficult.
Reddington was looking into some of it, which was a start, but Keen seemed to think he was distracted and Cooper found himself in agreement. As they neared closer to five full days since his agents' returned without any further solid leads, he knew they needed inside knowledge. If Reddington wouldn't or couldn't provide that, he needed to find a different path.
He picked up the phone and dialed, listening to it ring through. He thought he might reach a voicemail when it finally connected, an amused voice on the other end of the line. "Director Cooper, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"A common goal, I hope."
"And what would that be?"
Cooper settled back in his chair, weighing his decision one last time. "Scottie, our investigation has led us to believe Ian Garvey may have been linked to the Cabal."
"And you're sharing this information out of the goodness of your heart?" Tom's mother asked, her sarcasm balanced between irritation and amusement, likely because she knew he was about to ask for something.
"No. I'm extending it in hopes you'll be willing to provide an operative that we know has key knowledge of the Cabal to help us decipher some of the intel we've found."
"And which operative is that, Harold?"
"Matias Solomon."
TBC
Notes: Let's take a vote: how many active (or tee'd up to become active) characters in this story do you actually trust?
Next Time: Scottie contemplates how she got to where she is, Ressler and Cooper meet with Solomon, and Tom's suspicions about his mother grow.
