Chapter Twenty- Two
He was on the edge, that much he knew. Of what or where or how he got there, he had no idea. He could feel the danger just ahead, even if his eyes wouldn't entirely focus on it. It was like he'd left his contacts in too long, or maybe had taken them out completely. That seemed more reasonable.
He blinked hard, squinting and struggling and feeling the strangest urge to step forward, even though something in his mind screamed at him that there was danger in it.
But he couldn't just stay there.
He took an intentional step forward and felt the drop.
Tom jolted hard, the fall in the dream startling him awake. He found himself stretched out on a bed - not the one he and Liz had been sharing since they had temporarily moved into the suite, but this one appeared to be in the medical portion of the building - with a thin blanket pulled halfway up and medical equipment beeping softly to his left. He glanced over, finding an IV and heart monitor that was the source of the noise. It tugged at a memory, one that he'd been searching for since all of this began. One that —
"Good morning, Tom."
The voice cut through him like a knife and Tom whipped around to find Raymond Reddington standing on the other side of his bed. If he'd just walked in while Tom has been focused on the equipment or had been standing there, he didn't know. As memories flickered and flashed, finally fitting into place, he didn't care. He remembered. He finally remembered.
"You're Raymond Reddington," he echoed his own response he'd given when he'd woken up with a ten year gap in his memory. His voice was a hoarse whisper and he could hear the machine give off a warning that his pulse was climbing. He needed to get out of that bed. Now.
"I am," the other man said smoothly. "Elizabeth said you still haven't recovered any memories of me yet. I —"
"I know who you are," Tom snapped as he tugged the IV free of his arm, tossing the monitor clipped to his finger to the side as well. He didn't care how loudly it was protesting.
There was a flash of confusion across Reddington's face, but it was quickly put away, the authority he wore like that stupid hat of his sliding back into place. "Tom. Stop."
Tom finally got free of the tethers and somewhere in the back of his mind he was glad he found he was still in his jeans and t-shirt.
"I'm not here to hurt you."
Bare feet hit the cool tile and he turned a dangerous look on the older man. "Damage is already done."
Realization flashed through blue eyes. "You do remember."
Tom's hand flexed at his side, jaw clenching as he tried to rein his temper in.
"Tom," Reddington said cautiously, taking a step forward, "there's something you must to understand —"
Funny. Reining his temper in didn't feel nearly as important with that.
Tom reeled back, the momentum landing a solid blow against Reddington's jaw. The older man stumbled, but didn't go down, and Tom threw him back against the wall. His hands went around his throat and his mind spun withall the fractured memories of the family that had been ripped from him. Stolen from him, and for what? "You son of a bitch!" he snarled, tightening his grip as Reddington net his gaze with infuriating calm.
"Tom!"
He didn't have to look back to recognize Liz's voice. He felt her hand against his arm, trying to pry him off to give Reddington air, but he didn't budge. Instead he held the bastard's gaze. "You did this."
"Your memories are…. unreliable," Reddington managed to choke out.
"Tom, he can't breathe," Liz pressed, her hand moving to his and he finally loosened his grip just a little. Enough to let Reddington drag in a few precious breaths, not enough for him to squirm away. And he would. He'd talk his way out of it. He always did. Even if Tom didn't have the solid memories to back that up, he knew it with the same certainty that he knew he loved Liz.
"I saw you," Tom growled. "At the hospital… but it wasn't. It was a building you were using as a hospital. You took my memories."
Liz's hand instantly stilled against his, her grip loosening as she turned wide blue eyes on Reddington. "Reddington?"
"Elizabeth, you've said yourself that his memories have been coming back in pieces."
"That's not a denial," she breathed and Tom felt the anger and the rage flood freshly through him, tightening his hold.
"So what happened, Reddington? I figured out what your secret was and you thought you could just make me go away?"
"That's not what happened," he gasped.
"You took everything from me! My family! My life! My…. Everything I'd become, everything I'd worked for, I didn't remember it. And you just…. What? Sent me back to St Regis?" Like a kid sent back into the system. It wasn't the right fit. He hadn't been able to manipulate him with Liz, so there he went. "Why not just kill me? Why not just let me die?"
"Tom," Liz managed, her voice trembling and her touch was back. Gentle as it could be through her own desperation. "Tom, babe. Look at me."
He did. "I did things I can't take back," he whispered, hating how broken his voice sounded even to his own ears. "How am I supposed to be the man you remember like that? Be Agnes' father like that?" His gaze snapped back to Reddington and the man gave a short, choked gasp as Tom tightened his hold. "He did that. He took everything. Say the word and he's dead."
And they'd be free.
Her hand was firm against his arm closest to her, the opposite hand at the small of his back. She didn't say anything immediately, but let him loosen his grip on Reddington again on his own, and when she did speak her voice was soft. "Not for him, for you. For everything you are. He can't take that."
There was a long, tense moment before Tom let his hands drop and Reddington sank back against the wall. A tall Black man that Tom didn't recognize - even if somewhere in the back of his mind he thought he should - rushed to Reddington's side and the older man waved him off as he sputtered, hand going to his throat.
Tom felt his energy wane suddenly and Liz was with him, supporting him. "You're okay," she promised, wrapping an arm around the small of his back. "We're okay."
"Elizabeth…" Reddington tried hoarsely and she turned a vicious look on him.
"I'll deal with you later."
There was something satisfying about the wounded expression that flashed across his face at her tone, but Raymond Reddington turned with the man that had come to help him, moving towards the door. Scottie stepped out of the way, her dark eyes carefully guarded, and Tom saw Brigitte Tremblay - Katarina Rostova - watching him from just past his mother. Her own gaze was calculating and Tom pushed a rough breath through his nose. "You knew."
"Only pieces," Rostova answered evenly, "which doesn't seem to be much more than you know."
"Fuck you," Tom bit out and Liz reached up, her palm gentle on the side of his face as she guided him around to look at her.
"Hey. Look at me." She gave him half a moment to focus. "I love you."
Tom felt something shatter somewhere deep inside of him and he melted into her. Liz's arms wrapped around him, holding on tight as they sank to the floor together. He leaned into her, deep, painful sobs wracking his entire body, and he couldn't even find a way to ask her why. Why would she love someone like him? Why would she try so damn hard to bring him back to her? He didn't feel like the man she thought he was, and wasn't that how life worked? You matched up or you were gone.
But she was there, holding on and whispering soft promises that she wasn't going anywhere. Despite everything, he believed her.
And he loved her.
New York City buzzed with all the activity of a day winding down. Irritable commuters pushed their way towards their platform, heads down and focus absolute. None of them gave Matias Solomon a second glance as he moved through the crowds, using methods that typically worked in slipping a tale.
Well, they had always trained well. He had just hoped that he'd have at least twenty-four hours before they descended on him. No such luck. With as quickly as he found himself with a shadow other than his own they must have been at the park and seen him with the feds. It had been a risk. Anytime you crossed a group like the one Reddington's little team called the Cabal, you were sticking your neck out.
Scottie had promised to protect him, but even she had limitations. He'd sent her a message over a secure line when he had first spotted them, but was met with radio silence. Looked like he was on his own until he could reach HQ. There was a reason he'd had the feds come to New York rather than anywhere else.
Solomon dodged a teenager that had stopped to check his cell phone in the tunnels and whipped down a passage to his right, finding a small opening between two people to slide into as he worked his way towards one of the southbound platforms. Bonn wasn't a fan of leaving witnesses that could ID their operatives easily and risk broader exposure, but despite the fact that he'd stuck to crowded areas they seemed to be closing ranks on him faster than he would have predicted.
Speaking of….
A man stepped into Solomon's path, blocking him, but he pivoted around him in a smooth motion, slipping clear of the attempted grab. Okay. That was bold. Now it was a race.
Ahead he could hear an announcement over the loudspeakers that the train was arriving and he took off in a full sprint, his pursuers on his heels. He could fight them, he knew. Probably take a few down. The problem was that even though he didn't know how many were littered through the tunnels, he'd seen enough to know they were coming at him in droves. It's like they knew his reputation or something. As good as he was, though, even he couldn't take down that many at once. No. Losing them was a better option.
He shoved people that had the bad luck to be in his way out of it, whipping one unsuspecting man between him and the operatives and giving him a hard shove to put distance between them. It wasn't much, but it let him get a few steps ahead and through the closing doors.
The announcer's voice could barely be heard over the other passengers: he was on his way towards Grand Central. Okay, he could make that work. Solomon pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Still nothing from Scottie. He opened up his texts, typing out a quick message:
You still in Cairo?
The train jolted on the tracks and Solomon wedged himself a little deeper into the crowd. Surprisingly, there was a response when he glanced back down.
Back on Thursday. You owe me a drink.
His lips curled up very slightly at the response, mind drifting to the fiery woman that had sent it.
If you'd won the bet, you'd already be on a jet, he typed, glancing up as the train slowed, the brakes squealing as they came into a stop. Interesting. He hadn't felt this exposed in a long, long time. Not even when the Cabal has given him up to the protocols that he helped put in place or when Scottie had been arrested and Nez had taken Keen's side.
If you're so confident, let's up the stakes.
She'd come around. He had known she would. Some things were set in stone.
Dinner?
Careful, Mattie. Make a girl think you care.
Always. His thumb paused over the send button as they hit 51st St and he saw a familiar figure enter down the way. A heavy hitter. Well, damn. He hit send as he worked his way to the exit and stepped out onto the busy platform.
A hand grabbed at his shoulder and turned him, a gun pressed just under his sternum. Solomon didn't hear the shots above the crowds. Didn't even feel them. He just watched as the Cabal operative smoothly rejoined the masses moving towards the exits and felt his knees give way under him, blood blossoming across his white shirt. His phone slipped from his fingers as he tumbled the rest of the way to the platform, people finally starting to take notice. Their panic sounded distantly as his dark eyes focused on Nez's face signalling her incoming call. At least she knew.
"Well that could have gone better," Katarina muttered as she followed Raymond and Dembe into the reimagined conference room that Scottie had directed them to when they had first arrived. They had had a bit of time with Masha to speak after hearing that her husband had had one of his rougher days in his attempts to crack his memories back open. Katarina had hoped to use the time to set some firmer foundations of trust before shit hit the fan too badly. She just hadn't anticipated it hitting quite that quickly. Memory manipulation, despite what those that studied it would say, was never an exact science.
Raymond sank down into one of the plush chairs, still rubbing at his throat where Tom Keen had cut off his air. He looked tired, but Dembe looked nervous. "We should not stay here."
"We need them," Katarina countered. "I won't give her up again."
"I'll speak to Elizabeth," Raymond managed, his voice hoarse. "This can be…. dealt with."
"He nearly killed you," Dembe said firmly.
"And she stopped him."
"Oh yes, that puts us firmly in the winning category," Katarina sniped, resisting the urge to groan loudly. This was a mess. Not unsalvageable, but still a mess.
The large, heavy doors at the far end of the room opened and Scottie Hargrave's heels sounded in angry taps against the wood floor as she made her way across the space.
Dembe straightened, taking a step between the angry CEO and Raymond. Scottie leveled a dangerous look at him. "One word from me and my security drops into this room with more firepower than you could ever hope to survive. I'd prefer it didn't come to that. Blood is unreasonably difficult to get out of the crevices in the floor."
Dembe didn't back down at the threat, but Reddington reached out to him. "It's fine, Dembe," he croaked out, grimacing as he did.
"Is it?" Katarina countered with a tilt to her head as she studied her old friend. She always had been emotional when it came to Christopher.
Scottie's attention snapped to her. "Were you involved?"
"I was the one that brought him back to her and, in turn, to you. I was involved in that."
If Katarina had questioned Scottie's field-readiness after a lifetime in luxury, it would have been a miscalculation. Katarina prized herself on reading people, but Scottie's closed fist flew out so fast that she never saw it coming. The impact sent her stumbling back, if not falling, and Dembe moved to stop her. Scottie drew a small snub nose that had been carefully concealed under her skirt and aimed it at Reddington. Both Katarina and Dembe froze in place, but from her expression Scottie had known exactly how that would play out. She turned her dark gaze on him. "Start talking, and I suggest you make it good."
Raymond cleared his throat, but otherwise looked unphased by the gun in his face. "They were dying, Scottie. Tom was chasing down answers to questions he had no business asking. He thought - as he usually does - that he was protecting Elizabeth. It brought Ian Garvey to their doorstep and Garvey nearly killed them both. I did what I had to to protect them."
"By faking his death?"
"To throw Garvey off, yes. It wasn't a permanent solution. It was to buy time."
"How then?"
Katarina watched carefully, waiting to see if a truth or a lie fell from Raymond's lips. He pursed them together thoughtfully and drew in a breath. "The answers that your son was looking for were dangerous. To him, to Elizabeth, to Katarina..." Clear blue eyes flickered to meet her own and Katarina didn't dare react.
"And to you," Scottie said tightly.
"Yes."
"And these answers?"
"Are mine. They must remain mine. You think your Archive has brought the vultures circling? The Sikorsky Archive is nothing compared to this."
Scottie watched him for a long moment, assessing the words in the tense quiet of the room. There was a knock at the door before it opened and she barely contained her rage as she turned to the blonde British woman that had welcomed them when they arrived. Kat, ironically enough. "What?" Scottie snapped.
Kat didn't flinch at the drawn weapon. "This can't wait."
A half a beat of hesitation passed before Scottie holstered her weapon. "Don't move," she tossed in their direction and stepped to the side with the blonde.
They spoke, too quiet to be overheard, and while Scottie was turned to put herself between Kat and Katarina's lip reading skill, there was a clear change in body language. Something had gone wrong. More wrong than Tom's regained memories.
Scottie nodded sharply. "Make arrangements and bring Nez home."
"Should we say why?"
The older woman paused. "She has a right to know. Has anyone reached out to Cooper's people?"
"I will."
"Do it quickly. If they got to him that quickly, Matias didn't spot the tale at the park. I won't have the Task Force's blood on our hands for trying to help them."
Kat gave a small sound of affirmation and was gone as quickly as she had arrived, leaving Scottie to turn. Her focus was on Katarina now. "They killed one of my best agents."
"I'm sorry," she answered, trying to sound genuine. If nothing else, Scottie was clearly shaken by the death.
"Matias?" Reddington echoed the name she had mentioned. "Solomon?"
"Yes."
"He was gathering intel for Cooper?"
"Behind your back, I see," Scottie answered, her tone hollow. She straightened a little. "Solomon left a name before they killed him. I think you know something about it, and if you hold back I'll put a bullet in you." She paused, letting the weight of the situation sink in. As if they didn't have enough without having to worry about her too. "Who the hell is Jonas Bauer?"
Years before, Liz had told Samar that Reddington was the bane of her existence. He had dropped into her life, upending it again and again and again. He had killed Sam, had dropped into her life to dangle questions that he refused to answer in front of her, put her and her family in harm's way, manipulated and lied and killed, and now she found out that he was responsible for the hell she and Agnes had lived under for over two years. It was too much. It was all too much, but she couldn't let herself break down. As much as she wanted to scream and cry and likely throw something at his head, she couldn't yet. Tom had struggled through chaos alone while he was with St Regis and now they'd finally found the answer that they'd been looking for. There was no satisfaction in it though. Just grief and betrayal, or at least that's what she thought he might be feeling. It's what she knew she should be feeling, but in reality she just felt numb.
It was all too much.
She felt him draw in a trembling breath from where he was curled on his side on the bed and Liz tightened her hold around his middle, pressing a kiss against the soft fabric of his shirt between his shoulder blades. He'd been quiet for so long that she thought maybe he'd fallen asleep there. For his sake, she'd hoped that he had.
Tom shifted and turned in her arms until he flipped around to face her. His eyes were rimmed red and he looked beyond exhausted. "Is Agnes back?"
"Should be. Scottie said she was sending someone to pick her up, but I bet she's trying to give us some time."
"We need to go."
Liz blinked, and for a moment she was transported back to their car seven years before. I need us together. And safe. I meant what I said earlier. We need to leave this place.
"You want to run?" she asked after a long moment, making sure she understood fully and completely.
Tom gave a short, terse nod. He propped himself up on one elbow and his gaze was sharp, but she could see the fear lurking just below. "I'm drowning, Liz," he confessed, his voice trembling. "But we can go. You, me, and Agnes. We can start over. Just the three of us. No St Regis, no Reddington. Just us."
Her team, her work flashed instantly to her mind, the argument nearly making it off of her tongue before she swallowed it back. Yes, she'd have to leave them, but was the alternative? She couldn't imagine her life without him again. She didn't want to. She refused to.
Liz squeezed her eyes closed, feeling tears gather against her lashes. She blinked them away as she spoke. "I taught you to swim, do you remember?" He shook his head. "It's funny. I'd found out who you were a while before and you seemed… so much harder than during our first marriage." Images of a man fresh back from Dresden - hair buzzed, tattoos still visible from his time undercover - danced across her mind's eye. "You were, in a lot of ways, but we had a lull in our investigation searching for my mom and it just…. You kept talking about this boat and I told you you needed to learn to swim." She huffed a laugh at that. "It terrified you. You said you didn't know why, that no matter how hard you fought it you just panicked whenever your head went under the water."
"How'd we figure it out?"
"You're still not great with the whole head under the water part," she murmured with a smile, "but you had so much trust in me, even after everything. I told you I wouldn't let you drown and you trusted me."
He swallowed hard. "You're saying you don't want to go?"
She sat up enough to lean forward, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. "I'm saying I won't let you drown, and if leaving keeps your head above water, then we'll go. You, me, and Agnes."
Tom moved, propping himself up and leaning over her, and the kiss he pressed against her lips was desperate. She reached up, her nails scratching lightly against the skin of his neck as her fingers curled around the back of it and held onto him, holding them in the moment. If this was what he needed, it was a sacrifice she was willing to make.
TBC
Notes: I had the scene where Tom remembers that Red is responsible for his missing memories in mind for ages, but when I got up to the point where I was writing it I had a lot of trouble with it. Funny how that works, isn't it?
Also, for any Solomon fans out there, I'm crying right along with you. A friend of mine on Tumblr was talking a line from Buffy that said something along the lines of the monster that the monster is afraid of is even worse. Not sure of the actual line because I didn't get very far in the show, but that general premise (which rings true) was definitely on my mind when I brought Solomon into this story. If they can get to him, everyone should be afraid.
Next Time: Reddington attempts to explain his actions, Katarina attempts to manipulate Tom, and new information comes in about Ilya.
