She missed him.
She'd thought his absence would bring a welcome reprieve from chaos, a rest, a sense of peace.
But instead, she missed him horribly.
The way he made her think, act in new and different ways. The way he provoked her, changed her. The way, despite everything, they accomplished good things together.
His strong arms; the way he made her feel safe.
Her world remained on shaky foundations — it had been three long weeks, but Tom was still angry, still talking about change, about moving. To Nebraska, as if it would make one whit of difference.
If she was sure of anything, it was that Reddington would follow her now, wherever she might go.
Was that thought comforting, or distressing? Was it possible for it to be both?
And now Tom was leaving her, too — a job interview, in Lincoln. He'd been more serious than she'd initially thought, apparently, was serious about moving and trying to leave the tumult behind them.
But you couldn't escape chaos; it was here, on her phone, reaching out from her past to pull her back into its maelstrom.
She argued fiercely with Cooper for her right to let it happen, to make up for her past, to find a killer.
"Our only job right now is finding Raymond Reddington." Said firmly, without any room for disagreement. But…there it was, the key she was looking for.
"This case is important to me. It's personal. If it's personal to me, it's personal to Reddington."
There was a strange sense of security in the truth of this. In the sure and real knowledge that he cared about her.
"He may reach out, try to help...make this his case."
And she was right; he did just that.
"Lizzy."
"Where are you?"
Her immediate reaction was to demand, to follow protocol. But she really wanted to know the answer. She thought, reluctantly, that she'd feel…better if he were close by. If she could see him.
Even just hearing his voice settled her, gave her thoughts a path to run along.
She wondered if he missed her, too.
And of course, he didn't tell her anything; gave nothing away. But of course, he did help her — gave her a fresh way to look at the case, one that hadn't occurred to her before.
Think of the victims.
With that one thought, it was remarkably simple to connect the dots, to follow the trail to the true motive of the murderer.
"Every one of The Good Samaritan's victims had a family member with identical injuries — fractured skulls, broken bones, torn retinas. All of them either the victim's spouse or child.
"All of them classic signs of physical abuse."
Knowledge led to more questions, led to the common link. A nurse…how much suffering had the man seen? What had he himself suffered, as a child?
Targeting abusers…she wasn't entirely without sympathy. It was much more difficult when the bad guy wasn't just evil. But the chase came with its own adrenaline, its own momentum that carried her forward. From clue to clue, place to place, searching, seeking.
Finally finding, and this time, success came with saving a life. Well, taking one but saving two in the process. It all evened out to the positive. Didn't it? Was she still in the plus column of her personal tally of profit and loss?
Either way, it didn't feel as rewarding as it should have felt. Something niggled and tugged at her conscience.
She found herself at the hospital, face to face with the latest victim. She couldn't help it; she honestly felt that he deserved the taste of pain and suffering he'd received.
Maybe she could change things; maybe not. Just in case…
"Metro PD is looking into charges against you, but without Melissa's cooperation, I don't know what will stick.
"What I do know is this — if you ever touch her again…if you so much as look at her sideways, I will find you. And I will do to you myself what I probably should have let Karl Hoffman do to you in that garage.
"Do you understand?"
The big man nodded silently, more sad and resigned than anything else.
She felt strong and right. Powerful, even a little dangerous.
Because she meant it.
Embrace your inner monster, she thought wryly. Reddington would be proud.
He ripped through the world, seeking answers, wreaking vengeance.
So many people, so many cogs in the wheel of betrayal.
So many more deaths to weigh on his conscience. If he still had one, somewhere. He supposed it was just that his sense of right and wrong was different than that of most people. That didn't mean it didn't exist. The code that he was forced to live by required that he give no quarter; show no leniency. Not to the furthest minion; not to the closest of associates.
And to safeguard himself, to safeguard Elizabeth, he had to find the hole in his organization. It had to be someone close, someone he trusted.
The worst kind of treachery.
He found this side of the work distasteful, and wished it wasn't so unerringly effective. But if there was a better way, he hadn't found it in long years of trying.
Leaving a trail of bodies in his wake, he finally landed on Fyodor.
"I've come for your banker," he said conversationally, as the other man spluttered through the wash of liquor over his head. "Who's the banker?"
He didn't know why they bothered to prevaricate. What was the use of having a reputation as a ruthless killer if it didn't accomplish anything? And yet, here they were.
He threw a little more liquor on Fyodor's head in careless splashes, then sat down and picked up his cigar contemplatively.
"The first time I ever smoked a cigar was with Marnie Petersen in fifth grade. Funny little bat-faced girl.
"I adored her." He lit the cigar and leaned in, waiting, the threat implicit.
It didn't really take long after that. Gestalten Landesbank.
He showed a little mercy and shot Fyodor cleanly in the heart. It was better than immolation, anyway.
When the bank led him to Aram, it was certainly a surprise. You just never could tell about people. And yet…
Because he had doubts, and didn't want to be monstrous (any more than he had to), a test.
"Aram...this is a Colt .45 1911. I can strip and reassemble this weapon in well under two minutes."
"Mr. Reddington, please."
"Once I have it reassembled, I'm going to reload the mag, and if at that time, your task remains incomplete, I'm going to empty that mag into your head."
"That's really messed up."
"Don't look so stricken. The first shot will kill you."
He found himself genuinely pleased to not have to take that shot. Aram was likeable in an awkward sort of way, and he knew Elizabeth would mourn the loss of a team member.
As you mourn Luli, he reminded himself.
Back to Henry; back to business.
He didn't even have to lie — Janice was lovely, and her stroganoff did smell delicious. It had been a while since he'd had a home-cooked meal, after all. Shooting Henry didn't particularly bother him, but it was a shame to have to shut Janice in the closet.
He hoped she'd be all right, in the end.
And he got what he wanted, as he almost always did. Not that he was happy to hear the final name. Closer to him than he'd dared to think; horribly close. The betrayal was a heavy stone in his gut, weighing him down as he travelled to the sea.
He let Luli go alone, in silence, wishing for her to land on a better, safer shore. He wished the day was brighter for her, even as he thought the grey clouds suited the grim deed that lay ahead of him. As he summoned Newton to his side.
"If you had come to me, I could have helped you. We could have avoided all of this."
A long pause, while he steeled himself once more. "But now we can't."
"They threatened my family." To Newton's credit, this wasn't a plea, not an excuse. Merely a statement; a reason. But his face pleaded, regardless. It was far too late for that.
"Of course they did.
"Newton, I'll take care of your family, whatever they need."
"My wife... she has no idea. If you could make it look like an accident, for her."
He could do that, for this man, who had served him well for a long time. Long enough to matter.
"Look out at the water. Just look out at the water."
And he was strong, strong enough for this. Physically, at least. He felt the other man's life drain slowly away, as his struggles subsided and he fell limp in Red's arms.
Strong enough, indeed.
Inside, he still felt heavy and saddened.
Inside, he still felt alone.
She sat in the dark, exhausted now at the end of the day, adrenaline drained and long gone, alone in her kitchen. Couldn't bother to try to find something to eat; couldn't stir herself to do much of anything at all.
Really, she was just waiting for Tom, and hoping that they could talk, really talk. That they could work something out here, and make everything okay again.
In a way that meant she didn't have to lose everything else that she'd come to care about.
She was shaken out of her dull reverie by the sound of the front door. Thank goodness.
She made a quick scramble for the living room. "Thank you for coming back. I don't want to fight, Tom. Let's just talk."
But it wasn't Tom who stood there, waiting for her, home where he belonged. It wasn't her husband, whom she'd been anxiously waiting for.
It was Reddington.
"Tom's at the airport," he told her matter-of-factly.
"What the hell are you doing here?" The flash of anger was part disappointment, but part guilt at the simultaneous flash of happiness. Although it was beyond strange to see him here, in her home, like a guest, like a friend…it was still good. Good to see him, whole and unharmed, standing there, waiting for her.
He congratulated her on her case work and she couldn't help the flush of pride. Couldn't stop the pleasure that coursed through her. She wondered how much he knew of what had happened, and how much he just assumed.
It didn't really matter.
Somewhat stunned, still, bemused at his presence and on the wrong foot, she walked closer; gestured for him to sit.
And there they were — the Concierge of Crime, sitting easily on her sofa, while she perched on a chair opposite and wondered what to do next. Wondered how long they had, before necessity would send him back into the night; before Tom came home.
"Does this mean you're back?" Hoping, hoping. She wouldn't have thought she wanted it this much.
"I don't know," he replied, his head shaking, mouth moving thoughtfully. "My house is clean, but yours…is not."
He spoke with so much more than just his voice. His mobile face, full of meaning, watching her. His mouth, agile and expressive, savouring the words as they came and went.
She thought she could sit there for hours, talking to him. But there were pertinent issues to discuss.
"What does that mean?" she asked, worried. For her team; for herself.
"The deficit that I found in my organization could not have supplied all the knowledge required for the incursion to take place. That would have been supplied by someone with far greater access."
"Someone on the inside," she said, reluctantly. She didn't want to think it of any of her team, the people she'd gotten to know, to depend on. She'd entrusted her life to each of them in turn; didn't like to imagine any one of them a traitor.
"It would seem so." His eyes were gentle, at odds with his words, as if he understood what she was thinking. Perhaps he did.
He looked away with a sigh, pursing his lips in thought.
"Therefore, we're back where we began…" He looked back, the start of a smile on his face. "Me speaking with you."
By the time he was finished, the smile was full and engaging. She couldn't help but smile back, suddenly full to the brim with happiness. Everything would go back to the way it had been, right at the beginning. They would be partners again, and accomplish good things.
Great things.
"Well, then," she said, smile bright. "Welcome back." His smile matched her own, and she wanted to throw her arms around him.
"Where have you been, anyway?" she asked instead.
He chuckled briefly, crossing his legs, his arms spread open. She envied his ability to be perfectly at home wherever he found himself; the way he was instantly at ease in almost any situation. She wondered how long it had taken him to achieve that level of confidence and aplomb.
"Oh, out and about," he said casually, but his smile had disappeared with the words.
She regretted it, and wished she could bring it back. She supposed that whatever he'd been doing, rooting out a mole in his organization, finding a traitor of his own, likely wasn't very pleasant.
She wanted to make him smile again.
"Did you bring me anything?" she asked, a little winsome, a little cheeky.
It worked; he laughed aloud, a beam across the room.
"Yes," he said definitively. "The next name on the blacklist."
It wasn't what she'd expected to hear, and certainly wasn't what she wanted after the last day or two.
She really was exhausted.
"Is that all?" she tried, smiling again.
One eyebrow arched quizzically; he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
"Was there something else that you wanted, Elizabeth?" His voice had gone deep and dark, stroking over her skin like velvet. She shivered, despite herself.
"No, of course not, I…" She looked away, then looked back. His eyes were hooded, a faint smile lurked as he watched her.
"I missed you," she admitted. "I don't like it, but I did. You…you're such a big part of my life, now."
His smile returned in full, and he reached across the empty space between them to touch her cheek lightly.
"I missed you, as well," he said quietly. "You help me to see things more clearly."
She laughed, surprised. "That's what I would say of you," she said. "You're teaching me so much about how to think through a problem; how to see things in new ways."
"I'm glad of that, Lizzy. I'm glad that I've…" He hesitated, smile gone again. "That I've brought something positive to your life."
She wished she knew what had made him so sad, but also knew, instinctively, that he wouldn't tell her if she asked.
"Why don't you take your coat off, and stay a while?" she said, instead of more questions. "Have a drink?"
She'd invited him to stay — stay a while, as if he were welcome here in her home, as if he wasn't a hideous intrusion in her life. She'd missed him, she thought of him.
It was a treacherously welcome idea.
Slowly, he stood without speaking, and her face fell. He smiled at her; couldn't help himself when he spent any length of time around her. Her disappointment at the thought he would leave was immeasurably pleasurable. He removed his coat, then his jacket, draping them carefully over the couch where he'd been sitting.
She smiled back, a beam of light, and hopped to her feet. She shrugged out of her own jacket, tossing it back on her chair with much less care.
"Wine?" she asked. "I have a bottle of chardonnay open. I'm sure it's not up to your standards," she added, her tone teasing, "but I enjoy it."
"I'd love to try it," he replied equably. "I'm sure it's delightful."
She disappeared into her kitchen, and he stood still and watched her go, allowing himself the pleasure of watching her body move. He thought he should go with her, but sat down again instead.
She came back with two slim glasses, golden in the dim light. As she handed him one, their fingers brushed, and he thrilled to it, foolishly. He gestured hopefully toward the couch, and with a smile, she sat where he could be beside her, and enjoy her warmth.
She looked at him, pensive under her lashes. "Are you all right, Red? What happened while you were gone?"
He sighed and looked away. "A great many things," he answered. "None of them particularly pleasant. I don't think you'd enjoy hearing about it."
Much to his surprise, he felt her warm hand slide over his own with a gentle squeeze.
"It's not a matter of enjoyment," she said quietly. "If we're to be…friends, then you can talk to me. Unburden yourself."
He shifted to face her again, and the sincerity of her expression touched him deeply. He'd never felt the need for a confessor, for a confidante, but…the thought of sharing some of his maudlin thoughts certainly had appeal.
He turned his hand over so he could twine his fingers with hers, taking more comfort from the feel of her palm against his.
"It…it was Newton," he said heavily. "The leak on my side."
She looked appropriately shocked.
"Oh, Red," she said. "I'm sorry — that must have been very difficult news. The two of you seemed…close."
"He was privy to all but my most private business," he admitted. "Losing him…leaves a gap that will be difficult to fill."
"But it's more than that, isn't it?" she inquired softly. "You thought you could trust him."
A bitter laugh. "I did trust him," he said. "I believed in him implicitly. And what does that say about me? That I could place so much in the hands of someone so weak? That I didn't see it in him?"
"It says more about him than about you," she pointed out gently. "He surely was once a trustworthy man, someone you could believe in. Something changed for him, in him — that doesn't say anything about you except that you have loyalty to those in your corner."
He managed a half smile. "That's…kind of you to say, Lizzy," he answered. "I'd certainly prefer to believe that that's true."
"I think it is," she said firmly. "You're an intelligent man; you're not one to be taken in by a false face."
"If you think that's true," he said cautiously, seeing an opportunity, "why don't you believe me about your husband?"
Her face went sharp with displeasure, and she jerked her hand away. She took a healthy sip from her glass, then put it down on the coffee table with some force.
"Why won't you leave it alone?" she demanded. "Tom is my husband; I love him. Any reason I may have had to mistrust him is gone, has been proven to be a mistake. Or possibly someone's machination," she added pointedly. "It's you I don't know I can trust."
It hurt; he didn't know why he was continually opening himself up to her anger and mistrust. Didn't know why he wanted her to believe in him so badly.
It never ceased to amaze him how quickly they could go from friendly accord to battle positions.
"Lizzy…Elizabeth," he said solemnly, "I promised you that I wouldn't lie to you, and I haven't. I swear it. Don't we know each other well enough yet?"
"I don't know you better than my own husband," she pointed out coolly. "Why should I take your word over his?"
"Have you actually asked him?" Red inquired. "Have you asked him if he is who he claims to be?"
She hesitated, then looked away. "Of course not," she said. "I'd never insult him like that, never…"
"Never take that risk?" he finished, gentler now. "I understand, you know. I know exactly how unpleasant it can be to lose your illusions."
"A coworker acting against your best interests is hardly the same as one's life being a complete lie," she spat, angry again, always so quick to take refuge in anger.
"Is that really how you see it?" he asked incredulously. "People died because of what Newton did, Luli died."
She turned back to him, apology and sorrow mixing appealingly on her face. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to make light of your loss."
"You could have died." He couldn't help but say it, to try once more to rid himself of the horrific images that haunted him. "Garrick…he held a gun to your head, Elizabeth."
"Oh, I remember well enough," she said sincerely, and fumbled for his hand again. "I…I was terrified. And you…Red, I thought you…"
She leaned in, pressing her shoulder to his, her head against his cheek. He shivered a little at her warmth, the softness of her hair, the sweetness of it.
"I don't want to argue," she said. "I just want to be glad that we're okay; that we're both alive and safe. That you're back, and things don't have to change."
"All right," he said, because he didn't want to argue either; didn't want to leave this space, safe and quiet and peaceful, with Lizzy by his side. "We don't have to talk about Tom."
He took a sip of his wine, then let his head tip to hers.
"You know that I…that I care for you," she said, a little carefully. "I want this partnership to work."
He took a moment to savour that, that she thought of him as a partner, that she would let herself admit that she cared.
It warmed him right through.
"As do I, Lizzy," he said. "As do I."
"Then maybe you can honour my wishes," she said. "And stay out of my personal life."
"I can't help it if I think of you…personally," he said with a smile, and shifted to press a kiss to the top of her head.
She stood up then, a little suddenly but not angry as she had been before, and reached out to pull him up beside her. Surprising him utterly, she wrapped him up in a hug.
"I missed you," she said softly, "and I'm glad you're back. But that's where it stops, okay?"
"If that's what you really want," he replied. He could be glad enough to have her friendship; to have her willing to work with him and happy to have him around.
If he missed the intimacy, missed her hands on him, the soft warmth of her mouth, the lushness of her body against his…well, he'd just have to deal with that.
"I can't stop looking out for you, Lizzy," he said, letting her step away, immediately missing her. "That's why I'm here, after all."
"I thought you were here to catch bad guys," she said, and smiled at him again.
He understood, easily enough, that she wanted to leave the personal behind, for now. That she was trying to juggle all the facets of her life and come out ahead, and he couldn't blame her for that. Knew how it felt to lose the most important parts of your life.
"That too," he said. "To that end, then, Elizabeth…
"There's someone I think you should find. He's a man who protects the guilty by preying on the innocent. He's killed women, children, infants if need be — whatever the particular job calls for. I bring this to your attention because I've learned that he's been contracted to protect Pytor Madrczyk and his wife."
"The mob informant?" she asked, surprised.
"The same."
"And this blacklister — does he have a name?"
"They call him the Alchemist."
A/N: I extended their conversation into the beginning of the next episode because it's actually what happens. We can see at the start of the Alchemist that Red's still at the Keens', sharing a glass of wine and a conversation. Canon was very obliging this time around!