So I'm hoping to write as little of each of the cases they have and keep to only what pertains to furthering why exactly Red has decided to turn himself in as well as playing with the new dynamic in Red and Lizzie's relationship. Because frankly, the story will never get finished if I delve too deeply into the people they're catching and everything that is going on in the background to further the smaller single-episode plot lines.

Also… the more I write, the more I realize exactly how much this is going to start veering off from the show's timeline. I know some of my reviewers have expressed their hopes that Tom doesn't stay a part of the storyline as long as he has in the show and trust me, I don't want to keep him any longer than necessary.


Lizzie's scar itched with the urge to stroke it as she was hooked up to the polygraph. Taking a deep breath, Lizzie reminded herself to keep her cool, went through the steps of how to cheat a polygraph in her head. The irony of how useful the things her dads taught her over the years were to her while an FBI agent was not lost on her.

Step 1: Lie on one of the baseline questions.

Step 2: Breathe steadily. Calmly.

"Monday, 9:07 A.M. Examiner Hatch. Subject Elizabeth Scott Keen… Here we go. Before Monday of last week, did you have, or have you ever had, – personal contact with Raymond Reddington?"

"No." Lizzie looked straight ahead, almost thankful that she couldn't see the monitors.

"Did Reddington notify you before he surrendered himself to the FBI?"

" No." You got this Lizzie. Heart Steady. Breathe normally.

"Does Raymond Reddington know, or has he ever known, your husband?

"No."

"And have you been truthful to the best of your knowledge?"

"Yes." Thank god it's finally over.

/\/\/\/\/\

" Have you ever been convicted of a crime?"

"Convicted? Not yet." Red gave his trademark smirk, his eyes portraying his boredom.

"Please answer "yes" or "no. Have you ever been convicted of a crime?"

"You're wasting valuable time."

"Does Elizabeth Keen know why you surrendered yourself?"

"Yes."

"Before Monday of last week, did you have, or have you ever had, personal contact with Elizabeth Keen?"

"No." Red didn't need to see the read outs to know his polygraph just spiked. He just hoped Lizzie never saw the read outs. She'd never let him live it down.

"He's lying." Ressler murmured from where he stood on the otherside of the one-way mirror.

"You're asking the wrong questions. I'm trying to help you with a matter of some urgency. It's your choice whether you listen to me or not, but there will be an incident at 11:00 this morning at the Decatur Industrial Park. I would send ambulances. We need to move quickly."

/\/\/\/\

Lizzie sat beside Tom's bed side, her eyes going from watching his still figure to glancing at his hand. She knew that she should take it. She was his wife. But she just couldn't bring herself to do it.

"Those things I found under the floor, they're not yours, right? He put them there – the gun and the passports. Tell me he did this, and not – I wish you were here so you could explain yourself. I don't know what to do anymore – who to believe. My dad or my husband. How could anyone make that decision – especially considering who… what he is? Just please, wake up soon."

/\/\/\/\

They all stood around the television in the war room as the news caster sped through the headlines. Cooper had ensured that the audio would be blared into the Box as well.

"60 people have been confirmed dead and dozens injured after a passenger train derailed this morning at the Decatur Industrial Park."

"Because of you." Cooper looked back at the monitor which showed Red chained to the chair inside of the box as he shut off the TV.

"Because you don't return my calls, Harold. If you want to save lives and catch the bad guys, pay attention."

"They're not going to make your deal." Cooper shook his head, clearly exasperated.

"That's unfortunate. The next name on my list is an absolute snake."

"The train. How did you know?"

"I know lots of things, Harold. But the train I didn't. I knew the time, the place, but the train was a big surprise."

"We've ruled out terrorism."

Red shook his head. Honestly, there were more criminals in the world than just terrorists. Apparently even the FBI got caught up in all the media hype. "Look at the list of casualties, Harold. You'll find some councilwoman from Albany. Apparently she's been tangling with some rather cunning, powerful people."

"You're saying the derailment was an assassination?"

"I'm not saying anything. Unless it's to Elizabeth Keen." Red smirked.

/\/\/\/\

Lizzie walked into the room as the Box retracted behind her father and stood a few feet away from his chair, her feet planted shoulder width apart. God she hated heels.

"Tell me about the train wreck."

"If you had any idea how hard I've worked to keep you safe, Lizzie."

"My name's 'Liz,' not 'Lizzie. To you, I'm 'agent Keen.' Now, I've heard all your demands, but I don't think you've heard mine, so let me tell you how this is gonna work. I ask the questions, you answer them. Screw with me, and I walk. Understood?"

Lizzie knew damn well they'd over been this already on the phone, but she felt it needed to be reiterated for her coworkers' benefit. Not to mention, she was still so damn angry and still hadn't figured out exactly who she was angry with. Maybe it was both her father and her husband. She was beginning to contemplate finding a deserted island and forming an all-female colony. Everyone says women are so dramatic but it appeared to her as if it were the men in her life causing all the drama.

"How is Tom?"

Lizzie's lips pursed. Did he have to do this now? When the entirety of the war room were watching them?

"They're never gonna give you immunity. Not a chance."

"Oh, I think they will."

"Tell me about the train wreck."

"What would you like to know?"

"Everything."

She wasn't sure why he apparently found that funny. She wanted to wipe the smirk right off his face.

/\/\/\/\

Red rubbed his wrists as he gazed at the articles taped to the boards in the war room. It didn't matter how padded the handcuffs were, after a while they always began to chafe.

"The train accident was no accident. You know that. But what you don't know is the man behind it. Is quite prolific. He's responsible for a slew of other premeditated killings just like this one, disguised as accidents. Shall I go on? A building collapses in Moscow, a ferry capsizes on the Brahmaputra River. These are the events we've come to expect on the evening news. But in truth, there's always more to the story. Hidden between the facts and figures, the victims and the heroes, there's always a murder. The work of a man who disguises his killings in the headlines of everyday tragedies.

"What proof do you have?" Red shook his head in wonder. Honestly, golden boy Ressler needed a massage…or something to release all that tension. His brow was constantly furrowed in constipation.

"His work is difficult to detect, but the victims are there. An appellate court judge in Ohio, a French diplomat who dies in a plane crash. Look closer. The pattern will emerge. Over the last seven years, more than 3,000 innocent civilians have died, all collateral victims as a result of this man's unique methods. In the 20–odd years I've been working my side of the tracks, I have not encountered another contractor who's had as significant an impact on the civilian population as he. He's rivaled only by governments and terrorist organizations. And you've never heard of him. I have it on good authority that his next contract will take him to New York. This is not an opportunity to ponder or deliberate, because once he's done, he's gone.

"This guy have a name?" Cooper spoke up.

"They call him 'The Freelancer.'"

"And how do we find him?"

Red tilted his head jauntily. "You don't find him. I do."

"What, are you two pen pals? You guys send each other, uh, coded e–mails?"

Red was getting rather annoyed with Ressler's archetypal FBI agent routine. "I don't have e-mail or a phone or an address. I prefer to handle my business face–to–face."

"You've met him." Cooper inquired.

"Once. I brokered a few jobs. He works through an intermediary. He might be for sale. Perhaps I should set a meeting."

Lizzie winced, glad no one was looking at her. Her dad had just gotten finished telling them how the Freelancer had killed thousands of civilians and in the same breath carelessly told them that he had brokered some of those jobs for the man.

"Maybe you should."

Red smiled over at Lizzie and walked over to her.

"You should come. Just the two of us – no wires, no clumsy agents in the bushes. You want me to make an introduction, you need to trust me with my source. Ah! What fun! It'll be like one of those vacations you never got to have." Lizzie's eyes narrowed in anger. They both knew damn well he was the reason she never went on vacations like a normal kid. "You'll need a dress."

"And where would this meeting be?" Cooper asked, causing Red to glance over at him, interrupting the staring war he'd been waging with Lizzie.

"Montreal."

"What do you know about the passports?" Lizzie whispered as she and Red walked down the hall, heading out of the Post Office.

"What passports?"

"You know what I'm talking about. As far as I'm concerned, you put them there."

"Put what, Lizzie?" Red looked over at her, genuinely confused.

"The box. The money and the gun. The passports." Lizzie looked back at the officer who was following behind them, realizing her voice had risen slightly with her ire.

Red's jaw worked, grinding his teeth together as they walked. "Who else have you told?" He finally asked.

"Nobody."

"Have you told Cooper?"

"No."

"If you go to the police, they'll file charges. If the gun's not registered, it's a felony. The passports are 25 years each. On the other hand, if you confront him, what good does that do? He'll deny everything, and you'll continue to doubt him. Either way, it's an impossible situation."

/\/\/\/\

They had arrived in Montreal and were on their way to the restaurant. Lizzie grabbed Red's forearm just as he went to exit the taxi.

"Before we do this, let me be clear. I'm not here to socialize. I have no interest in having dinner with you, nor do we have the time. We meet your contact, we get the name of the Freelancer's next victim, and we go. Understood?

"I agree with you completely. But it is a restaurant." Red looked down at his watch. "And it is dinnertime."

Lizzie rolled her eyes as he exited the car. Damn the man could be infuriating.

/\/\/\/\

"So, what does this liaison look like?" She asked as they headed into the restaurant.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." He said as they were led to their table. "Anyone asks, you're my girlfriend from Ann Arbor."

"Absolutely not." Lizzie gasped, absolutely appalled.

"Fine. You can be my daughter." Red smirked at her and she realized that she had fallen right into that one.

"Bonsoir." Their waiter greeted.

"What would you like to drink?" Red directed at Lizzie.

"I'll have wine. Chardonnay?" Lizzie looked up at the waiter.

"S'il vous plaít, pour madame, un cocktail de I'aviation." Lizzie rolled her eyes as the French rolled off her father's tongue as if it were his native tongue.

/\/\/\/\

"Oh, this isn't what I ordered." Lizzie murmured as a martini glass with a delicious looking blue cocktail was sat in front of her.

"Mercí." Red thanked the waiter. "To the future." He raised his glass to her before pointing at hers. "Aviation cocktail."

"Uh–huh?"

"It's from the '20s." He stated, taking a drink of his scotch.

"Hmm." Was her only response as she took a sip of the cocktail. Damn it. It was delicious.

"Tastes like spring, doesn't it? Tell me about your job. The profiling. I'm fascinated. How close to the truth do you think you can really get?"

Lizzie was confused. He knew damn well what she did. They had had enough conversations while she was in school where she expounded on everything she'd learned thus far. Then it clicked. They were being watched and he knew it.

"Where's your contact?" If they were being watched, then she certainly didn't want to get into anything resembling a personal topic.

"Tell me my profile."

"Why would I do that?" What the hell was he playing at?

"You've heard the debriefs. You've read Ressler's book reports. I so want to know how you see things."

Lizzie paused, took a deep breath. He was testing her. Again.

"You're a loner. You keep your distance. You travel freely through foreign lands. You're rootless. You're very comfortable here with your glass of Scotch, but you're just as comfortable sleeping in a cave with rebels or sharing dinner in some hole-in-the-wall noodle shop. Your closest friends are strangers." At this, they both shared a look. They both knew it wasn't true. He had Sam. He had her and Dembe. "You understand that tight bonds can make you vulnerable, so you're careful not to have any. And that's why you're so conflicted about me. You need me. And you hate that about yourself, because it makes you vulnerable."

Red's signature eye twitch was the only indicator of how unsettled her stellar assessment was.

"Tell me about your husband. Does he know you as well as you know him?"

Oh no. They were not going there. "Your contact is late."

"Does he know about you as a child?" Translation: Does he know I'm your father?

"It's been 35 minutes."

"Does he know about the fire?" His eyes glanced to her scarred wrist where it rested on the table.

"Why am I so important to you? Did you know my parents?" Red turned his head, shaking his head at her blatant act to try and throw off those who were watching them. "I asked you a question."

Red subtly got the waiter's attention and waited until he walked over "Oui, monsieur?"

"S'il vous plait, apportez–nous une bouteille quatre vingt deux chateau latour."

"Bonsoir."

"Are you gonna keep trying to impress me with your knowledge of French wine, or are you gonna answer my question?"

"What if I were to tell you. That all the things you've come to believe about yourself are a lie?" Red began to stand. "Please excuse me for a moment." He stated before disappearing to the back of the restaurant.

Lizzie sat there, paralyzed by confusion. She was beginning to wonder what, in their little game, was truth and what was a part of their elaborate lie.

/\/\/\/\/\

"What the hell was that? You sold him out!" Lizzie yelled at Ressler outside of the restaurant.

"You let him go!" Ressler pointed angrily at her.

"I let him go?! Who notified RCMP?!"

"You compromised an asset. He's Number 4 on the Most Wanted List, Keen. What did you expect?! And now he's gone because of you!"

Lizzie scoffed. "We all know that's a popularity contest, Ressler." She accidently spewed her father's previous words at him.

Ressler opened the door to the surveillance van only to stop in shock at the sight of Red calmly sitting inside.

"Hey, there, guys." Red smiled at them.

"You planned this! You knew he would never show!" Ressler grabbed Red by the neck of his shirt, slamming his head against the side of the van.

"Ressler!" Lizzie gasped.

"Take a breath, agent Ressler. You think I'm gonna fly all the way to Montreal for the cheese cart? My contact was the first person I saw when I walked into the place. I told you he would help, and he did. The coat-check attendant. I left payment in my hat. In exchange, he left a photo of the assassin's next victim." Red took off his fedora with a flourish and took out a newspaper clipping with the picture of a woman in what looked to be her 50's.

"Floriana Campo. The human–rights activist?" Lizzie asked, recognizing the woman in the picture.

"There you have it – a solid lead delivered exactly as promised. Find Floriana Campo, you find the Freelancer. Not bad for a day's work. Let's celebrate. Hey, Donald. How 'bout that cheese cart?"

/\/\/\/\

They met up with Floriano Campo on the bank of the Hudson River.

"Floriana Campo? Donald Ressler." Ressler greeted, flashing his badge.

"Elizabeth Keen. FBI." Lizzie stated, flashing her badge as well. "We need to have a word with you. We have reason to believe someone's planning an assassination attempt on your life. Tonight's fundraiser needs to be canceled."

"Oh, it can't be canceled. It's a donor event, and I have my own security." Floriana shook her head.

"It's too risky." Ressler stated, slightly impatient.

"We can't guarantee your safety." Lizzie attempted to persuade the woman.

Floriana smiled at them pleasantly. "Nobody can guarantee my safety. I have many enemies – traffickers, cartels."

"We know what they did to your husband, what you've gone through. Your work, it's been an inspiration. I wrote my senior thesis on your time in Kuala Lumpur. I was going through a very bad time. And in some ways, I think you helped me through it."

"Do you have children, agent Keen?"

"Uh, Elizabeth. And If all goes well –"

"There is no work more meaningful than being a mother. I didn't have kids of my own. This is my one regret. But these girls that I'm trying to protect, they are my family. Tonight is for them. I won't cancel."

"Look, we can't force you to accept our protection, but we need your help to find the man contracted to kill you. To identify him, to capture him, we need you to cooperate – you're our only link. Will you help us?"

/\/\/\/\/\

They were back in the war room, discussing the next plan of action.

"She spent 15 years with the UN, stationed primarily in eastern Europe with small stints in north Africa In 2000, she helped pass the Trafficking Victims Protection Act. Since that time, her nonprofit has raised over $35 million in her campaign to eliminate human and sex trafficking around the globe. Three years ago, her husband was murdered by the Eberhardt Cartel."

"Eberhardt is the most ruthless human-trafficking cartel in Europe. Leaving a power vacuum. To this day, nobody knows who's actually running the outfit. What we do know is that he's merciless. Murdered rival cartel leaders to expand his reach. Survivors tell stories of torture and forced addiction. He killed Floriana Campo's husband, and he most likely hired The Freelancer to kill her." Ressler seamlessly picked up where Lizzie left off. "We're doing everything we can to disrupt The Freelancer's plan."

"We've changed schedules, travel routes." Lizzie cut in.

"And you've moved tomorrow night's event?" Cooper questioned.

"Yes, based on what we know about The Freelancer, he takes months to plan these attacks. If he had something planned for tomorrow, he's gonna need to pass through our security in order to pull it off."

"What good does that do if nobody knows what he looks like?"

/\/\/\/\

Lizzie walked up to Red in the Box. A bit like Jack in the Box but if Red were to pop out, you'd probably receive a bit more than a fright. Except Lizzie. No matter what happened between them, she knew she was always the exception.

"I need your help. You said you've seen this guy once. We're compiling photos of the people who are scheduled to attend the event tomorrow, and —"

"Please understand I want more than anything to help you. It's the reason why I'm here. But I won't say another word until the terms of my deal are met. I'm so sorry to bother you with these trivial details, but it's a simple yes or no."

/\/\/\/\

"You got your deal. Our turn now. Compiled a list of the attendees for tonight's event." Ressler stated as he walked into the room which held the Box, shaking the fist full of papers which Red assumed were his immunity deal as he stared at him through the glass.

"Is this really the right approach?" Red asked, looking over to Lizzie where she stood off to the side.

"Hey. I'm right here. Talk to me." Ressler stated angrily.

"Honestly, is this how the FBI does things– comb through the invitation list? This guy didn't RSVP. I've seen the man. If he shows up tonight, if you're going to have any hope of identifying him, you need to put me in that room."

"So, you want to go to the party?"

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask." Red smiled brightly.

/\/\/\/\

They walked through the parking garage and Red grinned as he saw Dembe and Luli standing by a couple of cars, waiting for them. They were his "new" security detail. Red greeted Dembe with a hug and a kiss. Lizzie figured that had been the first time they'd gone so long without seeing each other for some time. Lizzie was always intrigued by the relationship between her brother and her dad. There was always a familial dynamic but there was also a camaraderie that transcended a father-son relationship. She was only slightly jealous. Really.

"Dembe!" Red exclaimed before kissing Dembe on the cheek before smacking said cheek playfully as Dembe smiled brilliantly.

"Luli, my dear." Red murmured as he walked over to her, kissing her full on the mouth. Lizzie fought down the nausea as she swore she could see a bit of tongue. That was not something she ever needed to see. Ever.

"Raymond." Luli murmured in greeting as they mutually pulled away from the kiss.

"Watch yourself with her, Donald. She hates men, and cops most of all." Red teased as he pointed to Luli before directing said finger to the woman standing next to one of their black sedans. "You, I don't know."

"Meera Malik."

"You look like the CIA."

"Oh, yeah? What's the CIA look like?"

"Attractive but treacherous."

Meera smirked. "I guess we'll find out."

Red shook his head in amusement. "This is gonna be a gas."

/\/\/\/\/\

"It's him." Red said, staring across the fountain.

"What?" Lizzie questioning, looking around them.

Red pointedly nodded his head in the man's direction. "The waiter. The Freelancer."

/\/\/\/\/\

Liz escorted Floriana down the hallway. "Sweep the floor. Lock it down." She spoke to a nameless agent.

"We're all clear inside."

Liz nodded her head as she ushered Floriana into her hotel room.

/\/\/\/\

"He asked you a question." Meera hovered over the Freelancer where he slouched in the fold out chair.

"I can't." He practically whimpered in pain.

"Last time. Who hired you?" Meera asked, crouching down in front of him and grasping his leg right below his compound fracture.

"No!" The Freelancer grit his teeth in pain.

"My friend here is with the FBI. I'm from the CIA – you know the difference, don't you? Now, we haven't got much time because you have a compound fracture and you're bleeding internally, so we're going to expedite things." At this, Meera tapped his bone exposed bone.

The Freelancer grimaced as the small tap seemed to jar his entire leg. "I can't."

"A name." Ressler barked.

Just as the Freelancer went to shake his head, Meera pushed down on the exposed bone.

"Reddington! He hired me." He screeched in agony.

/\/\/\/\/\

"Thank you. For everything." Floriana said just as Lizzie's phone began to ring.

"Don't leave your suite." She warned, before exiting the room to answer the call.

"It was Reddington. He hired The Freelancer." Ressler's voice came over the speaker.

"What? No. How could he?"Lizzie's mind began to race.

"The coat-check attendant. Think about it. The coat check didn't leave the picture in Red's hat. Red left it for him. He was signaling the hit."

"Why?" Lizzie asked, desperately hoping it wasn't true.

"Couldn't get close enough to do it himself. Pointing out The Freelancer was a diversion. He wanted us to empty that party. He wanted to get her alone."

/\/\/\/\

"How did you get in here? Where's my security?" Floriana asked, looking around the room as if her security were going to just jump out and shout 'Surprise!'

"Your security is…occupied." Red stated gravely.

"This is because of you. The threats, the FBI." It seemed as though Floriana had finally begun to connect the dots.

"The FBI works for me now."

"Why are you doing this, Raymond? I offered to make you a partner. My people came to you about the shipping routes. You turned us down."

"I've never liked you."

"You never liked me because you're a wanted man living in the shadows, and I am not. I run my business, and I'm being wined and dined by the city's elite." Floriana flourished her hand as she spoke as if she were some 1940s dame.

"I don't know how you do it – the duplicity. How does the devil in you contend with the angel? I would have kicked her out years ago." Red never deluded himself to think he was anything but a monster. He knew what he was. But he had deluded himself into thinking he could keep the true ugliness hidden from Lizzie.

"You can learn a thing or two from me, Raymond. I'm going to kiss that sweet, young FBI agent on the cheek and say, 'good night,' and then go down to docks and pick up my next shipment of girls."

At that moment, Lizzie burst into the hotel room.

"Oh, Elizabeth! Thank God you're here! This is the man. He's the one who wants me dead." Floriana pointed dramatically at Red, quickly switching to the role of a kind-hearted woman in distress.

"You hired The Freelancer." It was meant as a question but came out as more of a statement as Lizzie looked at her father.

"To do what? Was it the champagne? What's the headline gonna read? "Italian dog born with two heads. No? How about 'humanitarian, exposed as fraud, commits suicide?'"

Floriana clutched her chest in horror. "What have you done?"

"I didn't do anything. I think the assassin may have slipped her a lethal cocktail of the same barbiturates she uses to drug her children."

"What are you saying?"

"She's not the woman you think she is, Lizzie."

"You're a liar." Floriana's words whipped out of her mouth.

"Who's lying, Floriana?"

"Shut up, Raymond!"

Lizzie's eyes widened in shock at her idol's slip of the tongue.

"Ooooh, that was a mistake." Red chuckled.

"You know him?" Lizzie questioned Floriana.

"Everybody knows this son of a bitch!" Ah there was Floriana's true ugliness. Floriana's breath became labored as she collapsed to the ground.

"I need a medic!" Lizzie shouted out to anyone who could hear in the hallway.

"You don't need a medic. I have the antidote right here." Red tapped his jacket pocket.

"Give it to me!" Lizzie lifted her hand up in a 'gimme' motion from where she crouched next to Floriana on the floor.

"I'd be happy to, as soon as she admits the truth."

"Give it to me now! She's not breathing!" She was not going to let her father kill a woman right in front of her.

"Tell her the truth, Floriana."

"This will help you breathe." Lizzie stated, grabbing a pen from the desk before stabbing Floriana in the trachea with it.

"Madam Campo doesn't free children from slavery. She imprisons them."

"I don't believe you." Lizzie replied a she unscrewed the top of the pen and removing the ink well , hearing the small hiss as air flowed freely through the pen.

"Don't be so naive. Floriana Campo is the largest distributor of enslaved children in the eastern hemisphere. Her Foundation is a front to launder the profits of the Eberhardt cartel, which she runs. She's been eliminating the competition. Good God. The woman had her own husband murdered."

"Give me the antidote."

"All you have to do is tell her, Floriana. A simple nod will suffice."

Floriana nodded frantically and Red handed Lizzie the syringe which Lizzie then plunged into the side of the woman's arm. Nothing happened.

"What's happening?" Lizzie asked, wondering why Floriana's breathing didn't seem to be improving.

"Looks like she's dying. Definitely dying." Lizzie shivered at her father's nonchalance.

Red had completely given up hiding the monster from her.

/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie sat on a bench in the park next to the Hudson. She could hear him approach and sit on the other side, facing the river but held herself still.

"You look tired. Go home. Get some sleep. Unless you're avoiding your home." Red murmured.

Lizzie completely ignored his baiting, unsure why he was doing it when they weren't at the Post Office. He didn't need to keep up the act. "What would you have done if the antidote had worked on time? It would have exposed you as our informant."

"There was no antidote."

Lizzie resisted whipping her head around and staring at him in horror and instead swallowed before plowing on with the conversation.

"We've confirmed that Floriana Campo was running a fortune through the Kowloon Bank. You were right. The woman ran the Eberhardt cartel. Based on the information you gave us, we were able to intercept the shipment and rescue the girls."

"She preyed on the weak and the innocent while dressed in the wings of a savior. I detested everything about her."

"I had no idea. I mean, I just I should have known."

"We never really know anyone, do we?" He murmured thoughtfully. "I read that thesis you wrote about her. It was really quite good, Lizzie. You're a wonderful writer. I'm sorry that she wasn't who you thought she was." He received no response except for the sight of Lizzie biting her lip and rubbing her scar. Frankly, Lizzie was getting whiplash from how quickly Red went from cold-blooded criminal to loving father. She was pretty sure she was going insane from it all.

At her continued silence, he turned the conversation to a different track. "What are you gonna do, Lizzie? About this situation with Tom? It seems you have two options. Either you turn him in or confront him. Or perhaps there's a third option —" His voice trailed off as he got up and walked away, palming his fedora onto his head.

/\/\/\/\

Liz awoke from a dream flashing back to Tom being attacked by Zamani. Unable to stand being in the bed with him, her mind whirling, she heads downstairs but before she could get halfway down them, she collapses onto a step, her legs folding as she sits down. At that moment in time, she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know if she should stand or just continue to sit there. She doesn't know what to do about her father. She doesn't know what to do about her husband.

After some time, Lizzie had an urge – an absolute need to learn something, anything, that can help her make a decision. Standing up, she rushes into the kitchen where she has Tom's bloody clothes in a plastic bag. Strangely unaffected by the sight of her husband's blood staining his clothing, she searches them for answers. In Tom's jeans, there is a small envelope labeled "Background Profile Elizabeth Keen." Inside is a flash drive which she inserts into her computer. A video of Tom sitting in an office, the sign for the adoption agency behind him as he smiles bashfully appears on screen and she hears a female voice off camera ask Tom, "Tell us a little about Elizabeth."

Tom let out a little laugh. "Elizabeth? Uh, to me, she's always just been Lizzie. Uh, I remember the first time she brought up adoption before we ever thought about coming to see you guys. She was she was so nervous. She tried to cook dinner, which was a complete disaster, because she's, uh, not the best cook. I think it was around my third bite of cold spaghetti, she just started to cry. I, uh I don't know. I think she was afraid of disappointing me. But she looked me in the eye, a–and she told me the truth that she didn't want to have a biological child, not with so many children in need of a loving family. She wanted to adopt. It was important to her. In that moment, I just I–I don't think I've ever loved her more. She's… she's gonna be a great mom. I mean, she really is. I know that."

Removing the flash drive, Lizzie sits there a moment, tears streaming down her face as plans begin to form in her head. She knows what she's going to do. She's going to go with option three.