Tom rolled over in their bed and saw that she was awake.

"What's going on? You're acting funny."

"Nothing." Lizzie shook her head slowly, gazing over at him.

"Okay. Tell me. Tell me." Tom shifted to his side, holding himself up on his elbow.

"I need to ask you about something, and I need you to tell me the truth."

"Of course. What is it?"

Lizzie reached over to her bedside table and picked up the brochure for Boston he'd given to her the other night, opens it to the page that had the blurb about the Angel Station Hotel and showed it to him.

"I don't get it." Tom said, looking it over.

"A man was shot and killed in that hotel." Lizzie bit her lip.

"Okay. So, what's the question?"

"Were you involved?" Lizzie lifted herself up onto her elbows, uncomfortable with his height advantage.

"I–in in what?"

"The murder."

Before her sleep addled brain could catch up to what was happening, Tom was holding her down and she immediately tried to buck him off. "You're not going anywhere. Liz. Stop! The people that I work for are very powerful. Now, I need you to tell me everything that you know."

"I don't know anything. You're hurting me!" Lizzie attempted to punch him but his hands on her biceps, holding her down, didn't allow her to put much force behind it.

"Damn it, Lizzy! Do not lie to me!" His hands were at her throat now.

"I don't know anything! I swear!" She screamed, her fists pounding against his chest and arms as she struggled beneath him.

"Yeah, well, I wish that I believed you!" His hands tightened.

Lizzie woke up with a gasp.

/\/\/\/\

"Aah!" Lizzie groaned as both Tom and Hudson jumped onto the bed, waking her back up from the sleep she felt she had only just gotten back to.

"Rise and shine. The day is waiting. Let's go, let's go, let's go!" He was always so damn chipper in the morning.

"Oh, God. I hate you right now."

"Do you? Wake up, wake up, wake up. Get her, Hudson! Get her!" Hudson bounced on the bed, attacking the covers that Lizzie laid underneath.

"Stop it, both of you! Ouch!" Lizzie laughed.

Tom laid down beside her, a small smile on his face. "I know that you've had a rough few nights, but today is gonna be a really great day."

Lizzie stared at him in confusion, wracking her brain for ideas but coming up empty. "Why?"

"Well, I have a doctor's appointment." He stated slyly.

"You hate doctors."

"Yeah, but it's not for me. It's an ultrasound for our baby."

Lizzie was stunned for a moment. "I thought Jeni was having second thoughts."

"Yeah, she said we're the only married couple she knows who don't totally hate each other, so she's she's giving us a baby."

"That's – that's great news." Lizzie enthused, well, tried to anyway.

"It's amazing! When you get home from work tonight, you are finally gonna see what this little monster looks like."

"Wait. I'm not invited?"

"I just know how busy you get. But call if you can't make it."

"Oh, God. Oh, God." She wasn't sure when the exact moment was that she had begun to feel so hesitant about the idea of adopting a baby with Tom, but until she got some answers, she wasn't sure she could do this anymore.

"It's so good to see things finally getting back to normal around here." Tom leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Mm!" That was all the agreement she could muster.

/\/\/\/\

Lizzie sat at her desk at the Post Office, looking up information on the Angel Station murder in Boston when Ressler walked in. She quickly closed her laptop, hiding her legal pad underneath a stack of papers as he set a huge box of case files down on her desk with a none-too-gentle thunk.

"I've been ordered to include you in the oversight committee brief on Reddington next week."

"Cooper told me. Here's the profile I prepared on him." Lizzie reached over to the far corner of her desk and handed Ressler a manila folder.

"Have I told you yet I don't place much stock in profiling? And by 'much,' I mean 'none.' It's never once helped me solve a case. You know what has? – Hm? – Facts." Ressler stood at the other side of her desk, looking down at Lizzie, his hands at his hips, causing his unbuttoned suit jacket to flare out at the sides.

"Yeah. I also prepared a profile on you." Lizzie opened an empty folder and pretended to read. "'Uptight, fueled by an inner rage,' 'capable of the occasional moment of tenderness, which likely brings on the desire to stay up all night watching Asian porn.'"

Ressler huffed. "Not even close."

"Huh. How about this? You don't trust me. You think I'm tainted somehow. Maybe a traitor. You resent the fact that Reddington wants to work directly with me instead of you." She smirked at the sight of Ressler's lips thinning in obvious discomfiture. "Speak of the devil. It's the devil." Lizzie stated, picking up her phone as it rang, the caller ID read "Nick's Pizza."

/\/\/\/\

"What is this place?" Lizzie walked into Red's latest safe house, looking around the living room that was covered in papers and books from floor to ceiling.

"Something of a hideaway. It used to be home to one of the finest American writers who ever lived – Fredrick Hemstead."

"Never heard of him." Lizzie shook her head from where she stood on the other side of the coffee table as Red reclined on the couch that looked like it belonged in the 60's – one of those itchy thread ones that was a terrible mixture of browns and puke green.

"No, you haven't. Nobody has. Dear Fredrick was waiting tables when we first met." Red tossed the manuscript he'd been reading onto the coffee table. "Strange little man, built like a fireplug. He was living here with his mother until she died. Poor Fredrick couldn't afford to stay on, so I bought the place for him." Red picked up a glass mug of a clear, muggy liquid. "Sadly, Fredrick died without ever being published, but this place is chock-full of his work Manuscripts, poems, unsent letters, and lots and lots of this." Red took a swig of the drink, sighing in obvious distaste as it burned down his throat.

"What is that?"

"No earthly idea. Some sort of distilled alcohol, I think. There's bottles of the stuff stashed everywhere. Would you like me to pour you a few fingers?" Red gestured to a side table with the hand that held his drink.

Lizzie shook her head, shifting on her feet impatiently. "Why am I here?"

"Have you ever wondered how criminals who know they can't trust one another are still able to conduct business with each other?" Red finally placed the drink down on the end table next to the couch.

"They replace trust with fear and the threat of violence."

"The next target on the blacklist is a physical embodiment of both. He's known as the Courier, and his involvement in a transaction virtually guarantees success. Once he's hired to make a delivery, he can't be bribed, he can't be stopped. If either a party attempts to double–cross the other, he kills them both. The perfect middleman for an imperfect world."

Lizzie put her hands in the pockets of her jacket and rolled her eyes. She'd driven an hour out of town for this? "Cooper's not gonna sanction a black op against the U.P.S. driver of crime."

"He will when you tell him the Courier is scheduled to deliver a package worth $20 million. At that price, it could be anything from a genetically engineered virus to a very important person's head in a bag."

Now Lizzie was interested. "Does he have a name?"

"I'm sure he does. I don't know it."

Lizzie stared at her dad for a moment and shook her head in exasperation. "Skip to the part where you tell me how you expect us to find him."

"I know the man he's planning on delivering the package to. An Iranian spy named Hamid Soroush."

"Where are they making the exchange?"

"At the Winston farmer's market in…" Red squinted at his watch. "…2 hours and 45 minutes."

/\/\/\/\/\

After an eventful afternoon which included a shoot out at a outdoor market and a car chase, the agents and Red were gathered in the war room, gazing at a screen which displayed the courier patiently waiting in one of the Post Office's interrogation rooms.

"We found nothing at the farmer's market, nothing in his vehicle, nothing on him. What was he supposed to be delivering?" Cooper looked to Red expectantly.

"I don't know, Harold. Might it be conceivable your people actually missed something?"

"You're not telling us everything." Lizzie's wounded pride forced her to speak up. After all, she was one of Cooper's people and her dad just insinuated that they – that she had failed.

"Let me put your mind at ease. I'm never telling you everything." Red gazed at her benignly before switching his gaze back to Cooper. "I did my job here. I gave you a Blacklister. There he sits." Red gestured carelessly towards the screen that still displayed the Courier handcuffed to a table.

"Why did he kill Soroush?" Cooper questioned.

"Obviously, he spotted one of your agents, and poor Soroush paid the price."

Lizzie sighed in annoyance. He was doing it again, mocking the task force which she was a part of. "There's a knife wound in his chest, scars all over his body. You know how he got them?"

"That's interesting. I always wondered if the stories were true. I think you may need to call a doctor."

/\/\/\/\

They had called in a doctor who had, after examining the man, told them that the Courier had congenital anhidrosis. A rare genetic disorder that made him incapable of feeling pain. They had then asked him to remove what they believed he had hidden in his chest wound.

The team stood around watching the video from the chip the Doctor had found.

"My name My name My name is Seth Is Seth Nelson. W–why are you doing this? Please – "

Cooper paused the video. "That's the only thing on the chip taken from his chest?"

"Newspaper's from yesterday. Time stamp on the video file is 4:29 this morning. It's a proof–of–life video." Lizzie replied.

"The oxygen mask, the tanks – Wherever this guy is, his hours are numbered." Ressler spoke up, staring at the screen which had Seth Nelson's face frozen in fear.

"We didn't find a package because there wasn't one, sir. Soroush was putting up $20 million for this guy. We just stopped him from delivering a ransom payment." Lizzie looked over at Cooper in distress, wracked with guilt. Maybe her dad was correct. It seemed as though they had royally botched this one. Shaking herself, Lizzie continued. "We got a hit when we ran his name and face through the DMV servers. Seth Nelson lives in Maryland with his parents, works tech support for a cable company."

Ressler pointed at the screen where the video was still paused on Seth Nelson's face. "Assuming each oxygen cylinder was full, he has maybe 20 hours before his air runs out."

"Ultrasound machine. I want to know what other surprises the Courier has hiding inside him. I also want to know why anyone thinks this kid is worth $20 million." Cooper ordered.

"He's probably worth more." Meera spoke up from where she sat behind them, gazing at a computer screen. "My CIA sources just confirmed he's an NSA analyst, one of their best and only one of three people allowed to write and access the security protocols and software. If he's coerced into working for a foreign power or criminal network, the damage would be catastrophic."

"We need to make the Courier talk. There must be something he wants." Lizzie wracked her brain wondering what a man who couldn't feel pain would fear.

"The guy's a psychopath." Ressler scoffed.

"Luckily, we happen to have our own psychopath."

Lizzie had to swallow the sudden tightness in her throat as Cooper called her dad a psychopath. She knew him better than anyone. Had tweaked his profile to perfection ever since she began learning how to profile.

/\/\/\/\

Red sat at the dining room table of Hemstead's house, another manuscript in his hand, while Lizzie stood in front of him as he laughed. "This is hilarious. Fredrick wrote to the editor of the Washington Post almost every day – thank you – " Red interrupted himself as Luli walked in and handed him a cup of tea. Wearing nothing but a men's dress shirt. "About any and every subject. Listen to this one. 'Dear Mr. Bradley, what is up with all the rabbits – '"

"Are you and…" Lizzie pointed at him and the back of Luli's retreating back.

Red laughed again, "No dear, I promise. She just finds them more comfortable. Buys them herself." Lizzie nodded, glad to have dodged that awkward bullet. "Besides, I would never flaunt such a relationship in front of you. There is a reason you've never met any of my… lady friends. I can never have a serious relationship with my lifestyle, not really. I've tried. Didn't work out." Red's eyes went distant for a moment before he shook himself, gave Lizzie one of his grins and took a sip of his tea.

Rather than dissecting the sad state of her father's romantic life or letting her curiosity get the best of her, Lizzie plowed on to the reason she was here. "I need to know what you're not telling me about the Courier."

"And what do I get in return?"

Lizzie rolled her eyes, a small smile of fond exasperation anointing her face. "My gratitude."

"Tell me what you've learned about your husband."

Lizzie bit her lip, unsure if she was prepared for the sudden shift in conversation. "The gun that I found in the box is connected to an open homicide."

"Of whom?"

"It's classified. I can't read the file." Lizzie shifted restlessly on her feet.

"I imagine you've found ways around that particular obstacle." He daintily took another sip of his tea before placing it on the saucer.

"I know it happened in Boston last year. I think it was a Russian tourist who was murdered Victor Fokin."

Red re-crossed his legs, twining his fingers together as he settled them on his knee. "You lived in New York at the time. Why would you think your husband would be in Boston?"

"Because I was there with him. He supposedly had a job interview, and we made it into a small vacation."

Red didn't speak as he appeared to ruminate on this information, before quickly changing the subject back to the matter at hand. "A few years ago, some of my associates encountered the Courier in an opium den in Cairo. He killed two of them. If he still has a taste for the poppy, there's a man who may be able to help us."

"You're talking about a drug dealer." Lizzie's brow creased in consternation.

"I'm talking about a friend, a philosopher who practices an ancient ritual going back thousands of years. There's a good chance he could be helpful in locating the Courier's safe house."

Lizzie huffed in annoyance. "All I care about is finding Seth. Call your friend. I want the Courier's safe-house address." Lizzie went to exit the room but was stopped by her father's next words.

"Thank you." It was barely above a whisper.

Lizzie turned back around to face him. "For what?"

"For always being honest with me. In my life, I don't encounter that frequently."

Lizzie bit her lip, her mind warring with her until her feet seemed to make the decision for her, carrying her over to where he sat. She bent down and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Bye Dad. 'Til next time."

She quickly spun back around, heading towards the door, unable to see the wistful smile on his face. She did however, hear his reply.

"Until next time, Sweetheart."

/\/\/\/\

Everyone stood around as Meera flipped through the surveillance photos they had found in the Courier's – Tommy Phelps' – house.

"Her name's Laurence Dechambou. She's ex-French intelligence. She now makes a handsome living selling secrets, mostly of a technological nature. I really don't understand any of it. But she's clearly stepping up on this one, trying to make a legacy for herself. She owns that nightclub. Last time I was there, we had a great deal of fun, until she tried to strangle me with her stocking."

"I'll get a warrant. You'll have it by the time you get there." Cooper's gruff voice answered.

"She won't talk, and even if she did, what would you expect her to say?"

"She may know Seth's location." Ressler stated as if he were speaking to a five year old.

"She won't." Red gave his I-would-like-to-murder-you-but-I'll-save-it-for-later smile.

"She's the only lead we have. We arrest her and take our chances."

"This is a bad idea, Harold."

"Actually, there may be another option." Meera spoke up. "She had to hand over Seth to the Courier somewhere. We find the location, we might get lucky. There could be security-cam or ATM footage of the exchange."

"And we use it to track the Courier's movements last night. That could lead to Seth." Liz stated, quickly catching onto where Meera's thoughts were heading.

"And why would she tell you that, again?" Red cut in.

"She doesn't have to. She's still expecting her money. We send someone in as the Courier, tell her the exchange was a setup, the deal's off, she can pick up Seth where she dropped him off."

"And we follow her to the drop–off point." Ressler rocked back on his feet just enough to lean against the table behind him.

"If you really want her to talk, I should meet with her." Red addressed Cooper.

"Every time you 'meet,' someone ends up dead." Ressler pointed out.

Red shrugged. "We've gotten off to a rocky start."

"You've killed three people." Cooper reminded him.

Red's eyebrows raised and he put his hands up, placating. "I'm not perfect."

"If we did this, we'd be operating under the assumption that Dechambou has never met the Courier face–to–face." Cooper addressed his team once more.

"It's too risky."

"He's right." Lizzie agreed with Red's assertion.

"Let me go. I can do this." Ressler announced gruffly, unwilling to back down.

Everyone waited as Cooper mulled it over. "First sign this is going south, I want that club swarmed."

"Or just bend over any available piece of furniture and let her slap you on the ass. She loves that."

As everyone's backs were turned as they started to head towards their respective offices, Lizzie smacked Red on the arm. God, did he never stop?

She ignored his small grumble of pain as her phone began to ring.

"Oh, my God. Tom. Oh, God. He's gonna kill me." Lizzie answered the call. "I'm so sorry."

"You need to come home. Okay?" Lizzie's lips pursed at the sound of Tom's righteous anger. "I canceled the ultrasound. – Liz?"

"I can't do this right now." Lizzie refused to look up at Red who she knew was stood by her side, listening.

"Look, I don't I don't care what's going on at work, okay? You and I need to talk. Something incredibly important came up."

"Tom—"

"I don't care! You and I need to talk about something, and it's more important."

"I promise we'll talk as long as you like, but later."

"This is an emergen –"

Lizzie hung up the phone.

/\/\/\/\

Red stood in the shadows of the courtyard behind Dechambou's club, watching as she poured herself a few fingers of bourbon.

"Better make it a double." Red murmured, stepping out of the shadows, causing Dechambou to spin around to face him.

"If this is about that incident in Paris—"

"Oh, we'll always have Paris." He mocked.

"What do you want?"

"So many things. But right now, I want some information. Where is the NSA agent?" Red walked towards her, his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

"I have no idea. He was handed off to the Courier."

"Yes. And he's been compromised. Who do you think he'll blame for that?"

She quickly knocked back her drink and set the glass down on the bar. "Not me. The Iranian must have been working with the FBI."

"Laurence, the Iranian is dead, and you're next. You know that."

"I did nothing wrong." Dechambou whispered vehemently.

"The world is rarely a fair place. That's why it needs people like me. I'll get you out of the country and guarantee your safety. There's a private jet awaiting your arrival right now. In exchange, you give me the location where you dropped the kid off last night."

"He's worth $20 million." She huffed, disbelieving that he would expect her to walk away from that.

"That $20 million is about to die. This is not a negotiation."

"How dare you? I don't care who you are. And I'm not going to let you swoop in at the last minute and profit from a mistake made by somebody I hardly know."

"Oh, he knows you. He knows where you live, where you work, where you play. He knows you better than I do, and I know where that lovely little freckle is." Red let his eyes wander down her body. "I give you a day and a half before he finds you. Try to be brave." He turned on his heel and began to walk away.

"Wait. I will help you."

/\/\/\/\

"How much air does he have left?"

"Thirty minutes, tops." Lizzie answered as they hunched over a map of the area surrounding the drop off point Dechambou had told them about.

"With Dembe driving, we might make it just in time to see him die. If we find our NSA friend and he's still alive, he might prove helpful." Red stated, walking towards the elevator to leave the Post Office.

"You want Seth for your own reasons." Lizzie followed after him, knowing Dembe was right behind her.

"So should you."

/\/\/\/\/\

They arrived at the junk yard and Lizzie and Dembe immediately began to sweep the place with their flashlights before all three of them began opening all of the junked fridges and freezers that lay around.

"He's in the dirt." Red finally said, sifting curiously through the dirt with his foot.

"What?"

Red looked around him as he spoke. "The refrigerator. It's a coffin. The Courier buries things under his skin." Red lifted up a plastic panel that appeared to be placed there as a marker. "He's in the dirt right here."

All three of them got to their knees and began to dig. Not too far below the surface, they found the refrigerator. Red quickly opened it up and he and Dembe jumped in to lift Seth out.

Lizzie quickly removed the mask from his face. "He's not breathing." She murmured as she checked for signs of life.

"Move, Elizabeth." Dembe said softly, crouching beside Seth and beginning CPR.

"I died once in Marrakech Two and a half minutes. You wouldn't believe what I saw on the other side." Lizzie looked up at her dad in horror. How could he drop a bomb like that now?!

Her attention was quickly drawn back at the sound of Seth sputtering and gasping for breath.

/\/\/\/\

As Seth is being loaded into the ambulance, Red leans over to whisper in his ear before pulling away, just as Lizzie walks up.

"Seth. We called your parents. They're gonna meet you at the hospital."

"H–how can I ever repay you?"

"I'm sure we'll think of something." Red answered jovially just as Seth was loaded up and the doors of the ambulance were shut.

"Don't even think about it."

"What?" Red asked, giving her his best 'I'm innocent' face. "The boy wishes to express gratitude. I'm merely playing my part in the ritual."

/\/\/\/\

"Thank you." Lizzie murmured as she sat at her desk and quickly signed off on the package the delivery man held.

Ripping open the envelope once he left, she opened up a file that had a post it note attacked – 'The answers you seek – Dad' was written in red ink. Looking at the files, Lizzie quickly realized what they were. They were the unredacted case files for the Angel Station murder.

After going through the files multiple times, Lizzie sat there, frozen as she looked at one of the surveillance photos that were taken of the suspect. It was Tom.

/\/\/\/\

"This man, the young NSA agent. He allowed you access to the classified networks?" Newton Phillips asked, looking out the window of the Hemstead house before gazing over at the back of Red's head where he sat on the sofa.

"He did." Red murmured, taking a sip of the ghastly alcoholic beverage that dear Frederick apparently loved so much.

"And I understand this was a one-time offer."

"Yes." Red whispered tiredly, already knowing where this was going.

"The right question, and we could've made the world tremble. Finally found our adversary. Why did you waste it on the girl?"

Red pursed his lips. Logically, he knew that Newton didn't know Lizzie was his daughter. That was privileged information that he, quite frankly, hadn't earned yet. Despite being his glorified secretary. "Not 'wasted,' my friend. Circumstances are far more complex than we ever imagined. I'm betting on the long play. The future."

"Your future's arriving now." Newton murmured.

Red's brow quirked. Hmm. Maybe Newton knew a bit more than he thought. Red pushed that from his mind, saving it for another time as he gazed up at Lizzie, a small smile on his face. He gestured for her to sit just as he sat up and poured her a finger of Hemstead's distilled alcohol and handed it to her just as he sat back down.

Recognizing that she wasn't going to speak as she barely held it together, he gazed out the window and smiled. "Funny all these wonderful manuscripts, and my favorite thing about this place is still the view from the sofa. I love how the light breaks through the trees." He closed his eyes, soaking up the warmth of the evening sun shining through the window.

"Dad—" Lizzie let out a choked sob as she curled into his side.

He was quick to wrap his arm around her, placing his drink on the end table. "Shh Lizzie, it will be alright. You will get through this. I promise. It will be fine."

/\/\/\/\

Later that night, Lizzie cautiously walked into her house, hanging her purse on the coat rack just before walking down the hallway.

"Tom!" Lizzie called out yet received no reply. She slowly walked into the dining room and found him sitting in a chair, waiting for her.

"We need to talk." She murmured hesitantly.

"That's funny. I was just gonna say the same thing to you." He leaned over and reached behind him, dragging the wooden "go box" with all the money, the passports, and the gun, in front of him.