Tristan and Isolt
Sunlight filtered in from large bay windows, beyond which the ocean was being painted orange and red and yellow by the rising sun. Aisling was half-awake and completely content, drifting in and out of consciousness and watching the light change over the water. One warm body was pressed against her back, another against her front. It was 1991, and all was right with the world.
Dissociation has a powerful effect on the mind. As a young adult, Aisling's grandfather had seen to it that she learned how to put herself into a state that combined dissociation and a mind palace in order to resist interrogation. The technique would not withstand all possible agonies, but humans can become surprisingly accustomed to pain with time, and so time was all that the state had to buy.
For the same reason, a smart or experienced interrogator knows to use as high a variety of techniques as possible in the beginning. Aisling had been taught that the first three days of captivity were when a mark should be pushed the hardest the fastest; if they did not break in that time, they were not likely to do so any time soon. The strategy would have to change to the long game, to the kind of erosion of hope and reality that can only take place over an extended period.
Aisling's only goal was to survive to the long game.
Behind her, Damian's breathing changed.
"Good morning, love." He mumbled groggily against the back of her neck. He stretched his long limbs and then wrapped an arm around her waist, cradling her body into his bare chest. On the other side of Aisling, a man was laying with his back to them, one of Aisling's arms loosely draped over his middle. "Is our guest awake?"
"We've been watching the sunrise." Raymond responded.
"You're facing the wrong way to see the real view, mate." Damian said, kissing Aisling's shoulder, then the curve of her neck.
Raymond rolled to face them, his blue eyes nearly green in the morning light, gaze roaming over the couple. Aisling absent-mindedly brushed his dark hair back from his face, and he caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.
"I have to agree." Raymond rumbled, shifting closer. He and Damian shared a look over Aisling's shoulder.
Aisling flashed a small smile. "What, you two telepathic now?"
"No telepathy, love. Just thinking the same thing."
Time stretched and blurred. Some of it was spent in a vivid nightmare, and an equal time was spent in a wonderful dream that could be sustained awake or asleep. Aisling knew on some level that the nightmare was real, could feel the experience branding itself into her mind and body. But it was the time spent in a dissociative fantasy that really began to erode her sense of reality. After she had gleaned all the information she could from her surroundings, she began to slip into memory as she waited in her cell. Eventually, if she was not in the nightmare, she found it hard to tell if she was awake or asleep.
That did not particularly concern her. Someone- her boys, her friends, maybe even Raymond- would come for her. She believed that with a bone-deep, nearly religious certainty. In the meantime, reality gained her nothing, and dreams gave her everything.
The three crime lords were dressing in companionable silence when Raymond's phone rang. All three looked at it with trepidation, and Red considered it for a long second before he flipped it open and moved into the bathroom. Damain glanced to his wife as he buttoned his shirt.
"We should tell him now." Before he has to leave was left unsaid.
Aisling sighed. "I know. I was just hoping we'd have more time."
When Red emerged from the bathroom, he found the couple waiting for him. He paused, glanced between them.
"Ray," Aisling began, "Sit with us for a minute."
"...Everything alright?" Red asked as the three moved to the couch and armchair in the corner of the room.
"We're fine." Aisling assured. "We just have some news."
"We're pregnant." Damian said.
For a split-second, Raymond only stared. Then his eyes went wide with panic.
"Damian and I," Aisling clarified, voice firm.
The panic melted away, and then pain flashed across his face for that tone and what it signified: all the reasons that it would be Damian's baby. It didn't matter what a paternity test might say- one would never be considered. Raymond would be 'Uncle' to this child, as he was to their eldest and the children of many other criminals worldwide. It was a safer, more ambiguous title, one that could signify a cozy allyship as much as it could real connection.
"Congratulations." Red said with a polite smile that was miles from his eyes.
Damian's smile was softer, sympathetic. "Red," He said gently, "We want you to be this child's godfather."
The smile warmed slightly. "Of course. I'd be honored."
Somewhere in the distance, an explosion sounded, and Aisling's body tensed. She immediately looked to Raymond and Damian, but neither had reacted.
"Didn't you hear that?" She asked them.
Damian's brow furrowed in that way it always did when he was worried. "What is it, love?"
And Aisling jolted awake on her cell floor, confused, for a minute drowning in fear. What was this dark place and the insistent pain in her body? Where was the bright sun, the beach, the men she loved? Another explosion, deafening this time, and followed by gunfire. Adrenaline flooded her system, but even that could not make her legs support her when she shot to her feet.
There were footsteps outside her cell now, and the sound struck terror through her for a reason she couldn't explain, couldn't remember. She scrambled for the back wall, pressing her back against it and desperately trying to control her breathing.
Light and noise cut through the darkness of the cell, blinding, but after a second Aisilng recognized the furious whirring of an engine and blade. Someone was cutting through the hinges of the metal door in front of her.
Then the noise- save for the distant gunshots- stopped, and there was one second of silence before the door fell backward with a deafening crash that made Aisling jump despite having watched it fall. A person in tactical gear- body armor, night vision goggles, respirator, Aisling's mind automatically categorized- immediately stepped into the cell, the unreasonably bright flashlight on the end of their gun forcing Aisling to shield her eyes with an arm.
"Raven One to Mission Control." Aisling was washed with relief to hear the familiar voice of one of her bodyguards. "Target acquired for exfil. Get us out of here."
"Raymond," Aisling began, "In our line of work, I know that names mean so little. I wouldn't be surprised if the three of us didn't know each other's original names." Red began to say something contrary, and she continued, "But I still want you to pick a name that's important to you. One for a boy, one for a girl."
Raymond opened his mouth, then closed it. She would learn later that he had wanted to say Dembe, but thought the name uncommon enough for an Irishman that a connection could be made from the child to Dembe Zuma to Raymond Reddington.
"Samuel." He finally said. "And Kathryn."
Damian grinned. "Good picks for a little Catholic baby."
Three days later, Raymond and Dembe met David MacDuncan at the door to one of the MacDuncan family estates outside of Dublin. Davy was tall and of medium build, with his father's dark hair and his mother's brown eyes. He was in his early thirties, a fact that had never failed to remind both Aisling and Red of the relentless, crushing march of time.
"Davy." Red greeted warmly.
"Hello, Uncle." Davy returned, somber but not without affection, as he and Raymond embraced. He immediately turned to Dembe and offered a hand, and the two wordlessly pulled each other into a one-harmed hug and hearty thumps on the back. "It's good to see you both. I just wish the circumstances were different."
The younger mobster turned too quickly to catch the guilt that flashed across Red's face at the statement, leading the pair of older men through the hallways of the manor.
"How is she?" Dembe asked as they walked.
Davy grimaced. "As bad as you'd expect. The surgical team had her for most of the night when she got back. Left knee is absolutely fucked. They're going to try a full knee replacement, but she's not likely to get full strength and stability back. And then there's-"
About twenty yards down the hallway from them, a man in his mid-twenties emerged from a room. He was dark-haired and blue-eyed, and his expression turned murderous when he saw them. He stalked towards them, body promising aggression, shouting well before he reached them.
"What the fuck is he doing here?"
Davy stepped up to him just before he could reach Dembe and Red. "He's allowed to be here, Sammy."
"The fuck he is!" Samuel yelled, trying to shoulder past his older brother. Davy grabbed him by the collar of the shirt with one hand, holding him in place. "This is his bloody fault!"
Sam tried to jerk away, but David held him fast. "Come off it, Sam. Or you can tell Mum that you sent him away."
"Think I won't?" Sam challenged. He pulled away again, and now that he was no longer trying to move forward, David let him go. Sam glared over his brother's shoulder at Red. "If you weren't a selfish prick, you'd leave her alone. Was getting Dad killed not enough for you? You gotta take our Mum down with you too?"
Red's face was washed with guilt. "Samuel-"
"I don't care what bullshit excuse you have. It's not good enough for this."
"Sam," David cut in, expression livid, hand closing on his shirt again, "You and I are taking a walk." He looked back to their guests and nodded to the door Samuel had come out of. "She's expecting you. I'll see you at dinner."
Davy pulled his younger brother down the hall by the shirt, saying something to him in angry, hushed tones. Red watched them for a second, grimacing.
"That could have gone better."
"...What did you expect, Raymond? It's their mother."
He didn't answer, and instead turned to the door, hesitating for a second before opening it. Aisling was sitting side-face to them in a hospital bed and watching TV, one leg in a full brace and elevated on pillows, an IV drip feeding into her arm. For someone who had carried significant muscle on her frame for all her adult life, she was now shockingly thin, almost frail. Hair that had been a carefully maintained mix of auburn and grey was now hacked short and almost completely white, and a few scrapes and cuts littered her face.
Her head came around, and a smile broke on her face when she saw them. Red stopped short, staring in shock and horror at the bandage that attached to her brow and cheekbone to cover her right eye.
"Dembe!" She greeted cheerily as he reached her bed. They exchanged a hearty bear-hug, and as she pulled away, she flickered a gentle, slightly concerned look over him and continued, "Christ, it's been ages. How have you been?"
Dembe returned her gentle smile, unsurprised that she had picked up on his own almost-healed injuries. "I'm alive."
Aisling let out a small laugh at that. "I know the feeling." She glanced past him to Raymond, who was still rooted to the center of the room, the stricken look on his face just starting to settle into fathomless grief and guilt. The smile slowly fell from her face, and she patted Dembe's arm and added, "Give us a minute, yeah?"
Dembe glanced between Aisling and Red, grimness and something that was almost disapproval flashing across his face. For how he's handling it, or for being involved at all? Aisling wondered. She doubted that Dembe had been particularly happy to use her as a distraction.
"Of course."
He stepped into the hallway, and there was a moment of silence.
"Raymond." Aisling prompted.
As if woken from a trance, Red crossed to her, throwing his hat on the side table without looking. He took her face in his hands, one cradling the back of her head and the other on her cheek, thumb brushing just below the bandage over her eye. He inspected it for a minute, blinking away tears, and then lifted his hand to the bandage as though to pull it back.
Aisling's hand closed around his wrist. "Raymond." She repeated, voice a warning now. He pulled his gaze to her remaining eye, but didn't move his hand. Harder, she added, "If you're looking to torture yourself, leave me out of it."
He was momentarily taken aback by that. For a moment Aisling was unsure if he would listen, but he took a shaking breath and instead lifted his hand to brush along the edge of a small cut on her forehead.
After a moment, he said in a thick, choked voice, "This wasn't supposed to happen."
Aisling's eye darted over his face, her own cool expression faltering.
"Raymond," she began, voice shaking just slightly, "Now isn't the time to lie to me. That was our deal, yeah? Don't talk if you can't talk, but no lies, no half-truths."
He was shaking his head before she had completely finished. "The FBI was supposed to keep you in custody. All of this, it was never supposed to happen."
Realization hit her. "So the glass box really was supposed to be the worst of it." She muttered, mostly to herself. She didn't know if that made it better or worse, if good intentions mattered more than the disastrous outcomes.
"Aisling, I- I am so sorry. I should have never-" He looked down, stifled a wounded, choked sound.
"Easy, love." She tapped her forehead to his. "I know you wouldn't have done it if you didn't have to." She paused, and added with a small, jesting smile, "Or if you did, for God's sake, don't tell me."
For a second, he looked like he might smile. Then he kissed her forehead and drew away, composing himself as he took off his overcoat and then suit jacket and set them across the back of a nearby armchair. In a not unfamiliar move, Aisling slid over as much as she could on the narrow hospital bed, and he slid in next to her, one leg hanging off the side of the bed and an arm around her as she rested a head on his shoulder.
"What parts do you want to hear about?" Red asked. He knew she would be curious about his time on the run, and how he'd been able to survive the Cabal.
"Hmm. What happened to that spook? Well, more than just a spook, I guess. Davy said he was on the telly for being involved in the Cabal. Word is he went on the run last night."
A hard, cold glint entered Red's eyes. "I actually just shared a flight with him. I'm sure it will be on the evening news."
Aisling patted his chest. "Atta boy, Ray." There was comfortable silence for several seconds before she looked over and asked, "Can you tell me more about Elizabeth?"
Red finally smiled. "You'd love her. She's passionate and resilient, and so, so stubborn. I actually-" He chuckled, "I actually got kidnapped by this group of hillbillies when we were passing through Appalachia. Can you believe my luck? I can avoid the Cabal for months, but I get captured by a trio of walking, talking, backwoods-American stereotypes. Elizabeth had to come rescue me." His expression turned melancholy, wistful. "You know, as harrowing as it was, it was… nice, to have us both so aligned on a common goal for once. To have her trust me for just a little while."
Aisling nodded. "I know what you mean. When these big horrible things happen, it's horrible that they happened, but the way people pull together for them… you miss that when it's the little things going wrong." She glanced up and said, "I'd like to meet her, you know. A real meeting- the Kings' auction doesn't count. If something were to happen to you, she needs to know who her allies are."
"I know. But I think it will be a while before things really settle down for her."
"Ray, she's in it now. With her birth name out… things might not settle down."
"...I know."
Aisling sighed at the melancholy turn of the conversation. "Hand me my phone, would you?"
He passed it to her from the side table, and she held it with a hand that rested on his stomach so they could both see the screen as she began to scroll through black market tech sites.
"I've been thinking about what to do for a prosthetic eye. I've got to do something cool with it. Maybe get it in a different color. I got these mock-ups from a guy based in Hong Kong…"
And the afternoon passed thusly, in calm and comfort as they talked about the past months and the coming days. The dangers of the past and future hung as a vague and distant shadow over the pair of battered crime lords, but for this fleeting moment, they were safe, and together.