A/N: Thanks again for the reviews everyone! Also, for anyone trying to picture what my original character Liam looks like, in my head he's Hugh Laurie. I so want to see Hugh Laurie on The Blacklist alongside James Spader.

Setting up some background for my original character, and for Red, with this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Again, this is clearly for entertainment purposes. I don't know any more than any other watcher of this brilliant show. All this is just my creation of what could have been.

Ch.3

December 1985

West Berlin, Germany

"And then I said, "But it wasn't me, it was the dog!" Commander John Robinson finished the joke as he started bellowing with laughter. Looking directly at him, and seeing that he was the only one not laughing, he said, "Get it, Reddington?! It was the dog!"

Shaking his head, he said, "Yeah, I got it. You're drunk, sir." He took the glass of bourbon out of his Commanding Officer's hand and handed it off to a waiter passing by. "That joke was so horrible, I feel deeply apologetic for the last five minutes it took you to tell it. Those poor minutes should not have endured the suffering."

His Commanding Officer just huffed in amusement and shook his head. "Lieutenant J.G. Reddington...you're lucky I like you. I've bitten the heads off of higher ranking Officers than you for much less."

"I bet you have, sir, and swallowed a few of them too I see," he said while gesturing to his protruding gut.

Everyone around them started laughing and he felt someone slap him on the back. It was Lieutenant Richard Abraham, his friend and colleague at the Pentagon, "Now that's funny."

He watched as Robinson, who looked ready to exploded as his face turned red, move toward him to start yelling when he heard a voice behind him, catching his attention.

"Ray, be nice to your CO, you just may need him on your good side one day."

Smiling, he turned and extended his hand, "Mr. Fitch."

"Please, call me Alan, we're not at work." Alan Fitch shook his hand then gestured around as he said, "We're at a Christmas party."

"We are?" he asked in mock confusion as he looked around the ballroom. The massive room was decked out in the Christmas holiday decorations as tinsel glistened from the chandelier lighting. There was even a decorated tree in the corner next to the stage where the band was playing. "We tend to forget that holidays exist in the Navy."

"Is that because every day is one to you, Sailor?"

He smiled at the sharp comeback as he told him, "Sailors are stationed on ships. I've never actually stepped foot on one." He took a drink of the wine that was in his hand as he looked Alan over. He was dressed accordingly in a tux and bowtie, but he didn't look joyous. He looked stressed, overworked, and not in the mood for joking.

Alan turned and motioned for him to follow. Stepping away from the rest of the group, he followed Alan Fitch, his civilian boss at the Pentagon, into a far corner. "Are you sure getting on your CO's bad side is a good idea, Ray?"

"What are you talking about, he likes me," he said as he finished the wine and placed the empty glass on a table next to them. "Besides, he's so drunk he won't remember any of this in the morning."

Alan regarded him for a moment before giving him a smile and soft laugh, "You don't think you're coming across as a little too arrogant?"

"Confidence and arrogance are always oddly mistaken for one another. Believe me, if I didn't know John as well as I do, I would never joke with him like that. You should hear the ribbings he gives me on a daily basis."

"That's one of the reasons why you're such a great Intelligence Officer. You understand people; you get to know who they are and how they think in order to use them to your advantage."

Looking Alan over, he suddenly realized that this wasn't a social call. Stepping to the side of Alan so they could talk quietly, he asked, "What's this about, Alan?"

"You know I called in a few favors to get you DIA duty straight out of the Academy. It wasn't solely due to your high scores and genius level intelliect. Having a brain doesn't neccessarily mean you'll be good in the Intelligence field."

"I understand completely," he said as he looked back over his shoulder at his fellow shipmates and CO. They were all great people to work for and with, but he knew that something was missing. He was good at the work, but there was more he was capable of than gathering intel from information given to him in a small stuffy office in the Pentagon.

"I'm not the only one who saw your potential. They're grooming you to become Admiral one day. Do you know why?"

"Because only Admirals can be Directors." He looked over at Alan and laughed while saying, "Who says I actually want to be in charge of Naval Intelligence?"

"You don't?"

He shrugged as he looked around the ballroom at all the high ranking Officers and their wives. Glancing toward the stage where the band was playing, he saw his wife chatting with the Chief of Naval Operations and the Secretary of Defense. "Oh, hell, I don't know. It's a lot to think about and I have a lot of time to consider my options. Another fifteen years or so."

"Okay, let's talk short-term. How about getting out of that stuffy office and into the open air of field work?" His head jerked around at that as he stared at Alan. He went to speak when Alan cut him off, "Think about it. Talk it over with your wife if you need to. Come Monday if your answer is yes, don't go to the Pentagon."

"Where should I go instead?"

"Dulles, 5 am sharp. I'll have a plane waiting for you."

"A plane? Alan, where-"

"Oh," he interrupted as he gestured up-and-down over his dress uniform. "Wear civvies, don't even pack a uniform. Have a Merry Christmas, Ray."

"Yeah, Merry Christmas, Alan," he muttered mostly to himself as Alan disappeared around the corner and out of the ballroom.

This...this was the opportunity he'd been waiting for. Instead of being the one to receive the intel from the field operatives while behind a desk at the Pentagon, he would be the one obtaining the information. His mind was racing as a waiter appeared in front of him and offered a glass of wine or champange. He took the wine and downed it before putting the glass down on the table next to his other empty glass. He had to talk to his wife.

Turning around, he searched the crowd and spotted the woman he was searching for. He started walking toward the steps that led from the upper level he was on to the lower level his wife was on but it was becoming too congested. Gripping the handrail of the banister, he hoisted himself up and over.

He landed a step away from a table that seated an Admiral and other senior Officers. "Sir," he addressed the Admiral while straightening his dress uniform before crossing the ballroom in search of his wife.

He found her laughing at some story the Secretary of Defense was telling. To his ears the laugh was clearly fake. He'd heard the real thing and it sounded absolutely breathtaking. The sound she was making now was almost a sin to his ears. "Care to dance, Mrs. Reddington?" he asked as he extended a hand to her.

"Absolutely, Mr. Reddington," she said as as she took it and let him guide her to the dance floor. "Perfect timing," she said once they were far enough away, "I didn't think I could fake one more laugh without it being painfully obvious."

"It was, least to me. The bad thing is you're going to have to get better at faking it, my dear. I have a feeling there're going to be a whole lot more of these brutally dull parties to come," he told her as he offered her his hand; she took with a smile as he pulled her close as the band changed songs.

"Oh, I have experience faking many kinds of sounds," she said playfully as she leaned into him. "The real question is, how're you going to survive all these parties?"

Smiling at her, he said simply, "Alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol."

All he could feel was her in his arms; the heat of her body against his, the silk satin of her red gown over his palms, and the smell of her perfume was all he knew as they moved around the dance floor. Nat "King" Cole's voice singing "(I Love You) For Sentimental Reasons" filled his head as the instrumental rendtion played throughout the ballroom.

"My mother was right; she warned me about you Navy boys. If I'd had known ass-kissing top political and military leaders was going to be a marriage requirement, I would've listened to her and married Chistopher Parsons instead."

"Hm, and here I thought your mother adored me. Now I know it's all been a sham. That's it, I'm returning her Christmas presents."

"I'm not sure how she's going to cope when she doesn't receive her annual apron and oven mitts," she teased.

He laughed as he said, "I have never gotten your mother oven mitts. And the aprons are because she collects the damn things."

She stared up at him and smiled as she said, "You do know that me and my father have been trying to do away with that collection for years?"

"I knew it," he accused as he leaned in a little closer to her to whisper, "You're the reason why she asks me for a new one every Christmas." Looking up and around the ballroom, he waited for her reply. After a moment of waiting for a reply that didn't come, he said, "Aren't you supposed to be asking what I was going to do about it?"

"Sure, if that was what this was all about. But it isn't." He looked at her and saw her tense smile as she studied his face. She always could read him. "What's really on your mind, Raymond?"

He lead her around the floor a few times, taking the time to gather his thoughts, before letting her wrap both her arms around his neck as he rested his head on hers. "What are your thoughts of me being a field operative?"

That took her by surprise as her eyes shot up and the tension in her smiled turned into a tighter frown. After a long moments consideration, she suddenly said, "Since when do you care about what I think? You've always done whatever you wanted regardless."

Now that hurt. It stung as he sighed and closed his eyes. They weren't going to do this now. He was being sincerely honest. He really wanted her opinion. "This is different. This decision not only affects me, but us, you, and our daughter. I won't be home every night; there will be days, weeks, where I won't be home at all. There will be things I won't be able to talk about, secrets-"

"How's that any different from now?"

"I don't know, maybe because now I could be killed," he said with an unamused laugh. That got her attention real quick as they both stared at one another. "I could be arrested and sentenced to death for spying on the Soviets. So, I think that's a huge difference, my dear, a Grand Canyon sized one."

She let out a breath and that strong anger faded just a quickly and he held her a little tighter in his arms. He's known his wife for a very long time and knew that she wasn't really angry with him, but scared for him. It was easier for her to push him away than it was to take him in close when she was scared.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he hugged her.

"Will this make you happy?" she asked softly into his ear.

Yes, he thought, it would. "I want to do this."

She pushed him back a little so she could take his face into her hands. "Okay," she said before kissing him. Once the kiss was broken, she said, "Promise me one thing, Ray."

"Anything."

"Don't let this change you."

He smiled and laughed as he said, "Now there's a promise I can keep."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. This will not ever change who I am." He turned her in his arms, bringing her back against his chest as they continued to sway to the music. Leaning his head against hers, he whispered into her ear, "You know that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen?"

"Oh, really?"

"No, but I don't mind lying if it gets me somewhere," he said right before he felt a jab into his right ribcage. "Ouch."

"Groucho Marx?"

He smiled. "Groucho Marx," he confirmed the source of that teasing statement as he let out a sigh and rested his head on her shoulder.

"You have an obsession."

"More like a comedic ambition." He kissed her shoulder before he place one on her neck. "What'd you say we get out of here, Mrs. Reddington? We can borrow a Four Star's limo..." another kiss just below her left ear, "take a tour around the Capital...get a hotel room..."

"Room service?"

"Whatever you want."

"I'll call my mother from the limo. Let her know we won't be back home tonight so not to wait up." She didn't turn in his arms as she took ahold of his hand and pulled him with her away from the dance floor and out of the ballroom.

The bitter whip of the winter wind stung his face and ears, snapping him out of his thoughts as he shivered under the long wool coat and fedora. The flight out of Dulles had been to Germany. West Berlin. And smack in the middle of a damn low front that was moving in to blanket the region with more snow. He'd been off the plane and on the airstrip waiting for nearly twenty minutes to get picked up, and he still didn't know what in the hell he was doing there besides freezing.

"Smoke?"

He peered over at the man who'd approached from behind offering him a cigarette. The man was slightly taller than he was with much bluer eyes and a British accent. A tweed flat cap sat atop a head full of wavy brown hair that curled up out under the edges of the cap. The brim was pulled down low to shadow his eyes. Above all else, he was in desperate need of a shave. Eyeing the offered smokes, he selected one as he told him, "Thank you."

The man pulled out a lighter and lit it for him while introducing himself, "I'm Liam Neville."

"Raymond Reddington," he said as they shook hands. Looking around the frozen and deserted airstrip, he asked, "Meeting someone?"

Liam nodded slightly as he said, "Several someones, as it were," before taking a long drag off his cigarette. "What about you? You don't look like you're here for the scenary."

"I don't know, it reminds me of a Caspar David Friedrich painting," he said as he waved his hand over the near horizon of West Berlin, toward East Berlin. "Bleak and dissolute...Definitely my kind-of scene."

That got a sly smile out of the Brit as he continued to puff away. He'd only had a few short hits off his cigarette. "I'd say it reminds me more of a Nikolai Galakhov."

Nikolai Galakhov was a well-known Russian landscape artist. He kept eyeing the man as he said, "I can dance with the best of them and even though I'm enjoying our little watlz, I'm tired, freezing, and jet-lagged. I'm going to need to see some identification."

Giving a shrug, Liam reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a wallet. He flipped it open and presented it to him.

"You're with British Intelligence. Now we're getting somewhere. Are you my ride?"

"No, you're mine. You and," Liam pointed out an approaching car, "Mister BMW." The inconspicuous black BMW stopped a few feet from them and the back driver's side door opened. "Mr. Alan Fitch, I presume."

Alan got out and started towards them. "You presume correct." When he spotted the cigarette he was smoking, Alan told him, "Those things will kill yea, Ray."

"You think?" he said as he put it back between his lips and took a longer pull. Turning to Liam, he told him, "My friends call me Ray."

Liam smiled as he said, "Wish mine were as polite. They all call me a son-of-a-bitch."

That was the moment he knew he would like Liam for the rest of his life. He laughed as he looked back at Alan, who had a permanent frown etched on his face. "Do you ever smile?"

"I'm not here to smile. Look, I know you're both wondering what's going on and why you're here," Alan said, getting down to business. "A joint operation isn't uncommon, but it's still not common enough to where it won't draw suspicion."

Liam leaned closer to him and barely whispered, "Is he always this straight-forward?"

"No, he can beat around a pretty wide bush when he feels like it." He stuck the cigarette back between his lips and smiled slightly as Alan scolded at the both of them.

"Just my luck; they've teamed up Abbott and Costello and I'm the one stuck babysitting. All right you two, into the car. We'll do the briefing in there," Alan said as he motioned for them to follow him to the car.

"Fantastic idea. For a moment I was convinced that you actually enjoyed making us stand out in the freezing cold," he told Alan as they started walking to the car.

"If I were certain it'd freeze that smart-ass mouth of yours shut, I would make you stand out here all day."

He laughed as he got into the back with Liam while Alan seated himself into the front passenger seat. Once situated in the backseat, he asked Alan, "Just answer me straight, what am I doing here?"

Alan regarded him a long moment before answering, "Consider it a final test and if you pass, you're on your way to bigger and better things."

He gave a nod in annoyed acceptance before turning to Liam to tell him, "By the way, I adore Nikolai Galakhov's paintings, but, I prefer Ivan Shishkin."

Liam smiled at Alan as he said, "You were right. The Soviets are going to love this one."

"I'm still not sure if that is going to be very good, or very bad," Alan said to Liam but kept his eyes on him.

"You two know each other?" he asked as he looked from Alan to Liam.

"Welcome to the spy game, my friend," Liam said as he rolled down his window to let the smoke from his cigarette out. "You can start calling me a son-of-a-bitch now if you'd like."

Alan had turned away from them both to look straight ahead out the windshield. He did the same as he turned his attention to outside the car as he watched the passing scenary. When he saw a sign warning people in four different launages, he sat up straighter and took in a steady breath.

The sign had read: YOU ARE NOW LEAVING THE AMERICAN SECTOR.

January 1991

Six Years Later

London, UK

The fist collided with his face, sending him stumbling backwards and tripping over his feet. He fell against he wall next to the bookshelf and landed on his ass as Liam raged above him.

"Traitor! How could you do it, Ray?!"

Holding up his hand to warred off his friend a little longer, he tried to tell him, "Liam, let me-"

"What're you going to explain? How you betrayed your own country, your friends and family and everyone who trusted you! There's nothing you can say that would make me ever believe you again."

"You're being awfully presumtuous. Take a breath, Liam, and think."

Liam's hands were balling at his sides as he backed away and started to pace in front of him. "I should call it in and report you. You've got one minute, Ray. Start talking."

He took in a deep breath and said, "I did take highly classified information before I disappeared." Liam went for the phone as he said evenly, "Have you heard of an organization called The Cabal?"

Liam stilled with his hand hovering over the phone. He looked over at him as he straightened as his hand dropped. "They're a myth. Rumors been circulating in the intelligence organization for years about some Cabal controlling everything but it doesn't actually exist. It's a conspiracy-"

"No it's not," he said as he shook his head. "I can prove it."

"How?" Liam asked in disbelief as he moved further away from the phone toward him.

Swallowing hard, he told him, "The Fulcrum."

Liam took a sharp intake in as he muttered, "Shit."

They were staring at one another when the door to Liam's home office opened and his wife walked in. She was dressed in a nightgown that was pulled tight by the belt and a pair of house slippers. Her long reddish-brown hair hung loose over her shoulders. Red always considered her a beautiful woman and tonight was no different.

Eleanor gasped as she looked from her husband to Red on the floor. "Oh my, Raymond, you're bleeding."

He reached up to whip the blood from his nose and mouth away. Taking out a handkerchief, he held it to his nose as he told her, "Good evening, Eleanor, I'd love some Earl Grey."

Taking the hint, Liam steered his wife out of the room. "Ellie, love, start the water. We'll be out soon."

She gave them both one last look before leaving; the door shut behind her with a soft click. Liam leaned against the door and banged his forehead on it. Looking over at him, he said, "Did this Cabal set you up?"

He let out a breath as he turned away from his friend. "It's...a lot more complicated than that. I don't know."

"How can you not know?!"

His head was starting to hurt as his eyes clenched shut. "I would love to continue this conversation, but the shouting has got to stop."

Liam took a deep breath and started to pace the room again. Going over to his wet bar, he poured them both a drink. "Here." As he accepted the glass of cognac, he thanked him before downing it. Liam did the same, swallowing it all in a gulp. "What're you going to do?"

"I don't know that either. That's one of the reasons I'm here." He stared up at him as Liam stared right back down. "I'll do anything you want. I'll leave right now if you want me to. I would let you shoot me if it'd make you feel any better but you've already done that."

Liam smirked as he reached down to help him up. "You can stay for tea. Then you'll have to leave, Ray."

He hadn't known what he was expecting or hoping for when he arrived at Liam's house in London, but this was better than the alternative. Giving a tight nod, he held the door open for his friend and then followed him to the kitchen.

Moments later, they were seated at the table laughing with a pot of hot Earl grey between them as Eleanor stood at the stove fixing them up some dinner as Liam said, "That great New Year's Day Umbrella Shooting Incident you so love to refer to was a complete accident, Ray, and you know it."

"You shot me, Liam."

"It was a nick."

"I have a circular scar the size of an umbrella's ferrule in my leg."

"An umbrella's what?" Liam asked in amusement.

"The ferrule. It's the name of top piece of the umbrella...Ferrule."

Liam was quiet a moment then said, "Uri knocked it away the exact moment I was pressing the trigger. You literally walked right into the line of fire."

"It required twenty-six stitches. I had to walk with a cane for a week."

"You're not dead."

"I haven't used an umbrella since."

Liam started laughing as he said, "You really are sore about it after all these years. I'm flattered."

Smiling, Red considered the look on his friend's face and asked, "Truce?"

Liam was quiet as he stared over him with a mixture of fondness and suspicion in his eyes. In the end, fondness won out as he raised his cup of tea in mock salute. "Truce."

TBC...