The Stewmaker-Courier-Gina Zanetakos-Frederick

A:N/ Warning: Things are fixing to get AU!

THE BLACKLIST

"Where'd you go the other night?" I finally get the nerve to ask. I haven't had the guts to ask him until now. "I came home and you weren't here. I didn't get a call from you, not even a text."

"I was at Lowes with Dad. They had a leak and we got the tools to fix it. Turned out to be a bit more than a leak, but we managed to repair it," he replies.

"Well that's good, I suppose," I say. I don't buy it. I don't buy this at all. If he's going to lie to me, I'd hope to God he'd do better than this.

"If Dad and I hadn't gotten to it, it would have costs them thousands in water damage."

"We'd better get going," I tell him. He's going to be late getting to his job and I'm going to be late getting to the task force. I have a court date today, so it's a nicer suit for me today.

I'm going to take the stand against Hector Lorca.

I get to HQ and begin to look over my notes and Profile of Hector Lorca. I get a knock on my door to see Aram standing there.

"Agent Keen?" he says. "Dembe made contact. Mr. Reddington wants to see you."

Aram is always so polite, so respectful.

THE BLACKLIST

I walk throughout the park I often take Melanie to and find Reddington sitting on a bench in a light-colored suit. Dembe is standing right next to him.

I sit on the bench next to the one he's sitting in and bring out my phone to play with as a prop.

Reddington picks up the folded newspaper next him and begins to read. "'It was only through the efforts of an FBI Profiler that suspicion began to fall on Hector Lorca, leading to his arrest and indictment. Well done, Lizzie. I'm proud of you."

I hate it when he calls me Lizzie. I never liked it when Sam called me Lizzie. I've always been that way. I'm Elizabeth or Keen. NOT Lizzie.

"Don't call me Lizzie. So you must know that I'm due in court in three hours."

"What I know is that your case is about to go sideways."

"What? How?"

"Lorca's people reached out to me. Normally, I wouldn't give him the time of day. He's a vicious little drug lord thug, certainly nothing there to hold my interest. But the request is of great interest because it concerns you. He's asked for a new identity, a plane ticket out of the country and the proper introductions to move his business elsewhere. Lorca is under the impression he's about to become a free man."

"I've got a witness testifying who has him cold."

"Something is going to happen, Lizzie. You're not going to have a very good day in court at all."

"Don't call me Lizzie," I tell him before I get up off of this bench.

"Shall I call you Elise?" Reddington asks me before I can walk off.

I haven't heard that name in a long time. That name is associated with a time of my past that I wish to forget.

"No."

THE BLACKLIST

A juror is dead. My witness is dead. My case has gone to hell. Reddington warned me. Which is why I'm on the phone with him right now.

"Hundreds of people have disappeared and no bodies have been found. These people never got to say goodbye to their loved ones."

"Did you say hundreds? And no bodies have been found?" he asks me curiously.

"Why? What are you thinking?" I ask back.

"You should go home, Lizzie, pour yourself a chardonnay. Your witness is most likely dead. I think you know that. If what you're telling me is true, then you'll never find him, either."

"You think it's the Stewmaker, don't you?"

"What do you know of him?" Red asks me curiously.

"Only rumors. He sets up shop using plastic sheeting and duct tape to cover the walls and does his business in the tub. There's never any biological trace. No prints, no hairs — nothing."

"Call the plumber."

Red graces us with his presence soon after our little phone call.

"You don't know how to find him, do you?" I ask Red after he gives his take on the Stewmaker.

"No."

"We have Lorca in custody. I bet he knows."

I meet him in the Interrogation Room.

"Mr. Lorca, things have changed since the approval of the Patriot Act. All I have to do is say the word 'terrorist' and then all your laundered drug money will have no use. You seem like a pretty closed-off businessman. You like to keep things close to the chest? Well, you give us the name and location of your contact we know as 'The Stewmaker' and I'll see what kind of deal I can cut you."

He doesn't budge.

THE BLACKLIST

My entire body hurts. It seems like it's my blood and bones that are on fire and not that chopper. I can feel the bits of asphalt embedded in my skin, the tenderness from the lack of skin. I faintly hear the sound of Spanish words as I feel my body being dragged across the asphalt.

THE BLACKLIST

The Stewmaker falls to the ground in front of me. I look and see that Reddington has punched him. Red has a feral ferocity in his green eyes. I hope to never see that look from him again. But as soon as the Stewmaker falls, Red comes up to me. He resituates my body in the wheelchair. He gingerly places my feet on the footrests and wheels me away from the room I'm in and faces me the opposite direction.

Yep. I know what's going to happen now.

"A farmer comes home one day to find that everything that gives meaning to his life is gone. Crops are burned, animals slaughtered, bodies and broken pieces of his life strewn about. Everything that he loved, taken from him. His children. One can only imagine the pit of despair, the hours of job-like lamentations, the burden of existence. He makes a promise to himself in those dark hours. A life's work erupts from his... knotted mind. Years go by. His suffering becomes... complicated. One day he stops.

The farmer, who... is no longer a farmer... sees the wreckage he's left in his wake. It is now he who burns. It is he who slaughters. And he knows, in his heart... he must pay. Doesn't he, Stanley?"

"No, Red," I tell him. It's always the people around us that hurt from the decisions we make.

"Maybe she's right," Red begins. "Maybe it's never us who solely suffer from our grievances. Maybe he could change. Maybe he is not damaged beyond repair. Maybe he could make amends to all those he's hurt so terribly. Or maybe not."

When I hear the splash of liquid, I know that the Stewmaker is stewing in his own creation. Honestly, that's the way he probably wanted to go.

It's not much longer when the house is assaulted. Gabe and Ressler come into the room and Gabe immediately makes a beeline for me. He carries me out of the house.

The medics vet me, but they want to take me to the hospital for a full psychical to make sure there will be no after effect of the paralytic. I highly doubt there will be, but they want to make sure.

Red comes up to me with a giant scrapbook. It's Kornish's trophy book. It'll be useful in notifying families.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" I ask him.

"I did," Reddington tells me.

"Well, that's something to come out of all of this," I tell him absentmindedly.

Red just stays silent.

"What you said in there — I agree with it. I don't think it's ever too late for anyone."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because you justify what you did by saving me. I became a profiler to understand people, to understand what makes them decide to do what they do. People always wanted to know why I wanted to be a profiler. They wondered why I'd want to spend my life focusing on the bad in people. My response was that there is never any one person that is good or bad. We are shaped by the things we've experienced. There is good and bad in all of us."

THE BLACKLIST

As predicted, there is nothing wrong with me so it's a quick trip through the hospital. I'm back home and as happy as that makes me, I know I have to confront Gabe about what I think is going on with him. After I get Melanie to bed, we go back into the kitchen and sit at the breakfast bar.

"Do you work for Reddington?" I ask Gabriel.

"What?" he asks back in shock.

"I said, 'do you work for Reddington'? I don't believe that your family's house had a leak."

"Yes, I work with Reddington, but not in the way —"

"Not in the way I what — think? Why don't you just tell me in what way you work with 'The Concierge of Crime!?"

"To protect you. He reached out to me the moment we starting working together in Nebraska. He did not hire me. He doesn't pay me. I am here for you — not him."

"Why wouldn't you tell me this?" I ask him. The pain in my voice can't help but to be displayed.

"He asked me not to."

"And it's as simple as that?" I ask. "I want you gone. I want you to go upstairs, tell Melanie that you're leaving for an indefinite period of time and I want you to leave."

"Liz, don't you doubt me for a second. Please. Nothing about our life is a sham. I love you and I love our beautiful daughter more than anything in the world. I have been fighting to protect you since Nebraska and you know that. You know that deep down, had our life been anything other than real, you'd have sniffed it out in a heartbeat. Liz, I love you. I've wanted nothing but to keep you safe since the moment I laid eyes on you."

I just begin to walk up the steps. I go straight to our room and towards the closet where my burnt bunny is. It's my source of comfort. It's my comfort object and it always has been.

"Liz, please!" His voice is getting closer and I hear his weight on the steps.

"Do you know the connection between us?" I ask him once he arrives in the bedroom with me.

I have the burnt bunny in my hands.

"He won't tell me."

I'm sure Gabe is able to see the discouragement on my face. If he's been with Red this whole time, what else has he been hiding? He knows everything that I know about myself — albeit it's not very much but I still told him. I feel like I don't even known him anymore.

"Liz, this changes nothing. An identity is worth nothing and you know that. I don't care if your name is Pearline Knickerbottoms, you're still Liz to me — and you will always be Liz to me. Hell, you were a thief named Elise when we first met! You are Melanie's mother and you are my wife. I know who you are, and a name won't change that. I'm sorry for this, I am. I'm only working with Red to keep you safe. I take no part in what he does beyond you. You and Melanie are and always will be my first priority."

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

Gabriel just crosses the room and takes me in his arms. "No, baby. I should be sorry. I could've told you, but I didn't."

We stayed in contact as best we could while he was in the Middle East with the PsyOps crew. It was mainly letters and some Skype, but it was never enough for me. I always wanted to really see to him.

I've loved him for a long time. I know that. More importantly, I've trusted him for a long time. He could have arrested me in Nebraska, but he didn't. He was in his rookie days when he went undercover with me. I was pretty much a criminal. I at least knew more about it than I should have. He was tasked to seek out a team of terroristic bank robbers who were responsible for the death of dozens of people. Needless to say, I helped him out.

The Blacklist

Gabe and I are working on mending our relationship. Trust is something not so easily mended for me. It's hard for me to trust someone – anyone. Since he confessed to his relationship with Reddington, I have been sleeping in the guest room. I just didn't feel comfortable sleeping in the same bed. Don't get me wrong, I still love my husband, but what he has been doing is a sort of betrayal. Reddington gets to everyone. You can always tell what waters he's been in because they get quiet and calm. That's something I noticed when I was Elise. Let's just put it that way. I have an old scrapbook filled with some clippings of that time. It's simply a reminder to never go back there. I have impulse control. I resist the urge to go back to that. It was quite the life, very thrilling and full of surprises, but I'm a mother now. I'm on the other side of the tracks now.

I update the profile on Reddington. It's my job. It's what I'm here for. I am a FBI Behavioral Specialist. Yep. FBI Profiler. Thinking like a criminal comes easier to me than most agents, probably. The higher-ups don't need to know that, though. Speaking of Reddington –

"I know about you and my husband," I tell him when I enter his hideaway. It's obviously the place of an author. Books and papers are strewn about everywhere.

"Hello, Lizzie," Red tells me.

"Nothing to say? How long have you and Gabe known each other?" I ask. It's probably going to be in vain.

"The Courier," Red begins.

"Ah, yes. The man that helps conduct business for those who cannot trust each other," I observe.

"The psychical embodiment of fear and violence," Red inserts.

"He's charged with moving something and you want it: what is it?" I ask, getting right down to business. "How do we even find him?"

"I can help you with that. I know the man he is planning on delivering the package to."

THE BLACKLIST

I'm outside at four in the morning after we found Seth. We got there in the nick of time. Seth was about to die in that hole in the ground. Working with Red is probably going to kill me. I'm either going to completely lose my mind from the stress or I'm going to die in the line of duty, chasing down the terrorists he sends me after. I tried so hard not to light the cigarette that's between my fingers right now, but I couldn't help it.

My life has never been my life. It will never be my life. Nothing belongs to me. It never will. My life right now is so split up. I have to balance the life I lived as Elise and then I have to live the life of a mother, wife and then I have to live the life of an FBI Agent. Red was right, it is hard to balance it all. I'm doing the best I can. That's all a person can hope for, isn't it?

Right now, in this moment, I'm more of the FBI Agent. I hear a rustle in the bushes and my hand goes directly to my firearm that I pretty much now carry everywhere. This Mama Bear is going to protect her den. Working with Reddington has made me even more paranoid. I put my cigarette out against the brick wall before I draw my weapon.

"You said you were going to quit," A voice says from the bushes.

"Jake?" I question. I haven't heard that voice in years. We worked the odd job together back in the day. I'd heard the name every now and again, but I never thought he'd show up here.

"What the Hell are you doing here?"

"Good to see you too, Lease. Or Should I say, Elizabeth?" Jake responds. He's still the slightly scrawny-looking kid I knew him as.

"Good work in finding me," I tell him.

"That's why I'm here," Jake begins.

"Who are you working for these days? You still on with those IRA Captains? Nah, you seem like more of an Eastern Euro guy to me," I tell him.

"I know who you're working for now," he responds. "So do my employers."

"I work for the government, so I can arrest you right here, right now," I tell him.

"But you won't," Jake challenges. "Because if you take me down, I'll take you down. Elise Hartford is still on the loose."

"Elise Hartford no longer exists."

"But she was on fire when she did," Jake tells me with a wicked smile.

"Jake, that part of me is dead. I have different priorities now. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here as a warning."

"Warn me about what?"

Jake doesn't say anything more. Instead, he just goes back into the bushes he came from.

"Jake?! Jake!"

Well, Jacob Phelps was just in my back yard. And he just warned me.

This has got to be Red's fault.

Damn that man.

THE BLACKLIST

I don't know whether to tell Red about this or not. I want to see how deep this goes. I don't know who he is working for and I don't want to present the case without knowing anything. I don't even know what cover he is using right now. I only know who he really is. With the kind of work he does, that's useless.

Red has sent us after Gina Zanatakos, a company terrorist.

We're sitting at the park after I find a photo hidden in Zanatakos' apartment. That photo is of Jacob Phelps.

I hand the picture to Red.

"I found this picture in a go bag in her apartment's ventilation duct. I know who he is. He's an old friend of mine. His real name is Jacob Phelps: he's a deep cover operative, so his real identity will get you nowhere. I don't know who he works for. Last I heard, he was in Ireland. He came to me last night. To my house. He said that he knows who I work for and came as a warning."

"You are trying to find someone, aren't you?" I ask Red. "I don't know why I keep asking you questions, it's not like you're going to honestly answer them."

"How deep did you go as Elise?" Red suddenly asks me.

"Far enough. Because of that, I don't know who I can trust. I don't know who I am. I don't know my past. I'm drowning under everything. I'm drowning under the things I know and the things I don't know – the things I don't remember. I just wish I could fully trust someone."

"You can trust me," Red tells me.

He suddenly brings his hand forward and grasps his around mine.

THE BLACKLIST

A knock at my office door alerts me to the presence of Aram at my door. I wave him in. He has a giant manila folder in his hands.

He gives it to me and I open it. There is a smaller folder in there.

From Seth.

The writing is in bold, red, sharpie, so I know who it's really from. This is the favor he cashed in from the NASA Analyst. He used his favor towards me.

He must really want me to be able to trust him. Maybe, he does truly care about me.

I look through the file of a murder of a Russian tourist. Pssht. Judging by the look of him and his posture, this is no tourist. If Jake killed this man, he's working for the Russians.

After I glance through the file, I make my way to Red.

"The guy you're looking for is Russian. If Jake killed Fokin, it's because he was no tourist. Someone didn't want that man to defect. Judging by his photos, his posture, Fokin was someone who knew something."

"What makes you say that your friend works for who I'm looking for."

"Why else would he insert himself right now? I'm working for you. How that information got out, I'll be hard-pressed to find out. This is to be the beginning of a series of things happening because of you. I know that. I knew that the moment I signed on with you, I was placing myself in danger."

I don't like the look he has on his face right now. I think i'd rather see the face he gave the stewmaker than this face. This is the face of a man who has been tormented. This is the look of a desperate man. This is the man that I know is always resting underneath the surface of Red Reddington, the Criminal. This is the face of Red Reddington, the family man. This is the man that was capable of having a life. This is the man he was before life got in the way.