I own nothing to do with the Blacklist.

Sorry I took so long to update this story, I do hope you enjoy this one. :) Hoping you're still interested!

Chapter Six

Special Agent Donald Ressler often wondered whether or not he had gotten himself in too deep, after having agreed to be leading the investigation on the Raymond Reddington case. Not only was his social life dwindling, but so was the state of his marriage and his relationship with his only child.

Frankly, he blamed Raymond "Red" Reddington for that.

After having worked his ass off to successfully get a law degree from the University of South Carolina at age eighteen, he finally decided he wanted a career in law enforcement. After getting married to his high school sweetheart Audrey, by chance he was placed in charge of the Chicago head office by the very man he had looked up to and aspired to be like ever since graduating from university, the great Bureau of Investigation Director, J. Edgar Hoover, himself. Things had seemed to go upwards since that day Hoover assigned him the honor; On one manhunt that he had led, he had assisted in taking down Tom Keen, who had been known to the F.B.I as one of Reddington's associates.

With that feat in mind and impressed by Donald having successfully taken down Tom Keen while in charge at the Chicago office, Hoover had assigned Donald to a more prestigious role, as the leader of the investigation to take down Raymond "Red" Reddington. Ever since that fateful day five years ago, Donald had only had a run-in with Reddington once, and that was three years later, when information had been given by an anonymous source into the whereabouts of Reddington. Donald gathered a team of the most trusted and skilled persons in his office and they had taken an arduous eight-hour-flight straight into Brussels, Belgium.

Fortunately for them, the souce hadn't been stringing them along. They found Reddington in the hotel room that he was staying at, as tipped off by the source who had recognized him from his shot in the papers, and though Reddington was usually heavily armed wearing a bulletproof vest, he hadn't been that day. Just their luck, he had been unprepared and caught off-guard. Early next morning, they had Reddington in full custody and were deporting him back into the states, where he had a cozy cell to himself waiting for him at Crown Point Penitentiary; A high maximum security prison for troubled and high-profile outlaws.

Just only barely under four days ago, while helping wife Audrey with their kid, two-year old Catherine, with putting her to bed and reading her a story, he had gotten the unpleasant call. Reddington had by some miracle escaped from the high maximum penitentiary; A prison that had a reputation for being one of the most difficult prisons in the states for any prisoner to flee from.

Ressler still wasn't entirely sure how Reddington had managed to pull it off.

Obsessively, days after the unpleasant news, he had stayed awake all night into the late hours of the morning, trying to figure it all out for himself. It was really like a bad joke. No other inmate at Crown Point had successfully pulled off an escape before. That meant that Reddington was far more intelligent and organized than the usual outlaw; In all things considered, realistically he had to be, otherwise how could he have alluded being caught all those years? In this, it showed that not only was Reddington more intelligent and cunning from the norm, but that he also had connections; Connections that had somehow managed to assist in helping him flee from the prison.

Ressler still recalled with unease the moment he had come face to face with the menace after having escorted him to the airplane to take him back into the States. Even by simply looking at Reddington while he was secured in handcuffs that day had been enough to set Ressler on edge. The fugitive had an air about him that was not only smarmy, but arrogant; A certain way about him, as if he knew something they all didn't know. Reddington had been too compliant in allowing himself to be captured in Brussels. What grinded at Ressler the most, was what Reddington had said to him as he escorted him to the plane. In fact, the conversation still haunted him ever since.

"You better take a last look at that blue sky, Reddington," Donald had said brusquely, "Because its the last time you will ever get the chance to see it. You've got a nice and cozy cell waiting for you at Crown Point, a cell that you're likely gonna be in for the rest of your life. Better admire that sun and the clear blue day we're experiencing while you have the chance."

The sound of Reddington's laughter and response still haunted Ressler, something he thought about often. "Yes, well. We'll see about that, won't we?"

Reddington had sounded too carefree and easy-breezy that day. Now Ressler was obsessing over whether it had been a hint, a hint that he had been oblivious to, at the time. The bastard must have known he would somehow find a way to accomplish escaping from his cell in the Crown Point maximum security penitentiary. He must have.

Ressler had been dwelling over that comment more than the other one that Reddington had dared to say, while being shown to his dank and windowless cell by Ressler and another long-time guard at the penitentiary. After having been released from then cuffs while flexing his hands, they had slammed his cell closed and had it securely locked up when Reddington had dared to say, "How's the wife, Donald?"

Ressler could still hear it in Reddington's low voice, as if it had only just happened yesterday, the taunt that had taken over his tone of voice. Just as vividly as he could recall what Reddington's face had looked like, when he had turned to look at him. The man known as fugitive Raymond Reddington, who had only just reached into his fifties at the time, met his eyes through the iron bars separating them.

Ressler's first thoughts was that the man was by no means impressive; Donald was several inches taller than him, and the man was nearly bald and stocky with a paunch showing through his black-and-white prison garbs. He had clearly been overindulging throughout the months, from all that money he had unlawfully obtained while robbing banks throughout various countries and locations. His green eyes had been both disarmingly piercing and observant as he looked back into Donald's eyes with a closed-lipped smile and tilt to the head that Donald could have only described as irritating.

This had been the very same man Donald had been assigned to capture and he had at last succeeded. Although hardly impressive physically, it was the man's brain and intelligence that was obviously his best wielded weapon. Donald had been disturbed by the knowledge the man held over the troubled state of his marriage with Audrey, but he had kept it hidden.

"Poor woman," Reddington had went on, while Ressler had remained quiet. He knew not to add fuel to the fire by answering the outlaw. He still felt the words sting, even to this day. The way Reddington had looked sympathetically at him through the bars while chewing the inside of his cheek, condescendingly sympathetic. "You should consider investing in another career choice. How must she feel, knowing that her husband is more invested in the capture of Raymond Reddington rather than sustaining his marriage and spending time with his child?"

Ressler had almost slipped up at the time. He had wanted to demand how Reddington knew about the state of his marriage, how he knew so much. Only he had kept himself quiet, his cheeks burning. Instead, he had replied venomously, "Hope you enjoy your new room, Reddington, with a bed. Its certainly no hotel room but its more than what you deserve, you son of a bitch." Ressler had jerked his chin over towards the cot- a mere bulky, urine stained-mattress- that was Reddington's new sleeping quarters. "That'll be the last bed you'll ever be sleeping on until you die. Better enjoy it while it lasts."

And that had been the very last and only comment Ressler had made. And now, there he was, choking on his own words.

Reddington, the bastard, was now out. The bastard had escaped. Since that conversation shared with each other, Ressler was possessed with a new fire of determination into getting Reddington recaptured. It was one thing, to put him down by knowing private and intimate knowledge about his marital problems and then teasing him over it. Making Donald look like a fool by successfully escaping prison several months later, was another thing entirely. How was his team meant to take him seriously, knowing that Reddington had fled right under his very own supervision? He had been in charge of the entire operation and then he had let the entire team down.

Donald was almost bitterly convinced that Reddington had orchestrated the entire thing on purpose with the sole intent of making him look bad, like an idiot or fool.

Well, there wouldn't be a next time of it happening, not under Donald's watch. He was sure of that. He had gone into Hoover's office, requesting that the rules be changed and that Reddington should be shot on sight, considering he wouldn't last long being incarcerated. He'd probably only just find some new way to escape the next prison they had sent him to. And after being tipped off, they had discovered that Reddington was back operating in Chicago. While there hadn't been any other robberies relating to him since his breakout of the penitentiary four days ago, he was still alive and active. A source had seen the man dining out with several other associates and gang members at a dance hall only several nights ago.

Reddington was closer to where Ressler needed him to be than he thought ever possible.

Yet when they raided the dance hall, neither Reddington nor his associates had been anywhere to be seen. Ressler was confident it hadn't been simply just a false or misleading lead. Reddington had to be in Chicago.

Ever since learning of Reddington's successful breakout it had been taking a toll on him. For the third night in a week, he had called Audrey, asking her to put his supper away so that he could eat it when he got in later, that he was doing late work at the office. He spent the nights in the office rereading paper articles on Reddington's activity and staring at his black-and-white mug shot, envisioning the two of them back in the same room together.

The son of a bitch was getting deep under his skin and no doubt, Reddington was already aware of that.

On the forth night after informing Audrey yet again that he would be home later in the evening, he had made a fresh cup of coffee to take it back into the office with him, looking at all the pictures on the walls and the maps that he had been drawing on to record all the whereabouts Reddington had been tipped-off at over the years. There was no connection, to any of the locations. No correlations.

He was the only one still in the office; He had let all the other officers head on home. He was in charge and the lead investigator, after all. Jut because he was dedicated to the job of capturing Reddington and his gang, so much so that he was sacrificing valuable time with his wife and daughter and, not to mention sleep and food, it didn't mean they had to do the hours also.

He sighed loudly and raked his fingers through his strawberry blonde hair as he concentrated on one of the photographs of Reddington, where he had been holidaying in Cuba. The bastard was wearing aviator sunglasses and a finely made suit in the photo. He had been doing well for himself, making a living off money that wasn't even his to goddamn own.

Then the fugitive's words came back to him about his wife, taunting him all over again.

"How must she feel, knowing that her husband is more invested in the capture of Raymond Reddington rather than sustaining his marriage and spending time with his child?"

Dare he think such a thing, but Reddington perhaps was right. Donald hadn't even so much as had a proper conversation with his wife in a very long time. The last conversation they had shared together was when Audrey whined and moaned about him never spending time with his daughter, that he was letting his career and Reddington take over his daily life. Could his wife have been right? He wasn't sure.

He rubbed his eyes as he sat back in his chair.

He didn't feel he was being obsessive. He felt it was not obsession, but rather showing a passion and dedication to his job. He was busting his balls to make a name of himself, to make others take him and his family seriously. If he took down Reddington, Donald could only just imagine how much praise he would get, how much of a good reputation and recognition. Above all that, one chunk of a promotion and pay-rise so that he could afford to look after his wife and kid better. It wasn't his problem if Audrey felt differently.

xxxx

Liz was counting down eagerly the minutes until she finished her shift at work. A smile was constantly on her face as she collected coats and hats, hanging them on racks and offering tickets in return.

After kissing each other the night before in his hotel room, Red had told her that he was going to take her out to the theater this evening once her shift was finished - somewhere she had never been to before, a live show or picture theater. He had also wanted her to wear out one of the dresses he had brought her; She had decided on wearing the beautiful red dress with the fur trim around the neckline and sleeves, which he had given to her along with three others the night before.

Once her shift was finally over, she went into the women's restroom to change into the dress; He had said he would meet her outside. She felt her hands shake as she slipped into the dress as carefully as she could so that she wouldn't accidentally damage the fabric somehow. The dress had looked beautiful, but on, it felt even better. The fabric was cool and satiny against her skin. It made her feel glamorous, wearing a dress so stylish and expensive. It seemed to fit and follow the shape of her body perfectly and the size was exactly right. How Red had managed to accurately get her the right fit was anyone's guess. She pulled out her makeup purse and applied some red lipstick to her lips cautiously, meeting her reflection in the mirror.

She was being ridiculous.

She wasn't completely sure why she was still doing this, especially when knowing now the true identity of the man she was heading out on a date with tonight. Realistically, it couldn't lead anywhere. Sooner or later, he'd go to jail or worse came to worst, he'd be shot and killed and she would most likely have to return back to her normal boring self, living her boring normal, rundown life. For once, somebody was offering her excitement and something fun to do.

Last night, as she had gotten home to the apartment where she lived with her sick father, she had given herself a few stern warnings. It would simply be for fun, she had told herself. The man was a wanted fugitive who gained possession of money illegally by robbing banks and he was simply courting her and showing her a jolly good time. Nothing more, nothing less. It wasn't as if he was about to ask for her hand in marriage, for goodness sake.

Deciding she was ready, she stepped back out in her new fancy dress, heading towards the entrance and out the doors into the street. The wind cut through her dress and she started stroking her scar with the fingers on her other hand absentmindedly. It was a fairly dark and cold night, and she trembled as she peered around, searching for Red under the glow of the streetlights. He ought to have already been there by now, waiting for her.

Only he wasn't. He was nowhere to be seen.

xxxx

Sam was shaken awake when he heard the front door open.

He sat up weakly, waiting for his daughter to announce herself in. It didn't come. Elizabeth didn't call out as she usually did, and he cleared his throat gruffly, before croaking out, "Sweetie pie? Is that you?"

Footsteps moved along the hallway towards his room and Sam's throat tightened when suddenly a man appeared by the door-frame. It was a face Sam hadn't seen in many, many years, and he felt both shock and fondness pass through him at the sight of his old childhood friend. Time had treated his old friend better than it had treated him; Red looked well-fed and healthy. Sam had been expecting many things, but this visit was not one of them.

"Jesus. Ray? Is that really you? I thought you were my daughter for a moment there?"

"Hello, Sam. You look as if you have seen a ghost?"

"Well, yes. It feels that way."

"You look like hell, my friend."

"Yes, and I don't feel far off from that, either." Laughter bubbled up in Sam's throat, and he both laughed and coughed at the same time. It made a sharp jolt of pain stab through his ribs and he grimaced in anguish. "Don't make me laugh, it hurts too much." Remembering his manners, he beckoned his old friend over, patting a space beside him on the bed. His friend moved towards him without hesitation, removing his fedora. "I can't believe you're visiting. You've been on the radio, newspapers, everything. You've finally made it big, my friend. You're famous and now you're giving everyone what's owed to them; those banks and those damn lawmen. If I weren't so sick and if this fever would just get up and leave, I'd be doing the same thing you're doing!"

"How sick are you?" Red asked gently, sitting beside him.

"Well, I'll put it this way, I know I'm not going to get any better. Don't need no doctor's house visit to tell me that. I've been stuck in bed for months now. This hacking cough won't leave me, and poor Liz; She's fussing around with me when it shouldn't be that way." Sam thought pitifully of all the ways Elizabeth had had to help him throughout the years; Helping him dress, help him find his way to the bathroom while supporting him up with his arm around her. Hell, he could no longer even feed himself. Liz would have to spoon-feed him. Half the time he could hardly eat, as his jaw felt stiff and sore. It was really no decent way to live and he could see how much it both affected and frustrated Liz, the fact that he was not recovering. "She's my baby, I ought to be the one fussing around her. It's no way to live, and I know it worries Liz. I just wish she wouldn't fuss so much and that she would finally live her life. There's just no goddamn dignity left when your child has to look after you, helping you change clothes and helping you out of bed. I wouldn't wish this on anybody, least of all my own child."

His friend smiled and nodded sympathetically before delving a hand inside his overcoat, drawing out two cigars that made Sam's eyes widen. Back in the day, Sam had been a big cigar enthusiast, not that he had ever told Elizabeth that. She wouldn't have liked it, but all men had their bad habits, didn't they?

"You fiend," he laughed, when Red shifted closer on the bed towards him. He got a match out, and lit the cigar up while Sam laughed and coughed. "You've come here to tempt me, is that it, Ray? Goodness, if my Liz found out about this..." Sam fell silent for a moment, accepting the cigar from him. He watched the curls of smoke drift around the bedroom, almost pensively, as his old friend lit a cigar of his own. "This reminds me," Sam said quietly, "The last supper. One last cigar."

He looked at Red and they stared at each other in silence for a moment, each pursing their lips over their streaming cigars, before his old childhood friend nodded back.

They both knew what had to happen.

His old friend would put Sam out of his misery. And, subsequently, Liz's as well.

xxxx

Liz huddled against the brick building, waiting. She didn't know the exact amount of time it was that she had been waiting for Red to arrive, but it was aggravating, his lateness. Automobiles kept rushing past on the road but even while she glanced inside them quickly, she found no Red. What was keeping him? Or was this something he was doing on purpose to stand her up?

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this one and that it wasn't bad? Just setting the scene basically for the next chapter. I've always been fascinated by John Dillinger and his relationship to Billie Frechette and, also, Bonnie and Clyde. So this is my attempt, I love the idea of Red being a gangster/robber on the run. Later on, Liz is going to get very Bonnie, gun-slinging herself hehe.

Please feel free to let me know your thoughts. Liking it still? Hating it? Thank you so much for reading. As usual, I'd love to know your thoughts so far. I've never been confident with writing, in fact I get anxious and very nearly nauseous when I go to post so any words you have or recommendations are most welcome. :)