*My* Reddington?

Disclaimer: The Blacklist is not mine. None of these characters are mine. Not even the general storyline and some of the actual TEXT in this one isn't mine. This is the heftiest disclaimer that ever disclaimed.

Author's Note: I'm really enjoying the idea of Liz and Red being more evenly matched. This is fun to write. Plus? I'm getting to rewatch old episodes. I might... MIGHT... do a few more of these over the hiatus...

Fair warning: We're still not deviating much. I have some differences planned in my head, but right now, we're following canon.

...:::...

Chapter 2: The Pilot Part 2

…:::…

Liz bit down on her urge to say 'I told you so' when the girl was taken. Nobody was happy about it, but the hollow feeling in the pit of Liz's stomach was almost unbearable when her mind flashed back to the scared look Beth had given her in the over-turned car, just before she was lifted away amidst a cloud of tear-inducing smoke. They'd taken her from her hands. And she hadn't been able to stop it.

They needed more information. She still didn't understand what Reddington's endgame was. He'd turned himself in today, with this case, for a reason. He must be working with Zamani in some way. He was using him, undoubtedly, but Raymond Reddington surely had additional information about the girl. Or at least where Zamani would have taken her. Or his purpose.

"I need your help with Zamani." Liz asked that she be allowed to approach Reddington more casually this time, and was granted her request. He remained shackled (really, she didn't see what purpose that served other than to distract her terribly; she thought it was overkill, considering the facility they were in), but she was given permission to join him inside the box after she'd pointed out that the restraints were surely enough to keep him from tearing her limb from limb. Or whatever else they mistakenly thought he was capable of.

"Earlier you were quite willing to delay the business-talk and discuss the length of my hair. Let's have another… polite conversation," Reddington suggested instead.

Liz wanted nothing more than to ask a laundry list of personal questions, watch his face while he listened to her talk, listen to him talk, possibly even make him smile… But she needed information, and not only Beth's safety, but both of theirs as well, depended on her steering the conversation away from them and toward Zamani.

"I can get you out of this chair," Liz offered. Reddington seemed slightly more interested. "But you have to come upstairs with me. I want to show you a few things, just… tell me what might be helpful. I don't think I'm going to find this girl without your help."

"You seem an intelligent and motivated sort, Agent Keen. Why don't you think you'll succeed at finding her?"

"Because we need to look at this differently. We need to find Zamani to find the girl, and to find him… It's going to take thinking like a criminal." She nodded matter-of-factly at Reddington. "And right now, you're my criminal."

…:::…

Liz watched as Reddington moved along the boards, scanning their intel and pictures and clippings. She admired his intelligence, and wit, and his incredible memory for names, faces, and connections. She admired a lot about this man, and it made her heart ache that more people didn't know what she knew about him. Most people she worked with thought he was a monster.

When Reddington turned to Liz, his eyes trained on hers expectantly, she moved forward, eager to prove that she deserved his continued attention. She'd been silently working on an idea as he spoke, and when she stepped forward, she was quick to describe the connection between the banker, the Chemist, and Zamani. As the agents around them scrambled to move on the new working theory, Reddington moved over to Liz, dropping his voice so only she could hear. "I have a contact, they call him the Innkeeper," he offered, and Liz could tell she was being given a reward for connecting the dots correctly. "Lean on him, he'll tell you where the Chemist is. You find the Chemist, you find Zamani."

Liz nodded, sure there was more to this additional, seemingly freely given piece of information. "And where can we find this Innkeeper?"

"Tit for tat, Agent Keen. I'll tell you, but in return, I want out of these restraints. No more cages. Zamani is going to worry if he can't get in contact with me soon—I got him in to this country, and he'll probably want to use my contacts for various other things while he's here. I need to be out and about, moving freely, staying at one of my favorite hotels…"

Liz nodded. "I'll see what I can do. I'll get your things returned to you as well: your tie, hat."

Reddington's eyes cut quickly to hers. His mouth worked like he had thought better of what he wanted to say, and swallowed it before it made a sound. "Thank you," he said finally, in a careful voice.

…:::…

As Reddington looked around the expensive suite and nodded in satisfaction, the hotel concierge stopped at an occasional table in the main room to set down a silver tray. "Complimentary champagne, sir, and as requested, the bed has been made up with blankets instead of a comforter."

Liz watched as Reddington quirked an eyebrow briefly, an easy smile quickly covering the reaction. If she hadn't been specifically watching for it, she would have missed it. Reddington thanked the man, motioning to Ressler as if to indicate he was to tip the concierge for his trouble as he moved across the room toward where Liz stood, leaning against an open doorframe. He moved close into her personal space, and she willed her posture to remain casual, but oh, she could smell his cologne…or soap…or whatever it was, and it smelled wonderful. 'Keep it professional, Keen, for both your sakes,' she told herself. Dropping his voice and inclining his head towards her conspiratorially, he murmured, "Why do I get the feeling that the blankets on the bed—which I prefer, but did not ask for—are there because of a request you made?"

Liz swallowed and took a patient breath, a mild smile on her face. "Tell me where to find the Innkeeper."

…:::…

Hours later, Liz sat in a neighboring suite at the hotel, watching the closed-circuit feed of Reddington eating his dinner, alone, in his room. As if he knew she was watching, he gave the same smirk he'd given her earlier, and raised his wine glass slightly. He'd asked for scotch and been denied, but she'd managed to sneak an order to room service to include a bottle of one of his favorite (albeit less expensive) wines with the meal instead.

She'd been watching him eat since he sat down, unable to tear her eyes away. She was vaguely aware that her lips were parted and she'd started to breath faster, but watching him make eye contact with the camera as if thanking her for the bottle that he had no proof she'd arranged for him was one of the most—

"They found the lab—" Ressler interrupted.

Liz jumped, feeling like she'd been caught by a parent looking at racy magazines. She pushed back from the table, irritated that she'd miss the end of the meal. She had a theory that she would have enjoyed watching the dessert course. "I'm going to get out of here. Clear my head, take a shower."

"You should probably say hi to your husband at some point today, too," Ressler pointed out rudely.

Liz sighed. "Oh, damn." She closed her eyes.

"What?"

She'd entirely missed the adoption meeting. She hadn't even called to tell Tom she wouldn't make it. "Nothing," she said resignedly. "Don't worry, I won't go too far…"

…:::…

Liz crept quietly in the front door, steeling herself for the argument she felt certain was on the schedule for the evening's events. As she walked into the living room, her stomach dropped. A bundle of pink balloons and a sign announced, 'IT'S A GIRL'.

She was supposed to want this. Right? She was married, she had a good job; biological clocks were supposed to be ticking, weren't they? She was the age that you were supposed to…?

A girl. Okay. She could do this. Tom wanted this, and no matter what impossible fantasies she had about other, unattainable men, she loved her husband. She did. He was a good man. He was simple. This part of her life could be simple, and Simple wanted a child. It's not like she had to go through pregnancy and give birth—this was adoption. She could do this. She could do this for him. For their marriage.

She used what she felt was the last of her waning energy to plaster a grin on her face, pick up the waiting glass of champagne, and make her way into the kitchen. "Babe! They said yes? And it's a girl! Oh, I know you wanted a boy, but I'm sure this is going to be—" Liz stopped short, rounding on the dining table to find her still, silent husband was not silent by choice.

"Oh my God, Tom—?!" Liz dropped the champagne glass, rushing toward where Tom sat, bloodied and half-unconscious, duct taped to a dining chair. Before she could get there, the hard muzzle of a gun pressed under one of her shoulder blades, and she froze.

"Mrs. Keen. Welcome home. Have a seat." Zamani pulled the gun from her back and walked around behind Tom. "Sit, please. Or I kill your husband."

Gasping for breath, wanting to sob at the sight of her innocent husband, his head lolling to one side, one eye swelled shut, Liz sat heavily, straining forward in Tom's direction.

"Life is so funny, don't you think? I'm sent here, and here you are! Both of you." Zamani took a seat across from Liz. "Tom and I," Zamani stressed the name as if he found it amusing, "have just been talking about how you might have known where to find my friend the Chemist? He claims he doesn't know, but… Do you think your husband is a good liar, Agent Keen?"

"Oh, God, Tom? You're going to be okay," Liz moaned, failing to keep her voice steady. She'd never meant for any of the dangers of her job to find their way back here, to their home…

"Hey—" Zamani snapped a tattooed hand in her face, trying to direct her attention back to him. "You're obviously not paying much attention. So I'll keep this short. You knew about the Chemist; what else do you know? And how do you know it?"

"We knew about the Chemist, that's it, that's all, we know there's a bomb, but we don't know anything else, please, I swear—"

Zamani stabbed Tom viciously in the leg, and Liz gasped in horror as she watched red blossom out across his pants from where the hilt of the knife protruded from his thigh. "You son of a bitch!" she cried.

"Hmm. I think I believe you." Zamani straightened as tears began to pour down Liz's cheeks. Tom's moans quieted, and his head began to droop forward. "This has all been a very interesting visit, meeting the two of you here. Quite surprising. But now I think it's time for me to take my leave. And you, my dear," Zamani leaned across the table toward Liz. "You have a choice. You can stop me, stop my plans, save many lives… Or you can stay, and save only one," Zamani snarled, pulling the knife from Tom's thigh, and driving it into his gut.

Liz jumped from her seat with a cry and stuffed a napkin quickly round the knife, careful not to give in to the urge to withdraw it. She grabbed her cell phone and dialed 911, pleading with her husband to keep his eyes open, and to stay with her.

…:::…

Liz strode quickly down the hallway to Reddington's suite, furious and betrayed. She had half a mind to burst into his room and tell him everything, explain who she was, who she knew him to be, and why she had wanted so desperately to work with him when he'd landed so neatly in her lap at the Post Office that morning.

Instead, she settled for picking up a lamp and flinging it at the wall, where the fragile ceramic body of it shattered spectacularly.

Reddington looked up from his crossword, surprised.

"You came to us! You came to us, and I've done nothing but help you, listen to you; if you only knew what I've—" Liz bit down on her sentence, not allowing the rest to escape. "You sent Zamani to my home? Why?"

"Your home?" Reddington asked quizzically.

"My husband is on a ventilator right now because of you! I thought we were—?" Liz turned away from the table, unable to look at him anymore as she tried to hold back tears.

"Calm down; tell me what happened," Reddington instructed.

"Don't play stupid, you're the only thing connecting us," Liz snapped. "He said he was sent. I'm guessing that was by you."

"Zamani was at your house?" Reddington asked intensely. "He attacked your husband?"

"God, it's like you're not even listening…" Liz whispered to no-one, looking at the ceiling, her hands on either side of her head in frustration.

"Agent Keen, what is your husband's name?"

"What?" she asked, distracted and confused by the seeming unimportance of the answer to his question.

"His name," Reddington repeated sternly.

Liz tossed her hands up, turning back to face the man at the table. "Tom. Tom Keen."

Reddington's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head, as if the information didn't make sense. "And you're sure it was Zamani?"

"Yes!" Liz cried. "Why the hell was he in my house? Why is my husband dying in a hospital right now? Why did you do this?" She tried to keep the plea out of her voice, the note of betrayal. She was ashamed to admit that—while she was horrified and concerned for Tom—she was almost more upset by this act of war against her, when she'd done so much for him…

Reddington frowned, pursing his lips. "The truth is, despite your feelings, apparently… your husband doesn't matter; Zamani did you a favor, Agent Keen—"

Liz grabbed the silver pen from the table top and swung around behind Reddington. With precision, she jammed it into his neck. Reddington's right hand flew to Liz's, covering it, and she leaned to murmur in his other ear, "I just punched a hole in your carotid. Best chance one minute until you pass out. Now you tell me how I find Zamani and make this right, or I let you die right here. Understand?" Even as Liz made the threat, she felt nauseated, and mentally calculated how long it would take her to get to her cell phone and call 911 for the second time today. How had she gone from watching in horror as the man she married was stabbed, to being the one to stab the man she—

"Well done, Agent Keen… I'm impressed. This is the closest anyone's gotten to killing me in quite some time. But the problem tonight is… if I die… you'll never know the truth about your husband," Reddington said, a slight smile ghosting across his lips as his eyelids fluttered.

"You know nothing about my husband," Liz said, her heart aching. Horrified, she withdrew the pen and tossed it back onto the crossword, fleeing from the room before she burst into tears or threw up. She'd imagined being in the same room as Raymond Reddington for years, and now that she had the chance, she was assaulting him.

What the hell was wrong with her?

…:::…

The next morning, her hands and knees raw from crouching on the carpet, scrubbing at the stains of her husband's blood for the better part of the night, Liz walked into the hospital where Reddington had been treated. Ressler tried to block her entrance to the room, but after she swore not to lay a finger on him, he let her by, exacting a quick promise that her visit would last no more than five minutes.

Ressler didn't have to worry—Reddington was gone. Panicked, Liz leaned out the open window, catching sight of his form striding away across the parking lot below. 'No,' she thought, dashing back out of the room toward the elevator. 'He can't be gone, not yet, not yet—we're not done—'

"Keen! Liz! Stop!" Ressler called down the hall after her as she shouted that they'd lost him. "We fitted him with a tracker—he's not going to get far!"

…:::…

Sitting beside Zamani at the Lincoln Memorial, Reddington stared out over the calm water in front of them. "How did things go last night?" he asked carefully.

"I paid the man a visit. Like you asked. He would not talk. Even when I asked… not so nicely."

"And Agent Keen?"

"You neglected to mention that the woman hunting us was married to the target." Zamani studied his companion with a small smile just touching his eyes. "I did not take you for a man who springs surprises on those he works with, but I must say… it was a welcome one."

Reddington licked his lips and tilted his head, deep in thought. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said vaguely.

The pair of men walked the length of the mall, the monument at their backs, discussing the state of the world now, and how different it was from the world they'd grown up in. But when Zamani mentioned children and targets Reddington hadn't initially been aware of, Reddington made an excuse and took his leave, embracing his old friend tightly, a look of disappointment on his face.

As soon as he cleared Zamani's line of sight, Reddington bumped into a well-dressed man, apologized politely, and walked away with the man's cell phone. He dialed Liz.

"There's a wrinkle," he said immediately when Liz answered. "Zamani's after more than just making an example of the girl; he's after children."

"Reddington?" Liz asked, slightly taken aback that he had chosen to call her with information. She figured now that he was in the wind, he'd be gone. Ressler was convinced the tracking chip was going to lead them straight to Reddington, but Liz had declined when she was invited to tag along with them. She knew Reddington was too smart. The minute he went out the hospital window, that chip had been removed. She was sure of it.

Not only had he chosen to make contact again, but he'd chosen to contact her. Her chest gave a little thrill at the thought.

How did he even have her number?

"Where are you?" Liz said.

Reddington ignored her question. "I need you to tell me more about what Zamani said when he was at your house last night. Tell me everything you remember about him, what did he say; what did you see? We need to figure out where he plans to set off this bomb."

"The DC Zoo," Liz answered matter-of-factly.

"And why do you think that?" Reddington asked, striding quickly down the busy street.

"He had what I initially thought was a tattoo on the back of one hand, but then I remembered: he's Serbian Orthodox, no way he'd have a tattoo. And it looked so familiar; I knew I'd seen the symbol somewhere before, and while I was driving across town I saw it on a billboard. It's the logo for the DC Zoo. You get your hand stamped when you go in."

"Well done, Agent Keen," Reddington said, his tone impressed. If Liz hadn't been so stressed at that particular moment, she'd have reveled in it, but as it was, she had other things on her mind.

"Reddington, I need to hang up the phone," she said.

"Yes, you need to get to the DC Zoo and—"

"I'm already there. I need to find Beth." Liz hung up and pocketed her phone.

After ten frantic minutes of dashing through between enclosures, along paths, and across the grounds—this place was bigger than she remembered—Liz finally saw her, sitting alone in a pink jacket on a park bench.

"Beth?" Liz asked, slightly out of breath as she approached her. "Hey sweetie, are you hurt?" The girl shook her head. "Good. Are you alone?"

Beth nodded. "But the man told me to wait right here, and not take my jacket off. I'm not allowed to take it off, or my dad won't come to get me."

Liz leaned around to look at the pink backpack the girl was wearing. Red digital numbers were visible through the fabric. Just then, her cell phone began to ring again. Fishing it from her back pocket, she recognized the number from earlier. "Reddington, I found her, he strapped the device to her. I need to call the bomb squad, get this place evacuated—"

"Your people will never be there in time. I'm sending someone to you, my friend will know what to do with it." Reddington hung up.

"Reddington?" Liz asked, the line dead. She pocketed her phone quickly and knelt next to the girl. Less than a minute later, a man jogged over to them, smiling pleasantly. He immediately crossed behind Beth and began to unzip the backpack. "Wait, who are you? Did Reddington send you? Can you diffuse the bomb?" Liz asked, standing up. The man continued to smile, and began chattering at her in another language. "I don't understand—can you diffuse the bomb?" she repeated.

"Are we going to be okay?" Beth asked in a frightened voice.

Liz knelt back down in the grass and took Beth's hands. "Yeah, baby, we're going to be okay," Liz said soothingly. "Beth, honey, I need you to be very brave for me. Can you be brave?"

"I think so?" Beth answered timidly.

"You know what I do when I need to be brave? I have a good luck charm, and it helps me when I'm sad or afraid. It's very special. Do you want to see it?"

Beth nodded.

Liz held out her arm, and pulled her sleeve up to expose her right wrist. A thick, ropey scar wound its way up her forearm. "A very strong man gave this to me. Any time I'm frightened, I touch it, like this," Liz pressed her left index and middle finger to it, almost as if she were taking her pulse. "And I think of him, and how courageous he is, and it makes me brave. Do you wanna try? See if it can make you brave?" Beth nodded, and Liz withdrew her fingers, allowing room for Beth's to take their place.

"Who's the bravest person you know?" Liz asked, trying to take her mind off the beeps that were coming steadily from the device as the man worked on it.

"My dad," Beth said. "Was the man who gave you this your dad?" she asked, running her small fingers over Liz's scar.

Liz attempted a smile that ended up as more of a wince, and opened her mouth to reply, just as the man behind them jumped up with a shout of exaltation in his native language, and unzipped the backpack, pulling the device from the bag. He leaned forward, grinning, to press a kiss into Liz's hair, and patted Beth on her head as he jogged away again.

"Wait! Stop!" Liz shouted after him.

"He's going to consider the device as payment for services rendered," Reddington said, striding up the grassy hill behind Liz.

"That's a chemical weapon!" Liz cried, still shaken by the fact that she'd been less than two minutes from being blown to pieces.

"He's fascinated by the things. He certainly has more use for it than we do."

Ressler and the rest of the team burst through the archway at the other end of the small park and began sprinting toward them. Reddington calmly placed his hands behind his head, anticipating being manhandled into yet another pair of handcuffs.

"Nice trick, pulling your chip and planting it on Zamani," Ressler muttered as he jogged to a stop behind Reddington. "But if you think that wins you any goodwill points with me, you're wrong."

As Ressler pulled Reddington's hands down one at a time and secured them in restraints, Liz sat down on the bench, her adrenaline surge wearing off quickly. She looked up at Reddington, amazed. "You led us to Zamani…?" she asked, her question rhetorical. Reddington gave a slight smile and tilted his head to one side. Liz nodded, not finding the energy to return his smile, as she added thoughtfully, "We could make a great team."

Reddington bobbed his head. "This was fun, wasn't it?"

Liz raised her eyebrows, not entirely sure almost getting blown up and poisoning half of DC aligned with her definition of 'fun', but she shrugged her shoulders, tossing her hands in the air and sighing. "Sure. Lots of fun; we should do it again," she said, somewhat sarcastically.

Reddington's smile widened knowingly. "What a wonderful idea."

…:::…

Cooper and Ressler had refused Liz's request to sit in on Reddington's debriefing, so she had to hear the details second-hand from Ressler later that afternoon. He rattled off the high points of their meeting, in a mood so sour Liz thought it was surely a new low in terms of his attitude. Which was really saying something.

Reddington never slept in the same place for more than two nights in a row, and had demanded a fully-encrypted 8mm tag in his neck, turning his nose up at the alpha chip he'd so easily pulled from his arm the first time. He'd demanded his own security team, allowing Cooper to pick two from a shortlist of five he'd put together himself. He'd informed them he'd need an immunity package that he claimed he would negotiate himself, and as a final demand—one that had confused Cooper, enraged Ressler, and flattered Liz more than she allowed herself to show—he'd stated that from that point forward, he'd speak only with Elizabeth Keen.

…:::…

Liz found the money, passports, and gun that evening.

As she sat crouched on the floor of her dining room, her thoughts ran back over what Reddington had said when she attacked him with his own pen. 'You'll never know the truth about your husband.' He'd seemed honestly confused when she'd told him Zamani had been in her house. He'd asked what her husband's name was. Had Tom been the primary target of that attack all along? No. It would have been too great a coincidence for Reddington to target Tom without it being in some way related to her. He must have sent Zamani after her husband just to intimidate her… unless he did remember her. Unless he was aware of their connection.

Were these passports planted? Was this a misdirect by Reddington? Or was he confused by the name Tom Keen because he knew her husband by a different name? Liz scanned over the half dozen names on the passports again.

Liz had to find out how much he knew.

…:::…

Stepping into the cell, bright light streaming in behind her, she licked her lips unconsciously as she watched Reddington slowly lift his head, blinking as his eyes adjusted. He focused on Liz's face, and sighed.

"You've discovered something curious about your husband, haven't you, Agent Keen?"

…:::…

TBC... probably...

...:::...

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