*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: Seriously, TBL writers. Look how easily you can give Liz some substance and make her worthwhile? She can be intelligent and kick ass. It works.

...:::...

Chapter 4: The Freelancer Part 2

…:::…

After pulling Ressler off of Reddington—"This isn't helping!" she'd shouted, wedging herself between the two men in the suddenly-crowded van—Liz demanded the three of them sit down to talk about what Reddington's source had provided him with.

"My contact was the first person I saw when I walked into the place: the coat check attendant. I left payment in my hat, and in exchange, he left a photo of the assassin's next victim. Floriana Campo."

"The human rights activist?" Ressler asked.

Liz frowned, and looked down at the floor. Reddington noticed. "Is there a problem, Agent Keen?" he asked.

"No, it's just… I wrote my senior thesis on you, but only because my first thesis subject didn't pan out. I intended to write it about Floriana Campo, but…" She shook her head.

"But what?" Reddington asked.

Liz glanced between the two men. "I found… discrepancies. Things that didn't make sense. I didn't have the resources to investigate at the time; I figured I was just missing something, but… Something just didn't feel right."

Reddington gave her an enigmatic smile. "Well, then. Let's go to New York and see if we can't find some answers, hmm?"

…:::…

Floriana Campo could not be talked out of hosting the benefit she was throwing that night. She insisted her security would be all that was necessary, and declined additional FBI protection. Stubbornly, Ressler continued to try to convince her.

"Do either of you have children, Agent Ressler? Agent Keen?"

Liz shook her head, and Ressler gave a curt, "No."

"There is no work more meaningful than being a mother," the woman said, directing her comment to Liz. The image of pink balloons in her living room and Tom, lying in a hospital bed immediately sprang to mind, and Liz shifted her weight uncomfortably. "I didn't have kids of my own," Floriana continued. "This is my one regret. But these girls that I'm trying to protect; they are my family. Tonight is for them. I won't cancel."

"Look, we can't force you to accept our protection, but we need your help to find the man contracted to kill you. To identify him, to capture him, we need you to cooperate… you're our only link. Will you help us?" Ressler asked, doing his best to be polite and political.

After a moment, Floriana inclined her head. "Alright."

…:::…

Ressler and the team did everything they could, changing the venue, the schedule, travel routes. But Liz knew they stood a much better chance of finding the Freelancer if they had Reddington's help.

"You said you've seen this guy," she said, leaning against the open edge of the Box.

"Once," Reddington agreed.

"We're compiling photos of the people who are scheduled to attend the event tomorrow, and I know it's a long shot, because he's probably not going to be high profile enough to show up on a guest list, but if you could just look—"

"Please understand, Agent Keen, I want more than anything to help you. It's the reason why I'm here. But I won't say another word until the terms of my deal are met."

"I've been told it's going through right now. Your lawyers drafted it?" Liz asked, happy to see they'd graduated to allowing Reddington the freedom to walk around his Box instead of being continually strapped to the chair, though his hands were still cuffed at his waist.

"No, I did. I represent myself in legal matters."

Liz nodded. Of course he did. "Your requests for a private security detail were a little difficult to push through with a limited schedule," Liz explained.

"Ah! Who'd they pick?" Reddington asked, stepping closer.

"Luli Zeng?"

"Luli…" Reddington said, smiling broadly. "You'll like her. Very intelligent. PhD from Stanford."

"And a man called Dembe."

Reddington's smile softened, and he pursed his lips, looking out the side of the Box, his eyes unfocused. Nodding, he murmured, "Very good."

"How long has it been since you saw him?" Liz asked softly.

Reddington's gaze sharpened and immediately swung back to Liz. "Too long," he said cryptically, after a moment. Liz didn't give away the fact that she already knew the answer to her question.

Less than an hour later, the deal was signed, and handed back to Reddington. Liz watched as security removed the shackles from Reddington's wrists and ankles.

As Ressler demanded again that he look through the list of names scheduled to attend the event, Reddington frowned and looked at Liz. "You know this isn't the right approach."

"Hey, I'm right here. Talk to me," Ressler barked.

"He didn't RSVP, Ressler," Liz said patiently.

"I've seen the man," Reddington said, standing up and stretching his neck. "If he shows up tonight, if you're going to have any hope of identifying him, you need to put me in that room."

"So you want to go to the party?" Liz smiled at him.

Reddington returned her smile, ignoring Ressler's grumbling. "Oh, I thought you'd never ask."

…:::…

"Dembe…" Liz tried to hide how happy she was to see the two men embracing. Dembe's history was something she was very much aware of, but had never included in any report or ever spoken of officially. He was an imposing figure in person, and Liz could see why Reddington chose him as a bodyguard—he was intimidating, even with his face split open in a happy grin as he wound his arms around what the world thought was simply his employer.

After a moment, Reddington backed away and turned his attention to the woman stepping out of the car behind Dembe. "Luli, my dear…" Reddington wound an arm around her waist, and Liz realized there were worse things in life than hearing a watercolorist's account of her night spent with Raymond Reddington at an art expo in Basel several years ago. While the artist's story—which had involved headlocks and vaseline, among several other things—had made Liz's stomach twist in jealousy, seeing Reddington kiss another woman ten feet from her was somewhat unbearable.

Liz looked away, uncomfortable with how territorial she was about a man she had no rights to whatsoever. She was a married woman; her husband was in a medically induced coma right now, for god's sake.

She'd never thought she'd get the chance to meet him, really meet him, and interact with him. Admiring him from the safety of her desk over the years had been easy, like enjoying the beauty of a painting you know you can't take home from a museum, or watching every movie your favorite actor had ever made. There were certain objects that simply weren't attainable, in the grand scheme of things. Realistically. Wishing for them was a waste of time.

And now the priceless painting she'd been obsessed with for years had found its way out of the museum and practically into her living room. Things were getting more difficult by the second.

"So, is looks like the gang's all here. Shall we?" Reddington said after pulling away from Luli.

"Actually, there's one more; Meera Malik. CIA. You'll meet her on the way to the event," Ressler said.

"Is she attractive?" Reddington asked.

"I'd go more with 'treacherous'," Ressler replied evenly.

Reddington gave a low laugh and turned away toward the cars. "This is gonna be a gas…"

…:::…

Liz spent the first half of the evening trailing behind Reddington as he stalked various servers through the crowd. While Reddington sampled everything that came out on the small silver catering trays, Liz attempted to surreptitiously memorize the way he looked in a well-tailored tuxedo.

After several speeches near the end of the evening, Floriana took the podium to say a few words.

Reddington and Liz stood side by side, scanning those in attendance. Just as Floriana finished her toast and the crowd began to applaud, Reddington nodded in the direction of one of the waiters in a white catering jacket. "It's him," he said in a low voice only Liz could hear. "The waiter." Liz followed his line of sight. "The Freelancer."

Just then, the man looked in their direction and caught Reddington's eye. After a moment's hesitation, he spun and darted off into the crowd.

Liz bolted after him, yelling for him to stop, but those in attendance began to panic, blocking her path forward. Ressler had the better position, and ran to follow him instead, shouting for Liz to stay with the target.

Liz made her way upstairs with Floriana to her private room, the hall thick with security details, private and FBI. Fifteen minutes later her cell phone rang, and she excused herself into another room to take the call, telling Floriana to stay where she was.

"We got him—it was Reddington—Reddington hired the Freelancer," Ressler said quickly.

"What?" Liz asked, confused, shutting the door behind herself softly. "No. How could he?"

"The coat check attendant; think about it. The coat check didn't leave the picture in his hat, Reddington left it for him. He was signaling the hit."

"He pointed out the Freelancer as a diversion. He wanted chaos. He wanted to get her alone—" Liz hung up the phone and spun back to the door, yanking it open to find Reddington standing in the center of the room, facing Floriana.

"Agent Keen," Reddington said, surprised. "Look at you, sneaking up on people like a ninja. Why don't you join us?"

"How did you get in here?" Liz asked suspiciously, moving into the room slowly.

"Dembe's out in the hall discussing international politics with her private security to distract them. Or else he's rendered them all unconscious; one of the two." Reddington turned back to Floriana. "As I was saying, I'm amazed you've been able to manage it… the duplicity. How does the devil in you contend with the angel?" He stepped closer to her, his voice dropping menacingly. "I would have kicked her out years ago."

Floriana had been backing slowly toward Liz, and now she extended a fearful hand in her direction, requesting protection. "Please, Elizabeth—this is the man. He's the one who wants me dead."

"I know," Liz said, causing Reddington's eyes to narrow at her. "Ressler just called. We've got the Freelancer. He gave you up as the one who hired him."

Just then, Floriana faltered, and sank down to her knees, breathing hard.

Liz rushed forward. "What have you done?" she demanded up at Reddington, kneeling next to the woman on the floor.

"Me? I didn't do anything. That assassin you apprehended may have slipped her a lethal cocktail of the same barbiturates she uses to drug her children."

Liz looked up at him in shock.

"You were right, Agent Keen," Reddington continued, stopping to casually smell the flower arrangement on the table. "Things don't add up with this one because she's dirty. She's not the woman the world thinks she is."

"Shut up, Raymond!" Floriana gasped, doubled over, panicked and furious.

"You know him?" Liz asked.

"Everybody knows this son of a bitch—!" she cried and rolled onto her back on the floor, moaning.

"She knows me because she tried to make me a partner in her trafficking business once upon a time. I turned her down. Our relationship has been on the rocks ever since; which would be a shame… if I'd ever actually liked her in the first place," Reddington said, shrugging. "Madam Campo doesn't free children from slavery. She imprisons them. She's the largest distributor of enslaved children in the Eastern hemisphere. Her foundation is a front to launder the profits of the Eberhardt cartel, which she runs. She's been eliminating the competition steadily for years now—good God, the woman even had her own husband murdered. I'm sure this clears up some of the questions that came up during your attempted thesis?" Reddington asked Liz.

"Reddington, this isn't the time, go get me a medic!" Liz demanded as Floriana's gasping noises quieted. "She's not breathing! Whatever kind of monster she is, we don't do this; we have to bring her in—" Liz grabbed a pen from the desk beside her and leaned over Floriana to jam it through to her trachea.

"What is it with you in hotel rooms and pens in people's necks?" Reddington asked nonchalantly.

Ressler and Meera burst into the room past Dembe, and took in the scene with contained horror. "What's happening?" Ressler demanded.

"Looks like she's dying…" Reddington said with indifference. He grabbed a piece of fruit from the arrangement on the table and popped it in his mouth while he nodded. "Definitely dying."

…:::…

By the time the EMTs pronounced Floriana dead at the scene and the initial, on-site debriefs were completed, the sun had come up. Liz and Reddington walked a short way down the pier that stretched out below the hotel the party had been held at the night before and sat on a long bench.

"How long ago were you writing that thesis?" Reddington asked her, staring out over the water. He'd sat at the other end of the bench, as far from her as he could get and still remain on the same surface. "I'm very impressed that you recognized that there was something wrong with the image she'd so carefully crafted for the public to see."

"I didn't know. I had no idea she was so… There were just… discrepancies. I should have kept looking. At the time." Liz shook her head. How many lives could she have saved if she'd been able to expose Floriana Campo for what she was years ago?

"Don't put this all on your shoulders. Many people who knew exactly what she was could have taken her down before now. The important thing is it's finished. She preyed on the weak and the innocent while dressed in the wings of a savior."

"You knew her personally."

"I detested everything about her," Reddington corrected.

Liz felt a surge of sympathy for him. Having to deal with these types of people on a regular basis obviously left a terrible taste in his mouth. As much as Raymond Reddington played the part of the international criminal mastermind, Liz knew he hated it. She knew why he did it, and it broke her heart that—for both of their safety—she had to let him continue to do it. For now.

After a moment, Reddington changed the subject. "What are you going to do about this situation with your husband?"

Liz cut her eyes to the side to look at him, but Reddington continued to look out over the water. "What situation?" she asked quietly.

"What do you know already?" Reddington asked carefully.

Liz swallowed. "I'm not sure if my husband is… who I thought he was."

Reddington nodded. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Liz watched a woman walk past them, walking a small dog, a baby in a carrier across her chest. "Not yet," she answered softly.

…:::…

TBC.