*MY* Reddington?
Disclaimer: The Blacklist is not mine. None of these characters are mine. Not even the general storyline... and a lot of the actual DIALOGUE in this one isn't even mine. This is the heftiest disclaimer that ever disclaimed.
Author's Note: Combo episode! I didn't really respond to Frederick Barnes, so the Red/Liz interactions from that one got shuffled into General Ludd. Let me know how it worked out, okay?
Accompanying art work: There's a point in this chapter where Liz's childhood artwork is mentioned. Didou27 (the amazing writer who is currently thrilling us all with her AU fic Dream Walker) is also a truly fabulous artist. She was sweet enough to supply two 'childhood' drawings for me for this chapter, and wait til you see the GORGEOUS piece she did that goes along with the next chapter (Anslo Garrick). It'll blow your mind. :) Check out the link in my profile to see the art! And Didou27, thank you, thank you, thank you! You're a goddess. :)
…:::…
Chapter 9: General Ludd/Frederick Barnes
...:::...
Liz had been considering her next move in terms of her husband when she heard the rustle of the shower curtain, and Tom eased in behind her, snaking his hands around her waist. She gritted her teeth and patted one of his hands in what she hoped passed for an affectionate way. "I'm just finishing up in here, babe. And I'm running late as it is today..." She stepped from the shower and grabbed her towel, leaving the bathroom quickly in order to stave off any further attempts at conversation.
As she poured her cup of coffee, idly scrolling through her emails on her phone, she came across one in particular that gave her pause. She replaced the coffee pot and promptly forgot about the cup she'd poured for herself. The email was from a real estate contact.
Tom walked into the kitchen, crossed over to her, and frowned when she ducked away from his attempted embrace, still reading her email intently. He sighed in frustration. "Is this for me?" he asked, irritated, gesturing to the cup of coffee.
"Sure, go ahead," Liz said absently, her eyes still on her phone.
"Liz, you need to talk to me," Tom implored. "I was cleared. Ever since that mess with the FBI and the shooting in Boston, you've been—"
Liz's phone began to vibrate in her hands. Tom glared at it.
"No, Liz, we need to have a discussion, work can wait—" Tom said, waving a sharp hand dismissively at her phone as she accepted the call.
"It's my dad," she said, her tone making it obvious that she wasn't about to argue on this point. She held the phone to her ear. "Hey. Is everything okay?"
"What, I can't call my daughter unless there's something wrong?"
"How are you feeling?" Liz pressed. She hadn't called him in days—weeks?—and she wished fervently that Tom wasn't standing in the kitchen with her. She wanted to update him on her progress.
"Like the picture of health."
"Something's wrong," Liz said immediately.
"Remind me why I supported your decision to go into psychology?"
"Because you didn't want a daughter who sold pot on a street corner," Liz said, her lips quirking up in a half smile.
"I don't remember those being the only two options available for you in terms of career choice?" Sam replied.
Liz's smile widened and she leaned against the kitchen counter. "Seriously, Dad. Tell me what's wrong."
"Oh, nothing, just this twelve year old who claims to be an oncologist wants to run another series of tests."
"You're in the hospital?" Liz stood up a bit straighter. She should have called him more regularly. "I'm coming."
"No, you're not. It's just... I haven't been feeling great, so I'm getting checked out again."
Liz could hear the lie in his voice. "You promise this is under control? If this is serious, I want to be there."
"Listen, Butterball, I know how much everything at work means to you right now. I've got teams of medical people. Their teams have teams."
Liz sighed. "Don't say that just because you don't want to bother me, okay? You're my dad. You're allowed to bother me. But… you're going to be fine, Daddy, I know it."
Sam chuckled softly. "I love you, Butterball."
"I love you, too. Can I call you again tonight? Tomorrow? We haven't… really talked in so long. I want to give you updates..." Liz looked sideways at Tom, who was busy putting two pieces of bread in the toaster. "...on my life," she added.
"Sure. We'll talk again soon."
Liz hung up, made a quick excuse to Tom about being even later now, and ran out the door.
...:::...
As soon as she had a semi-private moment, Liz called the number she'd been given. Dembe answered. "He's not available right now—" he began.
"That's okay," Liz replied quickly. "Is Luli there?"
When the other woman reached the phone, Liz had her take down a residential address outside the city. "It's just gone on the market. Red will want to know."
"Why this place?" Luli asked, using her free hand to pull up the listing on the laptop in front of her. "He goes to Marigot, Florence, Doha, the Seychelles..."
"He's going to want to buy it."
"This house?" Luli's voice was unimpressed and skeptical on the other end of the line.
"If he doesn't buy it, he'll at least want to know it's for sale," Liz insisted.
"Why would he be interested in this house?"
Liz waited a beat before she answered. "He raised his family there."
Luli was silent for a long moment. "Must hold a lot of memories for him...?"
"Oh, I'm sure he spends every day trying to forget what happened there."
"...and yet you think he'll want to know it's for sale?"
Liz took a deep breath and nodded, even though the other woman couldn't see her through the phone. "Just pull the Realtor paperwork and make sure he sees it? You don't even have to tell him the information was from me."
...:::...
Cooper started the day by briefing Liz and Red on a plane crash, and demanding Reddington's help bringing those responsible to justice. Reddington dug his heels in, bargaining for access to the FBI's ViCAP system in exchange for information on General Ludd.
"Absolutely not," Cooper snapped. "I'm not giving you that kind of access!"
"Then you'll just have to find another criminal to talk to Agent Keen and make fun of Agent Ressler," Reddington replied quickly. Liz worked hard to keep her face neutral. He still had her marked as his only FBI contact. She mentally sighed in relief.
"I have no interest in cases I have no interest in," he was saying, as Liz realized she hadn't been paying attention. "I'm not your consultant. I bring cases to you, not the other way around. You're asking me to go beyond the terms of our original agreement, Harold. If you want me to help you with this case, I'm going to need something to sweeten the deal. Rest assured; granting me access to ViCAP will benefit you just as much as it does me."
"And you think you can ID one of these guys?" Cooper said, nodding toward the computer screen on his desk which showed a still from the video claiming credit for taking down the plane.
"Give me a few hours to get to Cuba and I guarantee you, you won't be disappointed by the intel."
…:::…
"You should come, Agent Keen," Reddington said, falling in step with Liz as she left Cooper's office. "You know, I was thinking back to that dinner we almost had in Montreal, and what you told me just before I had to... make my exit," Reddington said, following her down the stairs. He dropped his voice so he couldn't be overheard. "You intimated that most things people think they know about you are, in fact, lies."
Liz clenched her teeth, her heart beating faster, and she sped up, causing him to hurry to keep pace with her. She wasn't comfortable with him bringing that up anywhere near her colleagues, no matter how low he dropped his voice.
"I can't go to Cuba with you, Red." She got on the elevator and waited for him to follow behind her before she pushed the button for another floor. "I need to stay here and work the case. And besides," she said, shooting him an apologetic look over her shoulder, "all my tropical wear is in the wash." The thought of accompanying Reddington on his private jet to Cuba... She shook her head slightly, trying to clear the sudden and horrifically strong desire to take him up on his offer. She'd gone back to playing house with Tom, trying to pick up on anything else about him without him suspecting she was suspicious. It was at best dull, and at worst nerve-wracking and nauseating.
She wanted to go sit on a beach somewhere with Reddington.
Why had she just turned him down—?
"You'd look positively radiant in a guayabera dress; I know a little shop in town—we can stop before the flight."
Liz stood her ground, locking her knees, willing herself not to turn around to look at him. If she turned around she'd say yes. She kept her eyes trained on the elevator doors as they continued their slow ascent.
He thought she'd look radiant...?
She didn't even know what a guayabera dress was. She'd have to look it up later and try not to think too much about why he might want to see her in one.
This line of thinking was not helping her resolve.
"No? Fine. But just know you're missing out," Reddington said, interrupting the silence as the elevator door slid open. He brushed past her and strode toward where Dembe waited with the car, not glancing back over his shoulder.
…:::…
Reddington slid into the backseat next to Luli. "What did you find out?" he asked, nodding his chin toward the folder in her hands.
Luli smiled. "I looked into the house. She was right. It just went on the market."
Reddington took the file offered to him and opened it, looking at the contents with a Mona Lisa smile playing across his face. "Is it really for sale?" he asked softly.
"I take that to mean you'd like me to move forward with the purchase?"
"And Agent Keen called you with this?" Red confirmed, slightly suspicious.
"Mmm hmm," Luli said, nodding.
"Interesting," he murmured.
…:::…
Hours later, Red dialed Liz's number. She answered immediately. "Red. What do you need?" she asked, bracing herself on the dashboard of the car as Ressler swerved haphazardly through traffic.
"A bottle of beer and a pork sandwich. What do you need?"
"How about the location on any of the members of General Ludd? Nathaniel Wolff? Roger Gard? Arthur Denning? Anybody?" Liz said, the day's frustrations evident in her tone.
"Funny you should request that, Agent Keen, because I just so happen to have the location of all three men, considering they're all the same man. Got a pen?"
"…You're not kidding," Liz said, sitting up straighter. Ressler glanced sideways at her, quizzically. "How did you find this out?"
"Why do you think I went to Cuba? Now, shall I pass this piece of information on to you? Or just say to-hell-with-it, and go in search of my beer and sandwich?"
"You went all the way to Cuba. On your own dime. To get us the group founder's aliases and location?" Liz asked, amazed.
"I went all the way to Cuba to get you this information, Elizabeth."
"El—?" Liz cut herself off immediately. He did this for her? And 'Elizabeth' wasn't 'Liz', but it was a start. She wished she could have this conversation without Ressler sitting next to her—wanting privacy for phone conversations seemed to be becoming a theme today, she thought—but unless she wanted to throw herself from a moving vehicle while on the Beltway, she'd have to make do. "Why for me?" she asked.
There was a slight pause before his voice came over the line again, deep and quiet. "I appreciate the information you passed to Luli. I wanted to... thank you."
Liz closed her eyes briefly. "You're welcome," she replied, hoping she'd kept her tone light enough that Ressler didn't pick up on how much this conversation suddenly meant to her. She'd waited a long time for him to thank her, and while his gratitude was in regards to something much less important, she'd take anything she could get from him. "And I don't like the name Elizabeth, actually. I feel like I'm in trouble with my dad when someone calls me that."
"Speaking of Sam, how is your father?" Reddington's voice was serious.
"...why do you ask?" Liz heard the suspicion in her own voice.
"The cancer. It's come back? I hear he's back in the hospital." There was a pause, and Liz's heart started to hammer as she scrambled unsuccessfully for a reply. Reddington continued, "I'm actually surprised you aren't there with him. Are you planning on seeing him... anytime soon?"
"He's... I mean, it's not..." Liz stuttered. "Who the hell told you that?" she finally demanded harshly, off balance because of the abrupt change from one emotionally charged topic to another that was equally personal. She wasn't in a mood to finesse the conversation any more. How had they gone from his gratitude to her father's health?
"I understand that he's exhausted his options and that he's... not doing well. I'd like to offer my condolences."
Liz's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "You checked into my family."
"When did Sam adopt you, Agent Keen?" Reddington asked bluntly.
"I'm not having this conversation with you right now, Red."
"Why not?"
"Because you're in Cuba, I'm trying to catch a terrorist, my partner is in the car next to me right now, and discussing my father's health under these circumstances is frankly unprofessional. Call me when you get back and we can discuss things—like how you even know any of this." Liz hung up, and gave a frustrated sigh.
"Your dad's sick?" Ressler asked, his tone somewhat softer than his usual brusque one in an attempt to be caring.
"That's what he said," Liz said vaguely.
"You think Reddington's just winding you up? Trying to mess with you? I mean, the man lies for a living. Think he could be using your dad to—?"
"I believe him," Liz interrupted with finality.
…:::…
The next day, after tracking down two additional aliases used by Wolff, Liz's phone vibrated in her pocket. Seeing Tom's name on the caller ID almost made her ignore the call, but she picked up, steeling herself for what she assumed would be a defensive conversation.
"Liz, your Aunt June called."
"I'm sorry, now's not a good time," Liz said before she processed what her husband had just said. "Aunt June? Is this about my dad's diagnosis?"
"She—wait, yeah, how did you know?" Tom asked.
Liz let out an anguished breath. She'd been hoping Red had lied to her. "The cancer's back?" Her voice was small and tired.
"Liz, I'm sorry… it's spread to his liver."
"I have to call him—"
"No, Liz, he's in surgery right now, but I have you booked on a flight tomorrow morning; you'll be in Nebraska by noon. I got an earlier flight; I'm leaving now."
Liz squeezed her eyes shut, cursing the confluence of events that had culminated in this situation. "Okay. Um… tell him I'll be there as soon as I can, okay? Tell him I love him."
"I will," Tom promised. "Be safe. I'll see you tomorrow."
…:::…
As soon as Liz got back to the Post Office, she strode into Cooper's office. "Sir? I have a family emergency. My father's sick. I need to catch a flight."
Cooper looked up from the files in front of him, pulling his glasses down off his nose. "Not an option."
"I know the timing is terrible—"
"All flights are grounded."
Liz paused a beat, trying to process what this meant for her plans to see her father. "What? Why?"
"General Ludd. He blew up the plane Ressler went to intercept before it left for Denver." When Liz's face blanched, he quickly added, "He wasn't on board, Agent Keen, don't worry. He's on his way back here now. But shortly after that, FBI headquarters received a manifesto. The F.A.A. has implemented 9/11 protocol. All planes are grounded until further notice."
…:::…
Sam woke up, sensing another presence in the stark, quiet hospital room. Tom sat in a chair by the window, watching the older man quietly. Sam sighed. "Is she here?" he asked.
Tom shook his head. "Not yet. But you know she's upset, Sam. Why didn't you let us know this was going on? Why didn't you tell her?"
Sam looked away, admonished. "How much does she know?" he asked quietly.
"Aunt June called."
"Great," he rasped. "That woman talks too much. So you both know..." Sam's words trailed off into a wracking cough.
"...everything," Tom supplied. "Six weeks, huh?" he added gently.
Sam nodded. "At best." He frowned, and cleared his throat. "You're going to have to take care of her. I've done my best since I got her... Now she's yours. Can you do that?"
"I can do that, of course I can do that," Tom said earnestly, leaning forward.
Sam gazed out the window past Tom, his eyes seeming unfocused. After a long moment of silence, he said, "I've been thinking about her... as a child. When I first got her. She was wild, unpredictable. Angry. But I could still tell there was a sweet girl in there. She was so volatile, growing up. Hard, then soft, then—" He smiled ruefully. "—immediately back to being hard again. It took me years to gain her trust."
"You might have lost some of that recently," Tom pointed out. "Seriously, Sam, why keep this a secret?"
Sam swallowed, and considered his words carefully. "She's at a very important point in her life. She's finally getting to do something she's been working toward for years... it seems like her whole life has been leading up to this stage of... her career. This is something important, and it'll keep going, even after I'm gone. My death is going to be a distraction; that's unavoidable. But the weeks and months leading up to it shouldn't have to be. If I could have scheduled this for a more convenient time, I would have," he joked, giving a sharp laugh which dissolved quickly into a coughing fit. Tom grabbed a glass of water from the table beside the bed and handed it to Sam, who took a sip and passed it back.
As he replaced it on the table, several drawings and pieces of paper caught Tom's eye. "What are these...?" he asked, picking them up.
"Art projects... drawings... Letters she wrote to me when she was young. A collection of things from over the years." The corners of Sam's mouth turned up, almost reluctantly. "Things that make me smile."
Tom flipped through the pile without asking permission. He paused on one particular drawing that was created with a childish but obviously talented hand. Eyes, along one edge of the paper, with long, light eyelashes. A few inches away was the face of a man, his eyes closed. Flipping through several more pictures of trees and fountains and birds, he found another drawing, obviously of the same man. This one was more complete, done at an older age. There were more details, and Liz's talent had obviously progressed. A few more letters and high school pictures, and a very complete portrait of the blonde man sat at the bottom of the pile. It was dated the same year Liz graduated from high school and left for college.
"Who is this?" Tom asked, his voice tight as he held up the drawing. "Family member?"
A flash of suspicion crossed Sam's face. "She's drawn him her whole life. Doodled him on scrap pieces of paper. I always figured he was probably someone she'd known before she came to live with me. Someone she just practiced her portrait skills by drawing over and over; improvement through repetition." He shrugged. "Imaginary friend? She may have just made him up."
"You never asked her?" Tom asked.
Sam shrugged again. "You can ask her, if you want. Sounds like she doesn't draw him anymore...?"
"I've never seen her draw him, no," Tom said, replacing the artwork. After a beat, he looked at the man in the bed. "Sam, I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me the truth. You don't have a lot of time left, and it would make my job substantially easier if you'd just give me the information without us having to dance around what we know—individually and collectively—about Liz. And Raymond Reddington."
Sam's jaw clenched. "Get out—" Sam snarled as he reached for his phone, which Tom snapped up, much faster than his father-in-law.
"Liz isn't just an expert on him now, she's been drawing him for years," Tom said, pointing at the pile of drawings. "Since she was a child. Since she came to you."
Sam glared at Tom, who noticed the slight twitch of movement as the older man's hand eased closer to the nurse call button. Tom quickly removed that from Sam's reach as well.
"What were the circumstances? Who gave her to you? Why? How does she relate to Reddington?"
"If she hasn't already figured you out—and she probably has—she'll be on to you very soon," Sam warned, his voice low and harsh. "Your best bet would be to pack up your little operation right now and run. Very far, and very fast."
"'Little operation'?" Tom asked, a slight smile on his face. "Little? I married her. We're adopting a child. I've been in her life for years now. 'Little'?"
Sam shook his head. "She'll never go through with that. She'd never do that to a child, knowing what she does about you."
"Liz doesn't know anything. Your 'intelligent' daughter you're so proud of falls for everything I tell her. And I can read her like a book." Tom smiled. "She's mine. You gave her to me... til death do us part."
Sam grabbed for the IV pole, swinging it toward Tom with more force and speed than he was expecting. Tom dodged it, deflecting the metal rod to the side. He grunted as it contacted his forearm. That was going to leave a mark.
Sam had leaned forward in his attempted attack, and Tom took the opportunity to snatch one of the pillows from behind him. He pushed the older man back with a strong hand on his shoulder, and shoved the pillow over his face. Sam thrashed, and fought, his arms clawing at Tom's shoulders, his legs kicking uselessly, tangled in the tightly made hospital sheets.
…It took substantially less time than Tom had predicted for Sam to stop bucking and fighting. Then again, his lungs had seen better days.
After less than a minute, the movement stopped, and after waiting a minute more, Tom stood up, and replaced the pillow behind Sam's head. If only all of his jobs of this kind were weak cancer patients. Things would go a lot easier.
…:::…
Reddington arrived at the Post Office just in time to step off the elevator and see Liz raise one hand to her mouth, her cell phone clutched in the other. She'd moved alongside a staircase which afforded her a small amount of privacy, and when she sank silently to the ground, her back against the railing, the agents who remained busy with the recent apprehension of Nathaniel Wolff didn't notice her.
The nurse on the other end of the phone apologized again, and repeated her condolences before hanging up. Liz took a shuddering breath as her mind began to run her various escape routes—even if she couldn't get home to the Midwest, she at least had to get out of the noise and bustle and chaos of—
"Agent Keen?"
Reddington's quiet voice made Liz look up from her position on the cold concrete floor. "Please go away—" she begged.
"I assume that was news about your father." His face was concerned, and kind. "May I fly you to Nebraska?" he offered softly.
"All planes are grounded," Liz replied, shaking her head. She wiped ineffectively at the tears on her cheeks, just to have them replaced immediately by fresh ones.
"Not mine."
…:::…
An hour later, Liz sat on board Reddington's jet, numbly looking out the window as they took off down the runway.
"And your husband? Will he be joining you at some point?" Reddington asked, breaking the silence that had stretched almost the entire ride to the airstrip. He noticed Liz hadn't mentioned Tom at all.
"He was on a flight earlier today. He already called. Because of the situation here… his plane got rerouted to Tulsa. He rented a car and is driving the rest of the way." She looked at her watch. "He's probably not even there yet." Liz felt her throat constrict, and her voice raised as traitorous tears began to fall again. "He was all alone..." she whispered. "I wasn't there when he..."
"It sounds like that was his choice," Reddington said softly. "He must have had a reason for not... involving you in—"
"I don't want to talk about this; I can't talk about this right now," Liz said miserably.
Reddington nodded. "I know it hurts, but my recommendation would be for you to do just that. The best way for you to keep the memory of your father alive is to talk about him. Tell me some stories."
Liz shot him a sorrowful, almost desperate look.
Reddington looked at her earnestly, standing up and moving to a seat immediately across from her. "Tell me your most vivid childhood memory about your father."
Liz took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. She searched for a memory to share. "Some parents try too hard to manage their kids... He never did. He always seemed to know when I needed space. He encouraged me to be creative; he redirected some of my... less healthy interests and...obsessions. He was absolutely unrelenting about getting me to speak English without an accent—" Liz cut herself off abruptly. She wanted so badly to talk to Reddington—really talk—especially now that she'd lost the only other confidant she had in the world.
Reddington studied Liz's face. "What accent were you trying to get rid of?"
Liz looked out the window at the ground, already far beneath them, and bit her lip before turning her eyes back to Reddington. "I tried to call you earlier this morning. You didn't pick up."
"I had… business to attend to."
Liz nodded. "I heard there was an explosion today at a house in the suburbs. It had just been purchased... I hope the new owner isn't too disappointed."
Reddington gave her a tired smile. "I'm sure whoever bought the property will come to terms with the fate of the house. Eventually."
"Did it help?" she asked, no longer bothering to be vague.
Reddington narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, pursing his lips as he considered the question. "I don't know if it helped," he admitted, "but it hurt substantially less than I thought it would."
Liz nodded. "Did you see it first?"
Reddington leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. "I remembered it being bigger, somehow."
"I'm sure it was lovely," Liz offered.
"It used to be," Reddington corrected.
"It's interesting how our memories of the past change over time, isn't it?" Liz asked, thinking how large a man she'd thought Sam was that first night she'd arrived on his doorstep. The last time she'd seen him he'd been too thin. She should have guessed something was wrong, even back then.
"Would it be easier for you if I disappeared for awhile?" Reddington asked. "I can cease to exist in sixty seconds. I offer that particular package to clients. Or I could talk to… well, I'd still refuse to have anything to do with Agent Ressler, but I don't mind Agent Malik. Or I suppose I could work directly with Cooper for a few days." Reddington studied Liz's face. "Give you some time." Liz didn't reply. "Say the word, and I'm gone."
Liz gave a sad smile. "Don't leave. You're the only thing in my life that I'm confident about right now. And if you're not at the Post Office when I get back from the funeral… I'll probably quit. There wouldn't be anything holding me to that job. Because for me… there's just no fun in it if you're not there, and if there's no fun to be had, I'm not interested."
Reddington tilted his head. "One of these days you're going to have to tell me what it is about me that has you so fascinated."
Liz nodded. "One of these days," she agreed quietly.
...:::...
Next up: Anslo Garrick. I have big plans. Let's see if they work out. :)
Thank you, almcvay1, for settling me down when I got to this chapter and flailed a bit at not having a reason for Red to kill Liz's father in this AU. Barely pausing, she just wrote back simply, "Make Tom do it." You're brilliant, babe. Thank you!
And seriously, go check out Liz's childhood drawings of Reddington! Link is in my profile!