*MY* Reddington?

Disclaimer: Heftiest disclaimer that ever disclaimed. I don't own any of the characters, and a lot of the dialogue and the overall story arc aren't mine either. Nothing. Nada.

Author's Note: This one was hard to do. Apparently I don't enjoy writing actual Reddington torture. It wasn't as fun being inside the head of this episode. First time I've had this problem! :/

...:::...

Chapter 11: Anslo Garrick Part 2

...:::...

The shot rang out, and Liz crumpled to the floor. He'd never forgive her.

"Go!" Garrick shouted, and Liz heard a harsh, choked exhale from Red. She looked up to see Dembe, alive, still kneeling on the other side of the blood-stained barrier. Reddington was looking at him in disbelief, his hands still bracing himself on the glass in front of him. After he glanced up at Anslo, and then back down to meet Dembe's wide-eyed stare again, he let out an almost shaky breath that with just a bit more effort would have been a moan. Liz watched him hang his head between his outstretched arms, allowing himself a rare, but brief moment of relief, trying to shake off the horror and panic he'd felt a moment before.

When he looked up, he gave a grim nod to Dembe, who inclined his head in response.

Red pushed himself up to a standing position and turned his back to Liz, who still sat against the wall where she'd dropped.

Where had that shot come from?

"Red-"

He held up a stern hand in her direction without turning toward her or looking in her direction. He shook his head.

Liz's chest felt like it had been ripped apart. He'd been so kind and comforting- -he'd actually opened up and shared something personal with her- -just a few short minutes ago.

That new aspect of their tenuous relationship was obviously gone now.

'So be it,' thought Liz. If it was a choice between saving his life and having him hate her, or having his appreciation and letting him be tortured and killed... That wasn't even a choice. She'd take whatever wrath he needed to throw in her direction. It's not like she didn't deserve it.

Suddenly there was a flurry of motion, and Aram was marched roughly into the large space. He was brought into line to stand with Meera, but just as Anslo walked over to him, Cooper's cell phone rang.

"Oh, *come on*!" Anslo looked sharply in the direction of the noise, and moved to where Cooper knelt, snatching the phone from his pocket. He tossed it to the ground after looking at the caller ID on the screen.

Ressler looked up at their captor. "We're about to be joined by an entire FBI assault team. Get out now and you might survive."

Liz scrambled to her feet and looked at Aram. She caught his eye, and he gave her the slightest nod. 'Well done,' she thought. This guy deserved a raise. She'd figured the cell reception had been jammed and communication had gone down, and she was suddenly immensely proud of the tech who, prior to this, had usually flown under the radar, generally underestimated by the other staff at the blacksite.

People were definitely going to know his name now.

"Okay, that's it." Anslo grabbed a second gun from one of his men and moved to stand in front of Ressler and Cooper. Pressing a gun to each of their foreheads, he demanded, "The code. You two have it, one of you is going to give it to me."

"Don't give him the code, Ressler, that's an order," Cooper said sternly.

"There's one of him and two of us," Ressler hissed through clenched teeth, jutting his chin in Reddington's direction. "He's a murderer and a criminal. Why should anyone else die to keep him alive?" he reasoned.

Liz took a quick step forward to the box door. "Ressler! No." Her voice was low, and insistent. "Don't do this, Ressler, he's just going to kill us all anyway- -you think he's going to let any of us leave after this? Once he gets his hands on Reddington, we're all dead-"

"Romeo. R-O-M-E-O, romeo." Ressler's tone was low, and angry.

Reddington's posture stiffened.

Anslo turned to look triumphantly at the inhabitants of the box. "Well! Looks like Don here is trying to make up for his poor performance in Brussels!" he crowed.

Cooper was dragged to his feet, his hand placed on the biometric scanner as the code was punched in by one of Garrick's team.

"Red-" Liz moved to stand in front of him.

"Just stop," he interrupted coldly, his jaw clenching. His face was tight, but resigned, and he stood a little straighter, intent on continuing this with as much dignity as possible.

Garrick's men entered the box as the alarm sounded and the door swung slowly open. One grabbed Liz, while two more each took hold of one of Red's arms to escort them out. Deposited in front of his former colleague, Red gave a sarcastic smile and said lightly, "Anslo! What are you doing here?"

Over the next two minutes there was a flurry of activity as the team gathered their gear and started their next task: exiting the Post Office with Reddington in tow.

"Time to go, Anslo," Red said quietly. "You're about three minutes away from having dozens of FBI agents swarming all over this place. It's time to get the hell out of here."

Liz wondered why he was in a hurry to leave. Was he trying to save the lives of the agents gathered here? More likely he was just worried about Dembe- -Liz was sure his was the only life in this room that Red currently valued. Other than his own, and his reputation. He probably didn't want any of the Post Office team to witness the inevitable torture he was expecting, and would rather it not start now. Even with the possibility of everyone in this room dying, Reddington wouldn't want to appear undignified in front of any of them.

"I know what bloody time it is," Anslo growled. As zip ties were placed around Reddington's wrists, one of the mercenaries stepped close to his boss and angled a single piece of paper at him, which he took. Anslo glanced down at the page, up at Liz, and back to his man. He nodded in her direction, and Liz realized what the piece of paper was.

It was her drawing.

Someone grabbed her hands and placed zip ties around them, too, just as they had with Red, who looked over at the process with a frown.

"Be careful with this one, boys," Anslo was saying. "He may not look like much, but I once watched him kill a Somali with a wire coat hanger."

"Simpler times," Red replied with sarcastic nostalgia.

"Bring her, and let's go," Anslo said, and his team began to move out, pushing both Red and Liz forward.

Reddington clenched his teeth. "Why bring her, Anslo? She doesn't do anything for you. She's just dead weight."

"I thought it was interesting how close you two seemed in that box..." Anslo explained as they walked quickly down a hallway. "But you pulled a gun on her in order to save Dembe. That made me think maybe you aren't as invested as she is...?" Anslo turned and sneered at Liz. "Got a little crush, sweetheart?"

Distant gunfire erupted behind them, and Garrick and his team immediately reverted to their previous businesslike precision. "Move! Faster!" Anslo ordered, pushing Liz forward roughly.

Liz wondered if any of her team had survived, as the distant sounds of gunfire ceased.

They stopped when they reached more team members who were busy drilling and setting charges on the floor. Red and Liz were spun and pulled and strapped into harnesses as Anslo paced between them, continuing with snide commentary. "I've got to admit, I'm surprised," he drawled. "Old boy's still got appeal, apparently; whatever blows your skirt up."

There was a sharp explosion to Liz's right as the charges on the floor were detonated, and a huge section of the floor dropped away into the space below. Liz jumped and flinched away from the noise; Reddington didn't bat an eye.

"But Red- -you're not interested?" Anslo continued. "I've never known you to shy away from..." Anslo paused to gently push Liz's hair back from her eyes, and trail a finger down her cheek. "...a beautiful woman." She glared and pulled away from him. "I've heard stories about you back in the day, Red. When he was your age, love, he was bedding women more often than James Fucking Bond." He laughed, and looked back at Red. "No? Nothing?" he continued. "Too bad. You should have taken advantage when you had the chance. Too late now, I suppose," he said with a smile, pushing Liz backward down through the hole. "You're up next, friend," he said, nodding at Red.

By the time they'd exited the tunnels and had been loaded into an ambulance, Red was looking intently at Liz, ignoring almost everything else going on around them. He was pushed back onto a gurney, his head turned toward Liz by the insistent hand of an EMT above him. He didn't resist as she tugged his shirt collar out to expose his neck and collar bone, prepping the area with a sloppy sponge and betadine. Red narrowed his eyes at Liz as he continued to study her. She caught his gaze and glanced down pointedly but quickly at the defibrillator paddles next to her. She dropped her hands toward the machine to power it on discreetly. He closed his eyes briefly in acknowledgement and understanding.

"Ninety seconds to the drop; I need that chip!" Anslo barked from the front passenger seat of the ambulance as they bounced around a corner roughly.

"Mr Kaplan?" Liz asked in a low voice, confident that Anslo was too far away to hear, especially with the sirens going, and the EMT was too distracted with her task to take note.

Red's eyebrows knit together in surprise, before he regained his composure and gave a slight nod.

With that, Liz spun sideways, grabbed the charged paddles, and leaned forward to land them on the driver's shoulder and upper chest. The shock was delivered, and with a cry, he tensed and then slumped sideways, his hands falling off the wheel and his foot off the gas. As the ambulance swerved wildly, Liz dove for the gun strapped to the side of the only other guard, the man riding in the back with them. She wrested it from its holster and swung it up to fire at Anslo, but the EMT, off balance because of the rough ride, slammed into Liz and her shot hit the driver instead.

The vehicle careened wildly out of control for a moment, Anslo pushing the limp body of the driver out the door and taking the seat himself. "Hurry the hell up!" he shouted, unconcerned with the chaos in the back as the EMT cut into Red's neck, fishing for the chip, while Liz wrestled with the guard for control of the gun. The man managed to get hold of the door latch, and the gun was jostled from her hands, landing on the floor of the ambulance and skittering out onto the street before either could lunge for it. Liz launched herself at the guard, who picked her up and spun her toward the flapping, open door. Liz scratched and grabbed at anything she could to hold on and stay in the vehicle. In an attempt to detach her from him, the guard gave her a swift punch in the kidney, and pushed her out the door. She hung for a moment in midair, her feet still on the threshold, her hands clutching a pouch attached to the man's weapons vest. He reached down and released the clip that kept it attached, and Liz tumbled out into the street.

She hit the ground with enough force to drive the wind from her lungs, and she rolled inelegantly over the asphalt for several meters before finally coming to a stop, her exposed elbows and shoulders badly scraped.

Still holding the pouch in her zip-tied hands, she pushed herself off the pavement and stumbled toward the luxury sedan that had swerved and stopped just in time to avoid hitting her.

Trying to keep from panicking, Liz wrenched open the passenger side door of the car and jumped in, identifying herself as FBI. She ordered the shocked man to follow the ambulance that was speeding away down the street. "Drive! Now!" she shouted when the man hesitated. She grabbed his cell phone from the hands-free holder on the dash and dialed Aram.

"Aram?"

"Agent Keen! Are you okay?" Aram asked, his voice obviously relieved. "Sir-!" He waved Cooper over to where he was sitting at a computer.

"I'm in pursuit of Reddington, but I lost visual. I'm on Lex and Constitution. They're trying to pull his chip!" she explained hurriedly. "I need a location, now!"

"Okay, give me just... a... second..." Aram said slowly as his fingers flew over the keys to bring up the tracking program.

"I don't have a second, Aram! Now!"

"Okay, they're six blocks west. Turn right at the next intersection-"

"Turn right! Right here!" Liz demanded, pointing.

"You're close! They just turned south on 7th!" Aram told her. Liz passed the instructions on to the driver of her commandeered car, and they sped down 7th.

"Okay, the signal stopped moving! It's right there! It's in the middle of the street!"

Liz yelled at the man driving to stop the car and she jumped out, turning to look around her. No ambulance. No Reddington. Nothing. "There's nothing here, Aram!" she shouted into the phone.

"It's right there!" he argued. "You're standing right on top of it!"

Liz looked down, and her heart sank. She knelt, and picked up a blue medical glove, turned inside out and smeared with blood. She felt a hard, smooth lump in one of the fingers. "It's just the chip," she moaned in disappointment. "They got his chip out." Liz closed her eyes and hung her head, the adrenaline draining from her body, leaving her cold and empty. "He's gone," she said softly into the phone, her voice hollow as she added, "I lost Reddington."

...:::...

Reddington hated having bags put over his head. Breathing hot air that smelled like whatever meal he'd had just prior to the bag placement was always unpleasant, and when the fabric of the bag was burlap instead of some type of cotton, it was horrendously uncomfortable. The harsh fabric never bothered him when he was younger, because his hair took some of the friction, but since he'd taken to keeping what hair he had left as short as possible... He hated the feel of burlap on his head. Reddington regarded the bag's discomfort as the first form of torture today. He was sure the next form would be equally distasteful.

He was right. After being hastily stitched up and barely bandaged, he was dragged, his hands still bound, across a concrete floor in a large, empty, dark space- -he could hear the echo of their footsteps. Warehouse. Never good. It smelled dank, and dirty, and unused.

Also not good.

When he was halted, someone grabbed his wrists and forced them above his head, the metal of a chain clanking ominously before it was secured between his hands, and pulled upwards, stretching his shoulders painfully skyward until he had to lift his heels in order to relieve the pressure on his wrists.

He hated this position. Having your hands up above your head for an extended period of time made it extremely difficult to breathe.

At least they hadn't hung him upside down. That would definitely have made his current headache worse.

"This shall be fun." Anslo's voice drifted through the bag just before it was dragged off of his head, and he looked around, taking quick stock of his surroundings in the dim light.

...:::...

Back at the blacksite, the team earned a visit from Diane Fowler, one of the top brass responsible for the task force, and one of very few people who knew Reddington was working with the FBI. Liz hung back, near Aram, as Cooper and Fowler argued loudly about the fate of the team.

When she heard Fowler say the task force was- -as of that moment- -officially disbanded, Liz stepped forward. "I'm sorry, but we have to find Reddington."

"No, we don't," Fowler answered angrily. "The only thing that matters now is how quickly we can contain this. Raymond Reddington is, and always has been, a fugitive at large."

Liz stood, rooted to the spot as Cooper and Fowler headed toward the main room, and the other agents slowly scattered. Swallowing the lump of panic in her throat, she spun on her heels and made a bee line for the closest stairwell for some privacy.

She dialed a number quickly, and heard, "Emissary Hotel, how can I help you?"

"Yes, I need to speak to Mr. Kaplan."

"He's not available. Can you be reached at this number?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Goodbye."

...:::...

"The girl. The agent." Anslo said nonchalantly, sitting in a chair five feet to Reddington's left. "I want to know who she is."

"Well, then, you're barking up the wrong tree, because I don't know either," Reddington admitted, watching the circling guard with apprehension.

"She was willing to trade her life for yours; she was willing to let you shoot her rather than give up the code that would grant me access." He shifted in his chair, making a show of getting more comfortable as Red's shoulders screamed silently. "Someone else placing Red Reddington's life above their own. I thought for a moment you were paying her to do that, but that's not the case, is it? And you haven't slept with her?" he asked again. "Hmm." He tilted his head and regarded Red critically. "What makes you so special? An FBI agent, willing to die for a criminal?

"And then, of course, there's this..." Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the folded portrait Liz had sketched while they were trapped in the box. "Beautiful." He turned the page and held it up for Red to see. "I think she captured you quite nicely. She's obviously very familiar with your face, to get the detail so exact...?"

Reddington's expression betrayed a slight amount of surprise as he studied the drawing.

"It's a pity she couldn't join us, Red," Anslo continued. "I bet she'd have loved to watch me torture you." He leaned in toward Reddington with a leering smile. "Do you think she would have begged me to stop? Offered me things in exchange for your release?"

Reddington swallowed and schooled his features into an impassive mask. "Still greedy, I see, Anslo. Lusting after too many things you can't have, things that don't belong to you. Just like the old days." Red turned as best he could to face Anslo. "I suppose, looking like you do, you must be somewhat hungry for it, though. Not many offers these days, hmm?"

The other man stood up from his chair and walked slowly toward Reddington. Anslo took a breath as if to speak, but instead- -and without warning- -he swung a vicious fist into Reddington's abdomen, causing the bound man's feet to lift off the floor, his breath stolen as he hung painfully from his wrists.

After several more blows and a likely broken rib, Anslo backed off slightly.

"As with everything having to do with you, things are more complicated than they appear," he said cryptically. "If I could end this right now and give you the horrifying death you so deserve..."

Reddington's lungs were tight, and his shoulders and wrists were throbbing painfully. Moving, speaking, and breathing caused a lance of pain through his left lower chest. His chip was gone, and the FBI had given him up. The task force had probably already been shut down. "Do it," he rumbled, thinking of the peace death might bring to his already aching body.

"No, Red, you see, I'm not the host of this little surprise party: I'm merely the hired help. My job was to get you to the venue. While I would pay a pretty price to silence you forever, others would pay even more to hear what you have to say."

Mentally, Reddington started running lists of possible candidates for the 'host' of this party while Anslo droned on about the drug currently being injected into Red's right arm.

Anti-anesthesia. Right. Anslo wasn't messing around.

The good news: this meant he was going to stay in one piece. Whoever it was wanted him to remain whole.

At least he was keeping all his bits attached today, and it looked like he wasn't going to bleed too terribly much more. Thank God for small favors.

...:::...

When Liz finally got a call back from Mr. Kaplan, she had made it almost all the way home. She'd left Aram quietly and unofficially looking for any information from the traffic cameras for five blocks in all directions from the Post Office for the hour before the insurgency.

"You're looking for Mr. Kaplan?" a woman's voice said over the phone.

"Yes, I got your name and contact information from Raymond Reddington," Liz lied, speaking quickly. "He's been taken, and I believe his captors mean to torture and kill him." Liz waited, holding her breath.

"Pull over in another half mile. There's a small park with a blue bench-" the woman on the phone continued to give directions for their upcoming clandestine meeting, and Liz just wanted to snap at her that this wasn't the time for these kind of games, but she held her tongue.

Five minutes later found the two women sitting on the bench, mostly hidden from street view by a large, flowering bush.

"I only have one directive," the older woman began. "Keep Mr. Reddington safe. Today, it sounds like locating him is the first step in that endeavor. What do you know?"

"Not much. But I have this," Liz said, producing the pouch she'd pulled from Anslo's man's vest.

...:::...

Reddington clenched his teeth together to keep from making any sound while the blood pressure cuff did its excruciatingly painful job around his bicep. The firm squeeze felt like someone was sawing off his arm. He was drenched in sweat, and no matter how hard he tried to relax, tried to calm down, he could not stop trembling. His muscles quivered and shook, and his breaths came in short, shallow gasps.

"210/145," the man with the blood pressure cuff reported as he stuck a digital thermometer into his ear. Red cringed and shrank away from the lance of pain that felt like his ear drum had just burst. "103.7." Impressive.

"Inject him again," Anslo ordered.

"We're already 12cc over the limit-" the other man protested.

"Then why isn't it working?" Anslo bellowed impatiently.

Red allowed himself a small flare of satisfaction. Anslo wanted him to scream.

That was not going to happen.

"He's...resisting it," came the apologetic explanation. "I could stick him again, but if his heart goes into V-fib, we could lose him," he warned.

Anslo leaned into Red, inspecting the beads of sweat on his brow, and as he got closer he could hear the shuddering breaths that huffed in and out through his nose.

Red, wanting nothing more in that moment than to eviscerate Anslo- -possibly with his bare hands- -did the only other thing that occurred to him as he fought another wave of nausea. Fixing his eyes straight on Anslo's, Red puckered his lips and gave a single, subtle kiss in his direction. Anslo began to laugh, and Red shook slightly harder in a sick parody of his own laughter.

"Stick him again," Anslo said, his voice low and dangerous.

...:::...

Liz had explained how she'd gotten the pouch, and while she was straightforward about the fact that she was an FBI agent, she hadn't gone into any of her motivations for reclaiming Reddington. Liz opened the small, black canvas bag and withdrew the only useful thing in it. A cell phone.

Mr. Kaplan nodded and took it from her, scanning through the contacts list and the recent call log, exactly as she'd done when she first found it.

"Only three numbers in there. Probably all burner phones. Like this one," Liz supplied.

After a quiet moment of continued investigation of the contents of the phone, Mr. Kaplan rose abruptly. "Come with me," she said.

The women walked brusquely to a car parked along the street, half a block away, and Mr. Kaplan handed Liz the keys. "Drive. I need to make a few calls."

...:::...

The man administering the injections lifted one of Red's eyelids and checked his pupil dilation with a small pen light. "I think we're ready here."

"About bloody time," Anslo replied. He stepped forward and landed a sickening punch to Red's gut.

Red's face remained almost serene as he swung from his wrists, his feet off the ground. His eyebrows slightly knit together, as if he were puzzled about something.

Anslo growled, wanting a reaction.

The beatings went on for God know's how long. For Reddington, at least, it seemed like an eternity, when in reality it was probably no more than ten minutes.

As Anslo pulled back for another hit, a guard ran into the room. "We've got company," he told his boss quickly. Anslo ground his teeth a moment before giving a frustrated sigh and following the other man out of the room.

A tall, white haired man passed Anslo in the hall as he left. "How is he?" the older man asked.

"He's ready for you, sir," Anslo said begrudgingly.

Fitch walked into the room and studied the man hanging in front of him, limply sagging from a long length of chain above his head. "All right. That's enough. Let him down." Guards moved to release the chains and another caught Reddington roughly as he pitched forward, his knees buckling under him once the rig above him no longer supported his weight. Through his haze of pain and disorientation, Red noticed a pair of scissors in the vest of the guard who caught him, and discreetly palmed it as he was helped down.

"Come on," Fitch continued, almost impatiently, seeming slightly disgusted with the scene in front of him. "Get him a chair."

As Reddington was eased back into a hard metal folding chair, Fitch gave a sigh and lowered himself onto a similar chair facing him. "I don't understand, Ray. None of this had to happen. I thought we had an arrangement."

"We do," Reddington croaked out, his gaze heavy lidded against the hard lighting. He felt like someone had rubbed chili powder into his eyes.

Fitch shook his head. "Hmm, I don't know. The people I represent...they're nervous. We don't know what to think." Fitch leaned forward slightly, and Red immediately leaned away, turning his body somewhat. He mentally cursed himself for the action, knowing he looked as if he were cowering, but he had little to no control over his body at that point. His protective instincts were on autopilot, and his reactions weren't going to be governable until whatever they'd given him wore off.

"We could've killed you." Red realized Fitch was still talking, and he blinked, trying to follow the thread of his speech. "I don't mean today; I mean any day. I mean every day for the past two decades. But we don't. We know what you have, Ray. And we know what will happen to it if you turn up dead. So we do nothing. We let you live. And in exchange... we trust that our secret remains secret."

"Nothing has changed," Reddington ground out, a slight note of desperation in his voice that he couldn't keep out. A lance of agony shot through his side, and his eye twitched in pain.

"Oh, no, I'd say everything's changed. Everything changed the minute you surrendered to the FBI. Did you think we wouldn't know? Maybe you wanted to change our arrangement. Maybe you thought you could turn yourself in and find some new friends to protect you. Maybe you plan to expose us."

"No," Reddington managed.

"What have you told, Ray?"

"Nothing."

"Then what the hell are you doing here?" Fitch asked harshly.

"My reasons have nothing to do with you." Red's voice was low, and quiet. He shuddered, and winced, but hardened his eyes to look at Fitch again with a degree of earnestness.

"Well, I hope so. I really do. Because I've always liked you, Ray." When Reddington closed his eyes and scoffed, Fitch continued. "You're a pain in my neck, but I like you." Fitch leaned in again. "But just know this. You were walking in the park this morning. We could have taken you then. Instead we dragged you from the safety and security of the bed you're now sharing with new friends. Why would we do a thing like that? To make it abundantly clear... There's nowhere you can go. There's no one you can trust to keep you from us. Hmm?"

Reddington shook as Fitch walked away, silently damning his body for the continued uncontrollable physical response to the drugs.

...:::...

Mr. Kaplan had pulled up the GPS log on the phone, scrolling through the recent location searches. She told Liz as she drove that five of them were innocuous, known addresses in town. The sixth was a remote location, in an industrial neighborhood. "The kind of place I'd find for Mr. Reddington if I didn't want him to be found," she said grimly.

When they pulled up alongside the warehouse, Liz stopped the car and reached for her phone.

"What are you doing?" Mr. Kaplan asked.

"Calling it in. We need back up," Liz explained as if it was obvious.

Mr. Kaplan nodded at a group of men carrying duffel bags who strode into view and stopped near one of the unguarded entrances to the warehouse. "Stay in the car if you know what's good for you," Mr. Kaplan murmured as Liz recognized Dembe, breaking off from the rest of the group. He walked to the driver's side door and nodded his head in the direction of the backseat, indicating Liz should move. She quickly did as she'd been asked, and Dembe slid easily behind the wheel.

"I'm sorry, I still have to call this in," Liz said, dialing the phone. "Your team will have a head start, but if I hide this from the people I work for, I'll be pulled from the task force and I won't be able to help Reddington anym-" Liz broke off as the line was picked up."-Meera? I need to talk to Cooper. Now."

...:::...

Not more than ten minutes later, the head of the team of men who had silently stormed the building on Mr. Kaplan's signal emerged from a loading bay and motioned the car over. Dembe drove the half block and stopped. Liz jumped out immediately. "Is he here?" she asked.

The man shook his head. "We've got evidence of torture, and two dead bodies. Garrick and another man, looked to be a guard at one of the East entrances. Other than that..." He shrugged. "Looks like they cleared out. No sign of Reddington or anyone else in the building now."

Liz's shoulder's sagged, and she turned to Dembe and Mr. Kaplan. "He's going to contact you. You have to let me speak to him," she insisted.

"My orders are to keep him safe. Not give him to you." Mr. Kaplan turned to nod at Dembe, and he pulled quickly away from where Liz stood, the sound of sirens growing louder in the distance.

...:::...

"Tell me, Agent Keen, which part of 'stand down' was unclear to you?" Cooper asked angrily as he strode over to Liz when he arrived at the warehouse. FBI agents swarmed the premises.

"This wasn't my operation," she defended herself. "Fowler may have shut us down, but did you really think Reddington's people weren't going to try to find him themselves?"

"They did this without your involvement?" Cooper asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

"The only reason the FBI is even here right now is because his people trust me enough to involve me. Isn't this what you wanted from me? Wasn't this the objective?"

"I lost a dozen people today, Keen!" Cooper roared.

"I know that, sir, but that's not on you- -that's on the men who did this. Those who took Reddington. The people I'm still trying to track down." Liz waited, hoping she hadn't over-stepped her bounds. When Cooper didn't answer immediately, Liz continued. "No one wants the men who did this more than I do," she promised him.

"Excuse me, Director Cooper?" Aram interrupted. "There's something you need to see," he said, gesturing to a bank of computers across the room.

...:::...

Diane Fowler walked furiously into the Post Office, several hours later. The agents were busy, and work seemed to be going on as usual. "I thought I was clear. This task force is done," she spat at Cooper.

"I think you'll reconsider," Cooper replied.

"Why in God's name would I do that?" Fowler asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Because this isn't just about Reddington anymore. Agent Keen located a surveillance outpost a few miles out of town. Next-gen tech, better than anything we have in the field."

"Surveillance on what?" Fowler asked warily.

"Us," Cooper responded matter-of-factly. "They've been watching this task force for months. Phone taps, communication logs. We're not sure to what extent. We were able to recover very little; the equipment and data were rigged to self-destruct." Cooper paused, and handed the woman in front of him a folder containing pictures of her, outside her home, getting into her car. "Something else you should know: they've been watching you, too."

...:::...

Liz was pacing the floors of her home alone that night, thanking the powers that be for parent-teacher conferences. Her phone rang, and she immediately raised it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Agent Keen."

"Red," Liz said, her voice heavy with relief. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

"Gone." Reddington leaned into the pay phone box, his broken rib causing him to list sideways on the cold street.

"...are you coming back?" Liz asked, holding her breath as she waited for a response.

"There's a mole in your organization. And probably one in mine, too," Reddington replied, not answering her question.

"We know," Liz said. "The task force thinks you have information about whoever was surveilling us. About who took you. Right now our only objective is to find you and bring you in again." Liz paused, pursing her lips. "What should I tell them?"

"I have to go."

"Red, no, please wait..." Liz ran a hand through her hair, desperately glancing around her living room. What could she say to make him stay? "I need you to tell me you're coming back. Tell me this is temporary. And while you're gone, whatever you need to do... I want you to know, wherever you are, whatever you're doing... If you need anything...?" After a long silence on the other end of the line, Liz added softly, "We're not done yet."

"Agent Keen..." Reddington swallowed, his jaw working ineffectually. "Liz."

At the sound of her name, Liz sank down to sit on the edge of the coffee table. She stayed silent, not wanting to interrupt whatever was said next, as if she could scare him away like a skittish animal. Hope blossomed in her chest and took a deep breath.

"I traveled extensively... for my job... I spent time all over the world before and after I left the navy."

Liz bit her lip. Where was he going with this?

Reddington cleared his throat. "I was married. I had a daughter, but... I was not a good husband, for a time. I loved my wife; I'm not-" Reddington stopped abruptly, frowning and glancing down at his feet. "But there were times that I... I'm not proud of it, but I need to know..." Reddington lifted his gaze, staring down the busy street without actually seeing anything. "Do you have evidence that... Are you under the impression..." He shook his head, and frowned down at his feet again. "Am I your father?"

Liz felt as if a huge weight had crushed her chest. He didn't know. He didn't know anything about their past, and all he could see was a girl, young enough to be the product of one of his passing infidelities during a foreign assignment in the 1980s, willing to protect him and seemingly obsessed with him.

She had worried before that he would think she was a school girl with a crush. A silly child, immature enough to have fairy-tale-style, romantic notions about the criminal she studied.

But this was worse. Whatever her feelings for Reddington were- -feelings she hadn't even fully figured out herself, especially in the wake of the recent information regarding her marriage and the identity of her husband- -they certainly were not of a familial nature.

Whatever she might want from Reddington, he saw her as a child. A girl. Not as an equal.

As a daughter.

If she'd been placed in that role in his head, he'd never look at her with anything other than, at best, a protective, fatherly concern.

Liz realized she hadn't responded yet, and she swallowed, hoping to control her voice to a degree that her heartbreak wouldn't be betrayed.

"No."

She cringed as she forced down what felt like a silent, dry sob. "Red... please be careful out there," she managed, her voice low and hollow.

The line went dead, and Reddington stared at the phone in his hand. Clenching his jaw, he replaced the receiver and pulled the collar of his jacket up around his head, disappearing easily into the packed city street foot traffic around him.

...:::...

TBC.

Sorry about the delay on this chapter! I'm amazed at how many reviewers thought I'd be evil enough to actually kill Dembe.

GUYS. Dembe is safe. No plans to kill off one of my favorite characters. Rest easy.

Might be another minute before I can get the next chapter up! I'm in the process of moving across the US, and selling a house, and job hunting... It's a whole thing. So I'm busy. :)

Reviews make me grin, and I promise I'll get to the next chapter as fast as possible!