*MY* Reddington?

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

Author's Note: Yep. I skipped The Cyprus Agency almost entirely. And I don't even feel bad about it. (Okay, I used one scene. But that's it.)

…:::…

Chapter 13: Madeline Pratt Part 1

…:::…

"The box in Istanbul," Dembe said without pre-amble as he walked into the room.

Reddington looked up from his recliner, the thin acupuncture needles on his face waving slightly with the movement. "Hmm?"

"It's been cleared out," Dembe continued, handing his boss an envelope. "This was left behind."

Reddington sighed. "I was just starting to feel the endorphins vibrating in my spleen…" He opened the envelope carefully, and read the message scrawled in an elegant hand: Windsor Lounge, 8pm. –M

"How's our team doing?" Reddington asked, changing the subject as he replaced the note in its envelope. "Sifting through the trash?"

"They think they've found an RFP that might be useful. It's not completely reconstructed yet."

Reddington nodded and closed his eyes again, leaning his head back in the chair. "Let me know when it is."

…:::…

Madeline Pratt stepped off the elevator and crossed the lobby to join Reddington, choosing a stool two places away from him at the almost empty but very exclusive hotel bar she'd indicated in her note. She was fifteen minutes late, which bothered him almost as much as the fact that she'd stolen from him, but not nearly as much as the smug smile she wore as she sat down.

"The key to the box," he said, his voice low and straight to the point. "How did you get it?"

"Macau… last winter." Her smug smile grew larger.

"I've always hated Macau," Reddington said with a sigh, gazing down into his drink. "The documents in the box are worth over ten million," he pointed out, somewhat needlessly. She knew exactly how much they were worth.

"You stood me up in Florence," she explained. "I had to get your attention somehow."

This managed to dissipate the last of Reddington's anger quite quickly. If she had just taken the money, retribution would have been necessary. But hell hath no fury like Madeline Pratt scorned, and if this was all payback for Florence there was a not-so-small part of him that understood her stunt in Istanbul. Could even see that it was, in some ways, justified.

And she was always so much fun to spar with. Why make an enemy over the latest move in a chess game that had been going on for years? And was most likely far from over? Reddington raised an eyebrow at her, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

Seeing that he'd forgiven her—or at least as much as he was going to—Madeline reached across the stools between them and picked up his tumbler of scotch to take a sip. Returning his glass to the bar in front of him, she smiled suggestively and continued, "I have a proposition."

"In that case—" Reddington stood, placed money on the bar, and downed the remainder of his drink in one swallow. "—perhaps I should follow you back up to your room."

"Just like that?" Madeline asked lightly, still smiling. "You're not even going to offer to buy me a drink first?"

"If memory serves," Reddington murmured, stepping closer to her, "we don't need alcohol to have a good time. Or to talk business."

"Mmmm…" Madeline leaned toward him, looking up at him through her lashes. "And which is it you're expecting upstairs in my room? Business? Or 'a good time'?"

Reddington returned her suggestive smile. "Maddie… we both know those two things have never been mutually exclusive with us."

…:::…

"So whose house is this?" Liz asked early the next morning, taking a seat in what looked to be a very old, very expensive chair.

"A hedge fund manager. He's been on vacation ever since the SEC started its investigation. Years ago I helped him track down his birth parents, and he's owed me a favor ever since."

Birth parents. Liz nodded, hoping her next sentence wasn't too presumptuous. She didn't know if their relationship had progressed to the point that she could discuss truly personal matters with Reddington, but there was simply no one else she could talk to about Tom. She decided to test the waters. "Tom wants to start discussing adoption again."

Reddington tilted his head, silence reigning for a moment before he replied carefully, "Are you comfortable going ahead with that discussion?"

"No. I have to tell him I'm not ready. We're not ready." Liz sighed, frustrated. "I feel like I'm going through all of the turmoil and emotional hardship of a divorce, but without the reward and relief of space. Mentally, emotionally, I'm already gone, but every morning we get up and make coffee together. He still puts his arms around me at night, and it's getting harder to—" Liz broke off and took a steadying breath. She might be able to confide in Reddington to a certain point, but she'd already said more than she'd intended to. "I can continue to live with him, to pretend to be his wife, but… to discuss—to plan—to have a child with him?" She shook her head. "I'm a decent actress, but he'll see through that. I can't fake that."

"You've done a fine job of it so far…? And you don't have to actually go through with it. You just need to talk about starting the process again. These things take months—years—and there's very little chance that—"

"I never wanted a child in the first place," Liz admitted.

Reddington looked at her curiously. "Never?"

Liz shook her head. "I like kids. I love playing with them, I think they're cute. I'm good with them. They like me." She shrugged. "But you can enjoy watching basketball and not enjoy playing it. You can love dogs, but be self-aware enough to realize that a puppy doesn't fit with your lifestyle and career." Liz looked at Reddington, meeting his gaze. "I love kids. I just don't think I need to have one myself."

Reddington stared at her a long moment before looking away, nodding thoughtfully. "You were willing to adopt one to please your husband six months ago."

Liz sighed. "A lot has changed in the last six months: work, my feelings for…" Liz faltered before continuing, "…my husband…" She looked down at her hands, folded in front of her. "Tom isn't real; my husband is a fictional character designed to infiltrate my life for the express purpose, apparently, of gleaning information about you."

"And why is that?" Reddington asked, frowning. "Why would someone be placed specifically with you, a woman who has never met me, in order to learn more about their target?" Reddington shifted in his seat, turning his body toward Liz. "Why you?"

"I'm the FBI's leading expert on you, I've written papers and given presentations, helped track you internationally, over several years—"

"We both know there's more to it than that, and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop lying to me."

Liz looked up at Red sharply. "I've never lied to you," she said earnestly. "But I can't…tell you what you want to know right now. The safest place for you right now is working with me, and I think the safest place for me right now is working with you." Liz's face was pained, and she shook her head regretfully. "But I can't give you all of the information why just yet."

"Why not?" Reddington asked, his voice low.

Liz bit her lip and looked away from where Reddington sat. Her eyes lit on a painting of a young woman at a piano on the opposite wall. "That's an ugly painting," she said bluntly.

Reddington followed her gaze. "Yes, she's breathtakingly unattractive, isn't she?" he agreed. "But she's worth over forty million—the only Vermeer in private hands. A few hours ago, I got up for a scoop of orange sherbet and she caught my eye. I just stood here in the dark squinting at her. Poor thing ruined my appetite."

Liz gave a small mental sigh of relief, glad her refusal to share information hadn't completely soured his sense of humor. "And just imagine what kind of hideous music she must be making…?" she said, playing along.

Reddington seemed almost surprised, but mostly pleased, at her response, and rewarded Liz with an actual smile, which she gladly returned.

"So," she said, sitting forward. "Why did you call me here?"

"Madeline Pratt," Reddington answered, switching topics easily.

Liz's stomach dropped at the name. She knew who Madeline Pratt was, and she was familiar with the history she had with Reddington. Her own marriage was in tatters, and he wanted to discuss one of his past paramours? This was not what she needed right now… but she couldn't let Reddington know that. "Madeline Pratt is a thief," she said, her voice flat.

The fond smile that graced Reddington's face made Liz want to cringe, but she clenched her jaw and stayed silent.

"That she is. And also a woman of… singular talents." His affectionate smile didn't fade, and Liz shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"And now you want something of hers and you expect the FBI to help you get it," Liz guessed, her tone harsher than she meant to allow. "How do we find her?"

"Oh, finding Maddie is easy. Catching her is difficult. Luckily, last night she asked me to help her plan a heist."

Last night?

"To steal what?" Liz asked stiffly.

As Reddington explained the history of the Effigy of Astarte and what the funny little statue was thought to contain, Liz mentally ran through what she knew of Madeline Pratt. Attractive woman in her forties, blonde in recent years, though she'd been brunette during her most famous work twenty years ago in England. To the rest of the world, she was a politically active, influential, decent citizen, but Liz knew she was a seductress whose talents lay in fostering relationships with incredibly powerful people. Powerful people whom she then exploited, usually in ways that impacted national security.

She was sure Reddington understood that Madeline only set her sights on him due to his standing in the criminal underworld. He had to know she was only interested in the ways she could use him.

Liz cringed. Poor choice of words.

"Oh, don't look so distressed." Reddington's voice broke through her reverie, and Liz looked up at him. "I'm sure you'll do just fine. We have a meeting with her this afternoon. Don't wear a suit."

"We have a meeting?" she repeated, trying to piece together what she'd missed without admitting she hadn't been paying attention. "Just you and me and Madeline Pratt? No. I need to bring you in to the office—you need to explain this to the team first—"

"There's no time for that, and besides, if she's too high profile to pull this off herself, then I certainly am too." Reddington looked seriously at Liz. "And you're the only member of the FBI that I trust at the moment." He pursed his lips suddenly, and rolled his eyes. "Well, and Aram, but we both know that if we sent that poor fellow undercover into the secure wing of the Syrian embrassy to steal something he'd bumble his way into an international incident in all of sixty seconds."

He wanted her to steal the effigy from inside the Syrian embassy? Liz vowed to pay more attention during his monologues from now on.

"I need you to brief the team," Liz insisted.

Reddington looked up as Dembe entered the room and paused just inside the doorway to announce cryptically, "The papers. They're finished. We've got something." Reddington nodded, and Dembe withdrew.

"Well, it looks like you're going to have to pass on all of this information yourself. Another matter has just come up that demands my attention for the next few hours." Reddington pushed off from his position against the table, and held an arm out toward the door, indicating it was time for Liz to leave, too.

"Cooper's going to want to know—"

Reddington interrupted her. "I am not setting foot in the Post Office again until I am satisfied the mole has been found, Agent Keen," he said sternly.

Liz remained in her seat, still refusing to stand. She looked up at Red for a long moment before giving in and rising to her feet. "You call her Maddie," she said pointedly.

"Yes, because it bothers her," Reddington replied lightly, again raising his arm to usher Liz out of the room. "After you, Agent Keen."

…:::…

Liz described the basics to Cooper, who voiced his vehement dislike of the entire situation. The two spent the better part of ten minutes arguing about the dangers of letting Liz loose on foreign soil to steal a cultural antique. Without back-up. Cooper made it clear that if she were to do this and something went wrong, the FBI would not be able to protect her.

"I can do this," Liz said firmly, looking Cooper in the eye.

"You're an analyst. A profiler," Cooper replied half-heartedly, realizing he'd already lost.

"Yes. And I can do this," Liz repeated.

Cooper sighed. "Alright." Liz rose and turned toward the door. "Agent Keen?" Cooper stopped her before she left. "Send Agent Malik in, please."

"I'm sorry sir, but I don't think she's in yet. Aram and Ressler both said they hadn't seen her today," Liz replied before she excused herself.

…:::…

As it turned out, Meera was not at work yet due to detainment by Reddington and his team, who had picked her up shortly after Liz had left Reddington's safe house that morning. After several hours with one of his best interrogators, who insisted she was clean, Reddington finally entered the room where she was being held and sat down in a chair across from her.

"Let's talk."

"Already did," Meera replied shortly.

"Yes, but now that you've been vetted by Mr. Brimley I'm more inclined to listen." Reddington paused, offering the chance to speak, but the woman in front of him remained silent, so he continued instead. "To get into the blacksite so quickly, Garrick had to have the site layout in advance. Which you gave to him."

"No."

"I have an RFP we recovered and restored from the trash of a government contractor, signed by Meera Malik. You leaked classified data in the name of improving security."

"No. I was authorized to start the bidding process," she replied evenly.

"Authorized by whom?" No response. "Authorized by whom, Agent Malik? Someone on the inside betrayed both of us. Colleagues of yours were killed. We both want the same thing. Give me the name of who authorized this."

Meera stared at Reddington for a long moment, weighing her options. "Diane Fowler," she said finally.

…:::…

Late that afternoon, Reddington had picked Liz up and with Dembe they'd driven to a large, lavish home to meet Madeline Pratt. Liz wondered if this house, like Reddington's current residence, was 'borrowed' from someone else, or whether it was actually hers. She didn't think it would be appropriate to ask.

"I need to know about you; how you respond under pressure." Madeline eyed Liz with a calculating look. "This is an embassy. Security, cameras, armed guards everywhere. One mistake, and you go to prison."

"Nicole here is as calm as a Hindu cow," Reddington interjected from across the room. "Tell her that story," he suggested, turning his gaze to Liz. "Tell her about Frank."

"Who's Frank?" Madeline asked, immediately curious.

Liz made a mental note to exact revenge on Red at some point when an opportunity presented itself. He could have warned her she'd be auditioning with stories of her imaginary exploits. "Big, blonde, private security. He was the one who… introduced me to Red." Liz shot Reddington a steady look before continuing. "Not that he was aware he was doing anything of the sort at the time."

"I don't understand," Madeline said, her eyes narrowed.

Liz shrugged. "I'd heard about Raymond Reddington. I wanted to work with him. There was a particular job… I was having a problem with a guy named Tom, and I thought Red could help me. But you know how he is, with his security…" Liz stopped to turn in her chair and shoot a disapproving look at Dembe, who was waiting silently and patiently in the corner of the room. "It's impossible to get anywhere near him most of the time. So this particular night he had Frank with him…" Liz trailed off.

"What did you—?"

"I seduced him. You know how it is—you hitch your skirt a little too high, smudge your eyeliner, and unbutton two extra buttons on your shirt… if you're wearing the right bra, suddenly you look the part. While Red was in the back having—" Liz waved one hand dismissively, "—whatever meeting he was having… Frank and I had several drinks. I pretended to chase each shot with a sip of beer, but was really just using the empty beer bottle to spit the hard alcohol back into. Meanwhile I'd been slipping something into each one of his shots. After about twenty minutes, I got Frank into the alley outside the tavern… he pushed me up against the side of the building…" Liz paused for dramatic effect. "…and one right hook dropped him like a sack of potatoes."

"Where was Red during all of this?" Madeline asked.

"I had just enough time to make myself look a bit more presentable and break into his car by the time he came back out to the street, searching for Frank. I pulled up and offered him a ride in his own car."

"What happened to Frank?"

Liz turned to look pointedly at Dembe, then back at Madeline, her eyebrows raised as if to say, 'Frank obviously doesn't work for him anymore.'

Madeline gave Liz a cautious look. "And Tom? Did Red help you solve that… problem?"

Liz sighed, worried that she wouldn't be able to keep up the smoothness of her lies. She rolled her eyes and stood. "I didn't come here to audition," she said, flinging her sour attitude in Reddington's direction, as if she were irritated that he'd misrepresented the meeting and the potential job. She spun on her heels and headed toward the door.

"Wait. The job. It's yours." Madeline stood, and Reddington fought to keep from smiling. Desperate people on a short timetable were so easy to manipulate.

"I don't want the job." Liz turned briefly and tossed a cell phone at Madeline. "Call someone who does."

"How did you get my phone—? Wait—what if I paid you double?"

Without responding, Liz slowly walked back into view around the edge of the doorway, a small smile playing on her lips.

Reddington clapped his hands in delight. "See, this is what I love about the two of you. Headstrong, yet vulnerable. Confident, but cautious. I think you're going to get along great."

…:::…

After running through the details of how Liz was going to access the secure wing once she'd gotten into the embassy, Liz was given the extra task of lifting and cloning a badge from an embassy official who could always be counted on to take a coffee break at the food truck outside the building at three in the afternoon. The schedule for the following day and the tech were reviewed at length, and Liz and Reddington left just as it was getting dark. Dembe dropped Liz off back at the Post Office where she'd left her car.

Once the backseat door had thumped closed behind her and her shadow disappeared into the parking structure, Dembe looked at Reddington in the rearview mirror. "Back to the house?" he asked.

"No. We have another stop first."

…:::…

Reddington was waiting in Diane Fowler's living room when she returned from work. She dropped her purse and keys on the console table on the far side of the room and advanced halfway toward Reddington, stopping short to ask sharply, "What the hell are you doing in my house?"

"I know, Diane." Reddington folded the newspaper he'd been reading in his lap, and revealed the gun he had in one hand. He trained it at the woman in front of him.

"You know what?"

"You signed a directive ordering a mandatory security upgrade at the Post Office. It's how you got the blueprints into enemy hands. You're the dirty rat, Diane. Sit your ass down." He waved his gun vaguely in the direction of an armchair across from his.

Diane took a seat, sneering at Reddington. "You stupid son of a bitch. I signed that directive for your protection."

Reddington chuckled, shaking his head, and Diane continued, her voice hardening at the disrespect she was shown. "And if you think Fitch or any of his people are going to let you get away with this, you're more arrogant than I thought. We came into the Post Office to make a point. If you come after me—if you so much as lay a finger on me—"

"You talk too much," Reddington interrupted, squeezing the trigger once.

The woman across from him jolted back in her chair, a look of disbelief on her face. "You can't shoot me!" she exclaimed haughtily, which Reddington found more than a touch amusing, since he already had.

"Why not? You're not one of the good guys. And as of today, you're utterly useless to the bad guys. Fitch and I have an agreement. He goes about his business. I go about mine. You and I don't have an agreement."

"I know the truth, Red…" Diane gasped. "About that night… about what happened to your family… Do you want to know the truth?"

Reddington's smug expression slid slowly from his face. He stared at the older woman, desperately trying to resist the temptation before him. "More than anything in the world," he admitted quietly. "But if you know the truth, Diane, then somebody else does, too. And I'm beginning to suspect I've found someone who—if she doesn't know already—might be a great help in tracking down whoever else does. Which means I have no further use for you."

...:::…

TBC.