*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: This chapter got HUGE. Mostly because I needed basic stuff to happen, and I was COMPLETELY UNWILLING to give up any opportunity to write extra stuff with flirtatious Red and jealous Liz. And yes, there are a few scenes that are completely unchanged from canon storyline, because honestly this is one of my very favorite episodes, and YOU CANNOT IMPROVE UPON CAMPOLONGO'S PERFECTION. So when stuff was already perfect, and still fit into my adjusted version of events, they stayed that way. So this got HUGE and became two parts. This also squares us up with my chapters matching the episode numbers. Not that I think it'll stay that way for long…?

…:::…

Chapter 14: Madeline Pratt Part 2

…:::…

The shower was hotter than she usually liked it, but Liz stood under the spray anyway, finding a strange satisfaction in the slight discomfort. The steam filled the bathroom while she took stock of the situation.

Career-wise, she was an FBI agent, working with a notorious international criminal, and that night she'd be aiding him and one of his colleagues in stealing a valuable artifact from a foreign embassy. She'd broken several laws for this man already, and tonight she was sure she'd end up breaking a few more.

Personally, she was a married woman who—mentally—had already divorced her husband, and couldn't stop thinking about the way Raymond Reddington's mouth moved when he talked.

And—just to cover everything, as long as she was being honest with herself—if she went back a few years, she was technically a US citizen, named Elizabeth Keen… but only because Sam had known the right people in order to falsify documentation and create a legitimate alias for her when she'd come to the United States. She was angry that her husband had lied to her, and had worked his way into her life using a fake name and supplying her with a completely fabricated background for himself. But she couldn't say what she'd done was really any different.

Her life was a hot mess.

Hence the appropriate temperature of the water.

"Hey, what're you doing in here? Liz? You've been in the shower for a half hour. Are you not going in to work today?" Tom's voice floated into the shower from where he stood in the doorway.

"No—I mean, yes, I am. Going in to work." Liz fumbled to turn off the water, kicking herself for letting the time get away from her so badly. She grabbed a towel and stepped out of the shower quickly. Tom followed her out into the bedroom.

"Hey, you know, I was thinking about it, and… I don't want to fight with you. But that seems like all we've been doing lately. I'm sorry I said what I did the other day… when we found out Brian and Katie are pregnant again?" Tom shook his head and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Liz as she pulled clothes from the closet. "It's just hard. Especially when you seem to be dragging your heels about starting up the adoption process again."

"Tom, I'm sorry, but I lost track of time this morning, and I'm running late…" Liz tossed a pair of shoes at the foot of the bed and crossed to her dresser for socks. "I don't have time to start the baby talk agai—"

"No, no, that's not what I—" Tom stopped, and stood up, blocking Liz's path through the room. He stilled her movements with his hands on her shoulders, and drew her in for a hug. "I don't want to talk about it if it's going to make you uncomfortable or angry. I don't want to fight. Let's just… strip away all the other stuff and just get back to us, you know? I've got this teacher conference in Orlando this weekend, and I was thinking you should come with me. Just sunshine and beaches and… get away from all this." Tom ran his hands down Liz's back in a way she used to find comforting. "Hmm?"

"Um, Orlando's landlocked," Liz replied before she'd thought about the quality of her answer. "I'm pretty sure there aren't any beaches—"

Tom sighed and dropped his hands. He stepped away from her, exasperated, and put his hands on his hips. "Well, I guess this is why I don't teach geography. I just think we could use a vacation, Liz. Just you and me?" Tom said, an entreating tone in his voice. When Liz said nothing, he turned to leave. "Okay. Just… do me a favor? And think about it?"

…:::…

The following day, the cloning of the access badge went off without a hitch, and the badge was back on the unsuspecting embassy official before he made it back into the building. Aram, Ressler, Meera, and Liz all returned to the Post Office for a final briefing before Liz split off on her unofficially sanctioned mission to the embassy.

Liz was surprised to find Reddington and Dembe already at the black site when they arrived. The pair had obviously just gotten there themselves, because Cooper was walking toward the whole group with purpose. "Ressler, Malik, Keen—and you—" he glared at Reddington, "—in my office. Now."

As soon as the door was shut, Cooper stepped up to Reddington. "Diane Fowler. Where is she?"

"I have no idea," Reddington said smoothly. He enjoyed plausible deniability, and after calling Mr. Kaplan the night before, he could honestly say he didn't know the location of Diane Fowler's body at this time.

"You expect me to believe that you walk in here after she vanishes and there's no connection?"

"Has Diane gone missing?" Reddington asked innocently.

Liz could tell Red had been involved. He was only this snarky when he knew he'd won already, and there was nothing anyone could do to reverse the outcome. Her eyes darted to Ressler, whose face bore his usual slightly constipated expression, and then to Meera, whose poker face was legendary.

"Hmm." Reddington continued. "Perhaps you should ask Agent Malik. She works for the woman, doesn't she?"

Liz looked back at Meera as the other woman denied having had recent contact. While Meera's expression gave nothing away, Reddington's choice to point the finger at her made Liz believe that the two of them had worked together on this, she knew much more than she was volunteering, and he was enjoying needling her about it.

"You made it clear. You thought we had a mole. And you wouldn't set foot inside this facility until that mole was captured or dead." Cooper's voice was quiet and serious. He stepped closer to Reddington, attempting to use the considerable height difference in his favor.

Reddington, accustomed to being shorter than the bodyguards of those he dealt with, had ceased to find height intimidating years ago, and chose to reply with a derisive, "Who chose this paneling?" as he studied the dark wood of Cooper's office walls.

"You told Agent Keen that you wouldn't come in until the mole had been caught," Cooper repeated.

Reddington cut his eyes to Liz, who clenched her teeth as she held his gaze. She suddenly felt like she'd tattled on a friend to the principle.

"You said our house wasn't clean," Cooper continued. "Is it?"

"I suppose you'll have to ask Diane Fowler… when you find her," Reddington replied. Liz breathed out and looked at the floor. She mentally crossed her fingers that Cooper wouldn't do something drastic in response to Reddington thumbing his nose at him like this.

"When we find out what's happened to her—and we will find out—if you had anything to do with it, you're gonna spend the rest of your life in a box. Understood?"

Reddington smiled blandly up at the man in front of him and stepped pointedly to one side, moving around him toward Liz. "I'd like to review a few more details about tonight, if you wouldn't mind, Agent Keen. And we need to get you ready for this party, now, don't we?" Reddington took Liz's hand and wound it under his arm, tilting his head toward her conspiratorially as he steered her toward the door, without so much as a 'goodbye' or even a backward glance at Cooper. "You smell nice," he said, still within earshot as they crossed the threshold out into the hallway. "Something new?"

After a few yards, Liz shook her head in admonishment, but didn't attempt to extricate her hand from the crook of his elbow. "You shouldn't be so blatant about things like murder. Cooper's furious."

Reddington gave a sharp laugh. "Who said anything about murder? I just thought an old woman was missing," he said evasively.

"Red—"

"And Cooper will mellow right out when we hand over the contents of the effigy to him," Reddington continued.

"You shouldn't have pointed your finger so obviously at Meera, either," Liz interrupted, not finished with her scolding.

Red stopped in the hall and turned to face Liz, dropping her hand. She immediately regretted pushing him. "You don't know the route I took and things I learned while hunting your mole," he said seriously. "If you did, you might not be so quick to defend your colleague."

"Then tell me what you found out," Liz shot back.

"Tit for tat, Agent Keen. I've asked several times for information regarding Brussels."

Liz anxiously glanced down the hallway, checking for anyone who might over hear them. She dropped her voice to a harsh whisper. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't bring that up while I'm at work," she hissed. She took a step back from Reddington, looking disappointed that he was willing to risk her exposure like that. "And I did it because I owed you a debt," she said with quiet frustration, turning to stride quickly away from him, leaving him in the hall alone.

…:::…

Hours later, as Liz was getting dressed, she wished she'd chosen a different dress. She had to stop by Reddington's safe house before going to the embassy, as Dembe was acting as her chauffeur that night, and she knew she'd see Red. A black dress. Or dark blue. Even an emerald green would be less ostentatious than the bright red of the gown she was currently wearing as she gave herself one last check in the mirror before heading out.

When attempting a clandestine operation with no back up, one should probably wear something that doesn't call attention to oneself. Liz sighed. Not to mention the fact that she was basically wearing his name. She might as well make a t-shirt with his face screen printed on the front of it.

Shaking that last hyperbolic thought from her head, she locked the front door behind her and walked to her car. Surely he was used to his nickname being a color? He couldn't possibly go through life trying to read meaning into every appearance of the color red on a daily basis? That would be exhausting, not to mention fruitless, as the vast majority of times it would be a complete coincidence.

Liz was still ruminating on the shade of her gown and what that particular choice said about her subconscious when she was led into a sitting room by Dembe and told to wait there.

"We have a problem." Reddington's raised voice startled her as it carried into the room from somewhere upstairs. "I had my people run background on the guest list for tonight's event. The file's on the ottoman if you'd like to look, but the long and the short of it is that Rasil Kalif—a notorious playboy and cultural attaché for the Syrian embassy—will be in attendance tonight. Apparently Madeline has been seeing him for some time."

If a jealous Red was looking for sympathy because Madeline had a date to tonight's event that wasn't him, Liz mentally vowed she'd stab him with something. "Why is that a problem?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Cultural attaché is a cover. Truth is he's the one who hired Maddie to steal the effigy. And right about now, she's walking into the embassy as his date."

Liz frowned at her reflection in a large, ornate mirror on the wall above the fireplace. "What? You said her profile was too high and she wasn't going?"

"Well, she is."

"So she hired us as a distraction—to serve as the patsy while she steals it herself?" Liz saw something move in the mirror, and turned to see who was behind her.

Reddington. In a tux.

One more thing she didn't need right now.

"Wow," he said, his eyes sweeping her up and down. "And I like your clutch."

Liz swallowed. Even if Reddington ignored every other instance of the color red in his day to day life, she suddenly felt like he saw right through her choice in evening wear tonight. He'd avoided any comment on her dress, hair, or physical form and instead chose to single out her least cohesive and most impersonal accessory. Based on his face as he looked at her a moment ago, he obviously had opinions about the way she looked, but was limiting his comments for professional reasons.

Words failed her when it occurred to her that she should compliment him back, and instead she asked, confused, "What are you wearing?"

"A tuxedo," he answered glibly. "I'm your plus one."

Liz shook her head and took a few steps forward. "You can't get into that embassy," she warned, worried that if he tried, tonight would be the last she ever saw of him.

"Oh yes, I can. Some of my best friends are Syrian."

"You act like this is a joke. Red, you were the one who explained to me—at length—the security measures in place over the embassy. I'm going onto foreign soil to steal a priceless artifact with no backup."

"You have me." Reddington smiled and closed the distance between them to stand in front of her. "Apparently in the past I did something which warranted you saving my life as repayment. Let's just say I like being owed by resourceful people like you, and maybe tonight I'll be able to put a little red back in your ledger where it pertains to me."

…:::…

Liz wished she could take the time to enjoy the second time in less than twelve hours that she was able to take Reddington's arm. But as they exited the car and made their way through security at the embassy, her attention was on her surroundings. She spotted Madeline across the dance floor as they descended the staircase into the main ballroom. "There she is. Think she beat us to it?" she murmured under her breath.

"Stay on task," Reddington gently reminded her.

"And I meant to tell you in the car… if anyone hears you call me Agent Keen tonight, alarm bells are going to sound. So now you have to switch to my first name."

Reddington nodded seriously. "Would that be your birth name, the one you go by now, the one I gave to Maddie as your alias, or the other alias she put on the event guest list for you tonight?"

Liz opened her mouth to retort, but Red simply raised his eyebrows as a waltz began to play, and asked, "Shall we?" Without waiting for her response, he swept her gracefully onto the floor and began moving them steadily down the length of the room. "We have three minutes to access the security door." He nodded slightly in the direction of the door, over Liz's shoulder. "And I know this must be difficult for you… but we can't both lead."

Reddington's mouth quirked up in a smile, which Liz suddenly found herself relaxed enough to return. "You could have warned me that I'd have to sing for my supper yesterday in the meeting with Madeline," she chided gently. "Some advanced notice that I'd need a story would have been nice."

"I thought you did a marvelous job," Reddington said. "You painted a very vivid picture." He smiled, and adjusted their direction toward the door again. "Made me quite sad none of it was true, actually."

Liz drew in a breath, unsure how to respond, and Reddington's smile grew slightly. His eyes cut to his left briefly, and he murmured, "Twenty feet behind you, your five o'clock. Here's your distraction; good luck." And with that, he spun her back into a waiter with a tray full of drinks, which crashed to the floor with a spectacular amount of noise, splashing the contents down the dress of an unsuspecting nearby victim. Liz ducked quickly behind a pillar and made her way to the security door, palming the access card out of her purse as she walked, and barely stopping as she swiped open the door and snuck through it.

Reddington backed away immediately, a slight frown on his face, wiping at nonexistent drops of liquid on his tuxedo jacket, as if he'd been one of the unfortunate souls on the receiving end of the waiter's clumsiness. He quietly made his way through the crowd until he found Madeline.

On the way to the embassy, Reddington and Liz had discussed the fact that there was a good chance that they were being set up tonight, a set of patsies to be blamed for the disappearance of the effigy. Both had agreed, however, to continue with the plan as Maddie had outlined it, hoping at best that they were wrong about her plans, and at worst hoping to outwit her on the ground, since there would be two of them and only one of her.

"Mind if I cut in?" Reddington asked, stealing Madeline away from her dance partner and into his arms without waiting for permission. "What are you doing here, Madeline?" he asked, holding her significantly closer than he'd held Liz a moment before.

Madeline smirked at him. "What are you doing here, Red?" she responded.

"I came to watch you." Reddington spun her out and held her at arms length, taking a moment to look her up and down.

As expected, Madeline basked in the adoration and took the opportunity to practically strut around him, trailing one hand across the back of his shoulders as she went. "Voyeurism, Red? I didn't know you were into that."

"One of the things that has made me so successful in my line of work over the years is that I dabble in just about everything." Reddington wound her back into his arms, tilting his head as if considering something. "My plane is fifteen minutes from here. We could be in Tegucigalpa by breakfast, and pick up right where we left off two nights ago."

"The girl. Tell me more about her." Madeline moved one hand up to lightly stroke the back of his neck.

Reddington smiled. She was either jealous, or fishing for information regarding tonight's operation. He was pleased either way. "What would you like to know?"

"Why did you pick her?"

With a low chuckle, Reddington responded, "Weren't you listening to her story, Maddie? She picked me."

"And why did she pick you?" Madeline pressed.

Reddington spun her out again before replying, "Fate."

"She's a little young for you." The older woman gave her opinion while still at arms length, and Reddington made a show of looking slightly hurt at the implication that he was, by comparison, old.

"You think?" he asked, pulling her back in. He spun her around again, so he was pressed against her back, her arms held crossed in front of her.

"Last summer," she murmured, turning her head to the left to speak over her shoulder, "what happened in Florence? What happened to you?"

Reddington dropped his mouth to her shoulder and brushed his lips along her skin, saying nothing.

"You left me alone," Madeline pressed, her voice more insistent, despite her unwavering smug smile. "I deserve an explanation."

"I was serious about Tegucigalpa," Reddington's voice was low and deep in her ear, his face buried in her hair. "What do you think? Right now."

"What happened... in Florence…?" Madeline drew out the words, barely louder than a whisper.

Suddenly, alarms began to sound, and Madeline was wrenched from Reddington's arms by Rasil, who seemed to appear out of nowhere. "Come! I need to get you to the safe room," he said, dragging her away. She threw a satisfied smile over her shoulder at Reddington.

…:::…

Liz had had no trouble getting down to the safe she'd been directed to, which made her nervous, and she'd had no trouble breaking into the safe, which served to double her suspicions. By the time she opened the empty safe and the alarms began to sound, she wasn't even surprised.

She was taken at gun point to a large room in the basement with concrete walls, an unfinished ceiling, and a drain in the middle of a tiled floor. Drains were never a good sign, since they were usually there to provide a quick way to hose down blood or other body fluids if the detainee's questioning involved torture.

She'd been handcuffed, and planted roughly in a chair. A single guard with an automatic weapon stayed with her.

After less than five minutes, Reddington walked through the door like he owned the place. He headed straight for Liz.

"There you are—what the hell happened to you?! You just leave me stranded with that awful Algerian?! He's been hitting on me for twenty minutes!"

"Sir—" The armed guard took a single step forward, his grip tightening on his gun. "—this is a secure area."

"Well, not secure enough if you ask me, sister. You know what? Why don't you ask Rasil? We wouldn't even be here if it weren't for that troublemaker. Always an agenda with him. Cultural attaché—culture my ass." He took another step forward, continuing to advance on the guard as he gestured emphatically at Liz. "The things I do for this one. Gallivanting around the globe for her little assignations with you-know-hmm-hmm; carrying her furs and bikinis—as if I wouldn't rather be back in Duchess County with my shelties." Reddington leaned to the side, bringing his face down level with Liz's, whose own face was a helpless mix of confusion, tension, and admiration. She searched his face for a signal, some clue as to what he wanted her to do. Was she supposed to agree? Chime in? Argue with him? "Hey, don't take anything for granted," he continued, seemingly without taking a breath. "Everything you have was bought and paid for by your boyfriend!" He straightened, and raised his eyebrows at the guard. "Do you have any idea whose horn this tramp is blowing? Let's just say it starts with Bashar and ends with Assad, gassing you faster than a Sunni. So, let's get her out of the hot seat and into a limo—good God! Crumbs up!"

"What?" the guard asked, off-balance and confused.

"Your cummerbund! Pleats up! You look like Bob Yoshimura in eighth grade swing choir. It's upside down!"

Liz stood abruptly as the guard looked down at his clothing, angling in front of him quickly and catching his jaw with a powerful right hook. As the guard went down, Liz took a step back, curling her right hand in to her midsection and doubling over momentarily, lamenting through gritted teeth, "God, that hurts!"

She straightened up quickly, still shaking her right hand, her handcuffs dangling from that wrist. She looked at Reddington with a grimace, and nodded down at the unconscious guard. "What?" she asked, as he stared at her in surprise. "I'd already picked my left cuff, but the right will go a whole lot faster if you can grab the key out of his jacket pocket." Reddington moved to do as requested, kneeling down over the man sprawled on the floor. "Thanks for the distraction, but… what the hell was that?"

Reddington grunted as he stood, the keys in hand. Liz held out her wrist and Reddington freed her of the other handcuff. "I don't know," he admitted, looking somewhat flummoxed himself. "It just felt so right in the moment…"

"Madeline's gone?" Liz assumed.

"And the effigy with her," Reddington confirmed, ushering her toward the door with a hand on the small of her back.

…:::…

Silence reigned in the car as Dembe drove Liz back to the office for a debriefing. She had no idea how she was going to get home, since her car was currently parked at Reddington's safe house, but she figured she'd work something out later.

They pulled up in front of the building, and Liz climbed out of the car. Before she shut the door behind her, she leaned down to look across the back seat at Reddington.

"I didn't get a chance to tell you earlier," she said, giving him a hint of a smile. "But… you wear the hell out of a tux."

Reddington inclined his head toward her, accepting the compliment. "Good night, Agent Keen."

Liz's smile grew, and she insisted softly, "Liz," before shutting the door and heading inside.

…:::…

After reading Liz the riot act for not bringing Reddington in with her—"For all we know, he set this whole thing up so he could get the locations of the bombs, and God only know who he might sell them to!" he'd bellowed—Cooper had allowed her five minutes to change into the spare clothes she kept in her desk. She felt immeasurably more comfortable once she was out of her dress.

"The Syrians know the safe was opened as a distraction, and they're still trying to account for exactly who was in that panic room with the effigy. They're attributing the entire heist to Reddington." Cooper glared at Liz. "You were used, Agent Keen. If not by Reddington, then at the very least by Pratt. I hope you remember this fiasco the next time you get it into your head that you and Reddington are a modern day Bonnie and Clyde. No more field ops." Cooper stormed off in the direction of his office, calling back over his shoulder, "Agent Malik, in my office."

Meera followed Cooper, and Ressler sat down in an empty chair at a neighboring desk. "Anything you need tonight?" he offered stiffly but kindly, obviously attempting damage control after Cooper's scolding.

Liz sighed, and looked over her work station. "Um… yeah, actually. A ride home? My car is… not here."

Ressler nodded. "How much time do you need?"

"I'm ready when you are. This paperwork can wait until tomorrow," Liz said.

Five minutes later, as they were boarding the elevator, Liz's cell rang.

"Hey—you still at work?" Tom asked.

"Yes, but I'm almost—"

"Yeah, that's what I figured." He sighed. "I didn't even bother to buy you a ticket to Orlando, Liz. I asked you to think about it, but I knew you wouldn't. And there's nothing I can do about it, because your job has now become our life."

Anger flared in Liz's chest, and she tried to keep her voice steady, aware that Ressler could hear the entire conversation in the small elevator. "What do you want me to say?" she asked, trying not to grit her teeth in frustration.

"You don't have to say anything. I'm already at the airport. I'm flying out tonight."

"You're already at the—what if I'd said I could go? You just assumed—?" Liz turned away from Ressler, her voice rising.

"Yeah, because it's a pretty safe bet that you're going to stand me up when we make plans these days, Liz. So no, I'm not gonna wait on you. I think some time apart might actually be the best thing for us."

"Tom—" Liz broke off when she heard the line go dead, and she closed her eyes, sighing in frustration as she slid the phone back into her pocket.

There was an uncomfortable pause before Ressler volunteered with gentle sarcasm, "Want me to rough him up for you?"

Liz gave a dejected laugh. "No, thanks, I can fight my own battles. If anyone's going to rough him up, it's gonna be me."

Ressler raised his eyebrows. "Spousal abuse?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow in mock disapproval.

"Is that any better than the assault and battery you just offered?" Liz responded as she stepped off the elevator into the parking garage, the humor fading from her voice.

This needed to be over.

...:::...

Reddington caught up to Madeline on the street the next morning, falling into step with her and linking her arm with his as he asked, as if already in the middle of a conversation, "Tell me about the coordinates."

"What coordinates?" she asked innocently.

"Stop it," he chided. "I had a little talk with Rasil. We had a few laughs, compared a few notes about you. He told me about that delightful thing you do with a trouser belt, which was a bit hurtful, since I was pretty sure that was our thing…" Reddington paused before demanding, his voice deeper and somehow colder, "The coordinates."

"It's over. You were played. Go home," Madeline replied haughtily, then stopped walking to look at Reddington directly. "You really want to know why I brought you into this? Florence. Because you didn't show. Florence was our everything, our way out, a fresh start. But to you, it's all just a job. Tegucigalpa?" she sneered. "Honestly? If I was interested in having an affair, I'd find a man with hair."

Reddington fought the urge to tense up, knowing what was coming. Really, if he was going to volunteer to be tasered, he shouldn't have to put up with insults about his receding hairline as well. He just didn't feel that was fair, in the grand scheme of things.

…:::…

Reddington removed his jacket, hat, and his tie, which probably cost more than Agent Keen's monthly mortgage, he thought idly. After being prepped in a nearby room, smudged with dirt and sprayed with something that looked just like a sheen of sweat, Reddington allowed himself to be dragged into the area where Madeline was being held, and dumped unceremoniously on the floor. He coughed, and winced as he pushed himself up to a sitting position and sagged against the wall. He'd always been a decent actor, but this particular performance, he decided, was going to be easy. He closed his eyes as Madeline hissed his name through the slats between their cells to get his attention, and tried to remember exactly how he'd felt, suspended from the ceiling and injected with that horrendous cocktail of drugs Anslo Garrick had decided was appropriate payback for being shot in the head at close range.

Reddington winced again, and took a shuddering breath.

Madeline sighed, defeated. "There's nothing I can give them at this point," she said with a shrug. "They're not getting the effigy back. It's gone. I've already sold it to the Russians."

The other half of this performance—the verbal portion—was also, unfortunately, going to be easy. The best lies were always 90% truth, after all. "I ran out of gas," Reddington said, his voice hollow.

The non sequitur gave Madeline pause, and she turned her head to peer at him through the horizontal slats between them. "What?" she asked.

"I was…so excited to get home I didn't even bother to look. My head was just…" Reddington stopped, remembering how hard it had been to even swallow, how his throat had burned as if Anslo had forced him to eat hot coals. Reddington's Adams apple bobbed, and he licked his lips, shaking his head. "I ran out of gas," he repeated, staring into the corner of his cell.

Madeline sighed, not in the mood for his eccentricities. "What are you talking about?"

"It was Christmas Eve. I… pulled off to the side of the road." Reddington let his voice drop into a comfortable register, enjoying the memory of how still and peaceful it had been that evening in the snow. Despite everything else that had happened on December 24th, 1990, he could still remember and appreciate the beauty of the snowfall that night. "Seemed like it'd been snowing for days," he continued. "No traffic. No cars to come help. Just me and a car full of gifts." His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper as he did the math. "It was… more than twenty years ago."

Reddington shifted slightly against the wall, frowning. He could tell he had Madeline's attention at this point. He steadfastly maintained his line of sight on the floor of his cell, his eyes downcast, but he could feel her watching him intently. "I must have walked four miles, five maybe. It was so still. Just cold and white. The whole time, all I could think about was them in our house." He adjusted his voice, allowing fond memories of dinners he hadn't missed to creep in and color his tone with real affection and nostalgia. "The warm light in the windows, the smoke from the chimney."

Reddington paused, picturing blonde curls and a dazzling smile sitting on the piano bench in their living room, feet dangling in the air as she swung her little legs that didn't even come close to reaching the pedals yet. "The sound of my daughter at the piano," he managed. His heart had started to hammer in his chest, and he clamped down on a flash of Diane Fowler, bleeding in her own living room, trying to barter for his mercy with information. "The smell of the tree and the fire, oyster stew on the stove." Reddington pushed forward, concentrating on his story. "I was so upset to think that I'd ruined Christmas for them, being late, leaving the gifts in the car. But the closer I got, the more I realized how… funny the whole thing was, how much they'd love the story, daddy running out of gas—how every Christmas they'd get such joy from telling that story at my expense." He allowed himself a brief, miserable smile, remembering the wonderful times he'd spent with his wife and daughter, before his traitorous mind inevitably skipped to the other women in other places around the world. His stomach twisted, the infidelities settling heavy in his gut. Just as well. His story was going to turn dark right about now anyway. Reddington didn't bother to check his emotions, and allowed his self-loathing and heartache to show on his face. No one was around to witness this but Madeline, and he would be sure to smirk enough later that she'd doubt everything he was saying right now.

"And then, finally… I got there. I walked…" Reddington's chest stung, and he stopped talking, trying to get control of his voice. He winced, and swallowed, and thought bitterly that Anslo Garrick hadn't needed the drugs. The same effect could have been obtained just by forcing him to dwell on events that occurred more than two decades ago. He dropped his head, cleared his throat, and continued, his voice steadier. "I walked through the door. And there was… just… blood. All I saw was blood… All there was was blood." Unbidden, a memory flashed before Reddington's eyes, the tableau of Dembe, seen through the glass splattered by Luli's blood in the box at the Post Office, his own hands covered in Ressler's blood, flat against the glass as he tried to—impossibly—prepare himself to witness another friend's death. He had so much blood on his hands.

"I can…" Reddington broke off, trying to concentrate on the memories of his daughter. His jaw worked, a sour tang in his mouth, as if he could taste the blood he had described. Reddington fought to maintain his train of thought, his eyes closed in an attempt to prevent actual tears. Tears weren't necessary, and would be difficult to play off with the hired guards once he was dragged from the cell, moments from now. "I can still…smell the nape of her neck…" His heart beat faster, almost painfully in his chest. He wasn't having to lie. Not at this point in the story. "Feel her little… fingers on my cheek… her whisper in my ear…"

Enough. With his eyes closed, he couldn't see Madeline's expression, but if he didn't have her by now, continuing this emotional masochism for another five, ten, thirty minutes wasn't going to change anything. Reddington let out another, final, shuddering breath, and repositioned his head against the wall, blinking his eyes open to clear the glassiness. He carefully put more power into his voice as he concluded somewhat despondently, "That's why I didn't show up in Florence. It's why I haven't shown up in a lot of places over the years."

Right on time, guards began unlocking the outer door to the room, approached his cell, and dragged him from it, roughly hauling him around the corner and out of sight while Madeline begged them to stop.

Reddington straightened up, and wiped at his face as he heard her finally shout from the other room, "I'll tell you what you want to know!"

…:::...

Ten minutes later, having been given access to a sink and a fresh shirt, Reddington replaced his tie and jacket, and walked calmly into view of the cells, accepting the handwritten coordinates of the nuclear bombs as well as the name and location of the particular Russian mobster in possession of the effigy itself, passed to the guard by Madeline. He thanked the guard, and kissed him on both cheeks, murmuring wishes for his continued health and happiness, as well as his family's. Dembe stepped into view and handed him his hat.

"Dembe, please call Agent Keen and tell her we have the location of the effigy," he requested politely. "Once they have it, offer them the location of the bombs in exchange for the statue." Dembe nodded and turned to leave, reaching for his phone.

"No…" Madeline said, the concern sliding from her face, replaced by a horrified mix of anger and fascination. "You son of a… Damn you, Reddington! Damn you, Raymond! You let me out of here right now, you son of a bitch!" Madeline kicked ineffectually at the cell door as Reddington calmly walked up to the bars with a serene smile.

"Was it true?" she added, her voice quiet as she gave up on her useless show of anger. "That story about your family? Was any of it true?"

Reddington gave her his best smirk, hoping it was enough to shake her acceptance of his tale, and cast an ambiguous haze over the details he'd shared. "We should have gone to Tegucigalpa."

…:::…

TBC.

...:::...

So... None of this story has been too terribly angsty up until this point, and I hope I didn't get too carried away in this chapter, but... There was Reddington angst, and I just couldn't help myself. I had to expand on it. I had to dive in and swim in it until my fingers got all prune-y. Sorry for the mega-chapter! I got selfish. :/

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