*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: I apologize profusely. Most of this chapter is largely unchanged, and contains a lot of house-keeping and exposition. There was just no other way. Please don't throw things at me. But, on the plus side: I've managed to completely delete Audrey from the entire storyline. ;) And I promise, there's some good stuff in the back half of this chapter. I just beg your patience until then.

…:::…

Chapter 15: The Judge and Mako Tanida

…:::…

Reddington had had quite enough of the subtle knockings he'd had on his metaphorical door recently. Much like the impossible task of knowing exactly where an electron is (since the minute you hit it with a measuring device, you've moved it, and it's no longer there), Reddington prided himself on never remaining where he'd been found, so when they came looking for him, they'd find nothing but the location he used to be. He was able to recognize when vague inquiries were made about him, and steps were always taken afterward to either move, change the circumstances, or—if need be—silence the inquirer. If someone learned something about Reddington, by the time they tried to use that knowledge, he'd seen to it that the information was now obsolete.

But it was getting tiresome and repetitious, and he wanted it to stop.

Over the last three to four years the gentle pressure and testing of his defenses had begun to occur more often, and was increasingly more noticeable. It was why he'd made the final decision last summer to fly back to D.C. instead of meeting Madeline in Florence. Why he'd tentatively aligned himself with the FBI. He needed resources, and figuring out which of his contacts he could trust had become frustratingly difficult.

He'd managed to barter his services for several key pieces of information over the last six months, working with the FBI. Gina Zanetakos, Lucy Brooks, and Tom Keen all appeared to work for the same agency, but he still couldn't prove it, nor did he know what agency or group it was. All three had made inquiries or tried to position themselves to gain information about Reddington, and he didn't appreciate it.

The most recent piece of the puzzle he'd obtained was the fact that Lucy Brooks was not dead—she'd done a very good job of faking her death in an attempt to elude him—but was alive and well and going by the name Jolene Parker. As previously promised, Reddington had shown Liz a picture of the woman, but after studying the photograph in the obituary for a long moment Liz had shaken her head and said she didn't look familiar.

So the next step was actually finding Ms. Parker.

…:::…

"Good morning, Red," Liz's voice was a forced sort of cheerful on the phone.

"Just out of curiosity, which number am I on your speed dial?" Reddington asked.

"Seven," she replied promptly.

"Who's six?"

"Chinese take-out."

"That hurts, Agent Keen."

"'Liz'. I need your help. Have you heard of the Judge?" she asked, switching straight from banter to business.

"And which judge would this be?"

"The Judge," Liz clarified. "The unofficial US prisoner's court of last resort. When your legal appeals have all been exhausted and there's no hope left, he's the person you turn to."

"Ah. Has something happened that makes you believe this is more than just a myth? I've always heard rumors, but no-one has ever proven—"

"Mark Hastings, US Attorney from Maryland. Twelve years ago he indicted the head of the Reynoso cartel. A week later, he went missing. The Bureau assumed it was a retribution killing, but two days ago he was found wandering on a road in Pennsylvania. Nobody knows where he's been, and he's too traumatized to speak. I believe he was held captive all this time."

"There can be no doubt in anyone's mind that the Reynoso cartel was guilty of every heinous thing they were ever accused of. Why would an entity that seeks to provide justice imprison the man who brought down a group of unethical thugs?"

"Because I think he was held captive due to a misstep he made on a different case. Leonard Dibbs: sentenced to fourteen years for armed robbery, but at the time, Hastings covered up a witness that could have exonerated him. Dibbs served twelve years of his fourteen year sentence. Got out four months ago. Same number of days imprisoned as Hastings was missing. Exactly. Hastings took twelve years from Dibbs. The Judge evened the score."

"That's very impressive detective work, but I'm not sure what this has to do with me," Reddington said. "I bring you the blacklisters, not the other way around. And besides, you opened this conversation with a request for help. I've yet to hear the request?"

Liz swallowed. She really wasn't sure if she'd managed to rack up enough points where Reddington was concerned to be asking for this, but it had to be done. "Ressler and Meera tracked down one of the men who works with the Judge, funneling prisoner requests through a book depository in Virginia. They didn't find the guy, or any information on where the Judge is actually located, but it looks like the last case he took was one involving Alan Ray Rifkin. According to the charges, Rifkin, ex-army, and a few dozen Taliban fighters raided an Afghan village, killing dozens of civilians. He was tried in 2003 as an enemy combatant and sentenced to death, which is scheduled for tomorrow. The problem is that he claims his confession was beaten out of him by the Senior FBI Agent in Afghanistan at the time… Harold Cooper."

"There it is," Reddington said, finally understanding. "Your boss is next on the Judge's hit list, and you want me to… what? Stop it? I'm not a gum ball machine, Agent Keen, you can't just pull my lever every time you want a treat."

"I'm asking for your help in any way you might be able to provide it," Liz said, her tone slightly pleading. "Can we prove Cooper got a good confession? Can we stop the execution? Can we find the Judge? Because I'm afraid that if Rifkin is executed tomorrow… Cooper and Connelly might suddenly have massive targets on their backs."

"Tom Connelly?" Reddington asked sharply. "He's involved with this?"

"Yes, why?"

"You didn't mention him before."

"He was the federal prosecutor on the case, and I have a witness who claims he was the one who ordered Cooper to beat Rifkin." Liz narrowed her eyes. "What do you know about him?"

"Have you spoken to Cooper about the accusations of a coerced confession?" Reddington asked, avoiding her question.

"No." Liz sighed. "And to be honest, I'm not looking forward to that conversation. Asking your boss if he played dirty cop and contributed to a man being put on Death Row… is a little awkward, to say the least."

Reddington mulled over his options momentarily. "There might be someone I can talk to," he said finally. "And be careful around Connelly," he added before hanging up.

…:::…

It took Liz an extra thirty minutes once she got to the office to screw up enough courage to climb the stairs to Cooper's office. She found the door partly open, and pushed in, hoping to get it over with quickly. Like ripping off a bandaid.

"We need to talk about Rifkin," she said as she pushed open the door, knocking lightly but not waiting to be asked in. "Sir, I need to know whether you—"

"What's going on?" An unexpected male voice in the back half of the room caused Liz to startle slightly and turn around in search of the second man she hadn't realized was there.

"Agent Keen, this is US Attorney Tom Connelly." Cooper's introduction came with a glare of barely contained admonishment.

"Harold's been telling me what a great agent you are," Connelly said, a smile spreading easily across his face. "Dog with a bone," he added, extending his hand to shake.

Liz remembered Reddington's final words of warning regarding Tom Connelly, and Liz shook his hand gingerly before cutting her eyes back to Cooper. "Sir, may we speak privately?" she asked. "About Rifkin?"

"Agent Keen, whatever you have to say to me, you can say to both of us," Cooper said, his patience obviously worn thin over the last few days due to the amorphous threat to his life.

Liz shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "I need to know what happened at the airport after you landed with Rifkin. Transfer orders were doctored, and there's a discrepancy in the timing. Two hours are unaccounted for in his transport logs, and I have a witness who says he heard you—" Liz looked from Connelly to Cooper, "—order you to beat a confession out of Rikfin." Liz stopped, trying to maintain a poker face while her mind screamed that she'd been too forward, and was likely about to lose her job. Maybe 'like ripping off a bandaid' hadn't been the best analogy to go in with.

"I did not railroad an innocent man," Cooper said heatedly, standing from his seat behind his desk.

"Did you beat him?" Liz asked evenly.

Cooper considered her for a long moment before replying, "Yes." He moved around his desk, coming to a stop between her and Connelly. "Agent Keen, Alan Ray Rifkin deserves the sentence he received for his crimes."

Connelly stepped forward, eyeing Liz with no small measure of curiosity. "What are you looking to do… halt his execution?" he asked. "He's being transferred as we speak. His day in court is over. He's exhausted his appeals. Once that happens, the Supreme Court is clear. Why he confessed or whether he's even guilty becomes irrelevant."

Liz did her best to mask her disgust. "Do you realize how insane that is? His innocence can't be considered?"

"Agent Keen—" Cooper said warningly.

"No, it's fine, I'm leaving," Liz said with more venom in her voice than she knew was appropriate when addressing those with the titles these men held. "I apologize if I've offended anyone. I'm merely trying to figure out why the Judge thinks this conviction was a bad one, and why he'd be targeting you two." She backed toward the door, adding acerbically, "I just figured if we can stop Rifkin's execution tomorrow, maybe we can stop yours, too."

Liz made it to the bottom of the stairs before she let out the shaky breath she'd been holding.

…:::…

That evening, Liz stood in her kitchen, mulling over her options regarding Tom and their continued coexistence under the same roof. The team had hit a wall with the Rifkin case, and her brain needed a break, so she decided to work on a different puzzle for awhile.

Things had been even more strained since Tom came back from the conference in Orlando, and she could tell he was having a hard time managing his role as 'ignored husband'. He had tried being understanding, he had tried getting angry, he had tried guilt trips, and none of it had worked. Liz just kept ignoring him, and things had gotten frankly absurd.

Should she try to smooth things over and continue to keep him close? Was he more trouble and stress than he was worth?

She momentarily fantasized about knocking him out, tying him up, and just delivering him to Reddington in the trunk of their car. Force Red to deal with him. Wash her hands of the situation.

The chime of the doorbell shook Liz from her reverie, and she walked to the front door, glad for the distraction.

On her doorstep stood Lucy Brooks.

Jolene Parker.

The woman from the photograph Reddington had shown her.

Liz swallowed and forced a polite smile onto her face. "Can I help you?" she asked, hoping her expression was one of calm expectation, and not fury and alarm. She shifted her weight slightly, aiming for nonchalance, while mentally calculating how long it would take her to get to her weapon.

"Hi," Jolene said with a slightly nervous smile. "I know you don't know me, but—hi, I'm Jolene Parker." She held out her hand, and Liz shook it, not moving from the doorway. "I'm a substitute teacher—I work with your husband? Tom? I'm subbing for Mr. Sinnard right now, but my fiancé and I are looking to move into the area… He just got a job around here, and I ran into Tom the other day at the market just down the street?" Jolene gestured to the end of the block. "He pointed out your house and told me if I wanted advice on renting or buying in the area I should definitely talk to you. He said you have a friend who's a realtor?"

Liz took a moment to respond, and Jolene barreled ahead. "I'm sorry; this is awkward. I—I should have just called. I shouldn't have just shown up on your doorstep! You don't know me from Adam!" She laughed nervously and took a step back. "I'm sorry to have disturbed your evening. I'll just get the information from Tom next time I see him in the teacher's lounge at sch—"

"No! No," Liz smiled and let out a breath, stepping back to allow a path into the house. "Of course, come in. My friend Ellie is a realtor. I'm sure I've got her card inside somewhere. The least I can do is give you her number. It's in my phone. Please, come in."

Jolene's expression split into a grateful smile, and walked quickly into the foyer past Liz. She followed her into the kitchen, and Liz began flipping through a book of business cards she kept next to the phone. As she pretended to search—she did not, in fact, have Ellie's business card—Liz sized up the other woman. She was small. Size-wise, Liz could probably take her. Liz's earlier fantasy grew to involve showing up at Reddington's safe house with both Tom and Jolene hog tied in the trunk of her car. Bet she'd win some points for that.

How long was it going to take to win Reddington over?

"Liz?" the front door opened, and Tom's voice called down the hall.

"Oh, hey—babe?" Liz stepped back from the book of business cards, all hope of over-powering Jolene gone with the earlier-than-expected arrival of her husband. "I'm in the kitchen," she called. "You know Jolene?"

"Oh, hey," Tom said, walking slowly into the room. Liz had begun to notice his tells: small changes in his expression, mostly in his eyes, and the tightness of his lips. His smile of recognition was a fraction of a second too late, and he looked off-balance. "You here for the realtor information?" He turned to Liz. "Jolene wanted Ellie's number—" he swung his head back to the other woman. "—but I could have just given that to you at school. You didn't have to come all the way out here…"

"Oh, no, I was in the area," Jolene said easily, waving a hand in dismissal. "I love the homes around here, and I was just trying to get a sense of the neighborhood and remembered you'd pointed out this house as yours. I figured I'd just ring the bell on the off-chance either of you were home…?"

Tom nodded and took a step back. "Well, I'd love to stay in here and talk real estate with you ladies, but I should go grade some papers."

"I should get going as well," Jolene said, taking the hint.

Liz pointed to the book and said apologetically, "I'm so disorganized… I can't find Ellie's card for the life of me. I promise I'll get one from her this week and pass it to Tom for you."

"Thank you," Jolene said gratefully, and followed Liz back to the front door. "I'm sure I'll see you around!" she said cheerfully as she descended the front steps to the street. Liz smiled and shut the door behind her.

The second the door was closed, she grabbed her cell phone from her back pocket and checked the time. Snatching up the leash from the front table, Liz called upstairs, "Babe? I only just got home myself… I'm going to take Hudson for a walk, okay? He hasn't been out yet today, and he looks miserable." Before he could object, Liz shouted, "I'll be back to help make dinner before you're done with those papers, I promise!" With that, she ducked out the door, Hudson happily in tow.

She was barely three houses down before she dialed Reddington's number. "You'll never guess who just showed up at my door." She quickly explained the circumstances for Jolene's visit, and the uncomfortable way Tom reacted to her being there.

"I've had someone looking into her whereabouts and past movements," Reddington said. "I'll pass on your information. Thank you, Agent Keen."

"You're trusting this all to just one guy?" Liz said, doubt and impatience obvious in her voice. "You have that much faith in his abilities?"

"If he was able to find me hiding on a sheep farm outside of Dingle, he can find this girl," Reddington assured her. "He knows she's local, and the last update I got from him included several cities she's been recently, safe houses, other aliases." He didn't share the fact that every city she'd been traced to coincided with a visit from Reddington to the same location over the last few years. She'd been tracking him.

"How she's connected to Tom?" Liz asked sharply.

"If it's relevant, I'm sure he'll uncover it, but your husband is not the primary target of his inquiries—"

Liz stopped walking abruptly, ducking into an alcove just off the sidewalk. "This needs to be over, Red, I can't do this anymore," Liz hissed, her patience worn thin. "I need to know who I've been sleeping next to—who I've been married to for two years."

"The unfortunate farce your marriage has devolved into is not my problem, Agent Keen—"

"No, it's mine, and it's gotten to be a big problem," Liz said, her voice hard and slightly louder. "And if you want my continued cooperation, and the FBI's continued protection, you might want to start thinking about my happiness and safety along with your own." Liz looked furtively down the street in both directions to check she wasn't being followed or overheard. "I'm not asking for a bodyguard or any kind of monetary kickback here. I just need your help in terms of information. Research. Connections. This man placed himself in my life because of my connection to you—the day you turned yourself into the FBI you tried to have him gutted, for God's sake—but lately he hasn't been your priority when he should be. You're looking for a woman who might be connected to him and his employer—why aren't we using the person we have readily available? Why hire someone to locate Lucy Brooks when we have Tom?" Liz cut herself off, aware she'd begun to rant.

"Are you finished?" Reddington inquired, his voice calm over the phone.

Liz cringed, gritting her teeth to keep from snapping at him again. "Yes."

"Then I'd like to apologize for my previous comment. You didn't ask for Tom in your life, and I shouldn't have been so flippant about the situation you find yourself in now."

Liz was silent for a moment, unsure how to respond. "Thank you," she said finally, her tone curt.

"But we know where your husband is at the moment, and he's not going anywhere," Reddington continued with authority. "If he's stuck around this long then he's in it for the long game, and any time we get desperate we can use him as a resource. But if we expose him, Lucy Brooks—Jolene Parker—is gone. So… while we still have options, we work on bringing in Lucy Brooks, and you need to keep Tom believing you suspect nothing. Do you understand?"

Liz closed her eyes, hating the feeling of being scolded. "Yes," she bit out. She could grudgingly admit to herself that she could see merit in his plan.

"Go home to your husband, Agent Keen. I'll speak to you tomorrow."

…:::…

The next day, Rifkin was executed. Cooper and Connelly, as planned, were there to witness it.

As they walked out into the harsh sunlight, Cooper took several deep breaths, taking care to hide the distaste he felt for watching another man's death, even if it was rightly deserved.

"We did the right thing," Connelly said.

"Yes," Cooper agreed solemnly. "Just not the right way."

"Let me ask you something," Connelly said, turning to the other man on the sidewalk. "That agent yesterday, Keen, the task force. I mean, I've asked around on the Hill, Main Justice. Nobody knows that the hell it is you do. I've heard the stories. They say you guys are taking down everybody—people who aren't even on the radar." Connelly raised his eyebrows, curious. "How?"

Cooper responded with only a tight lipped smile.

Connelly laughed. "Really? Nothing? Well, I can tell you this," he said as he began to walk again. "When I'm Attorney General and I get the President to appoint you Director of the FBI, you're gonna tell me all about it. The truth about your 'secret weapon'… because we both know you have one."

...:::…

The news of Cooper and Connelly's kidnapping spread quickly through the Post Office, and after meeting with Ressler and Meera, Liz grabbed her coat and walked purposefully toward the elevator.

"Keen!" Ressler yelled after her. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To find Cooper and Connelly," she said as the doors slid shut in front of her.

…:::…

She brushed past Dembe when he opened the door, making a beeline for where Reddington sat at a large table in the tall, central main room of the house.

"Rifkin was executed this morning," she said by way of a greeting. "Cooper and Connelly were taken outside the parking garage immediately afterward." She came to a halt next to him, and waited until he looked up at her. "I need your help finding the Judge before he kills them."

Reddington said nothing.

Liz pulled an unmarked white envelope from inside her jacket and passed it to Reddington. "These were just going to be a gift, and then yesterday I decided they should be an apology. For the way I spoke to you on the phone. I'm sorry I lost my temper." Reddington opened the flap and partially pulled out two tickets to Swan Lake that week at the Kennedy Center. He said nothing, and Liz continued, "But now they're the only bribe I can manage on short notice. I need you. Please help me find where the Judge is holding Cooper and Connelly." Reddington tucked the tickets back into their envelope and looked up at Liz, his eyes slightly narrowed and searching, as if he could find the answers to questions he hadn't voiced simply by studying her face closely enough. Liz cleared her throat. "I don't know if you already have tickets, but… I know you see it often—it seems like every time you possibly can—and this visiting company is from Russia… they're supposed to be excellent."

After another long moment, Reddington pocketed the tickets, looking away from Liz as he stood.

"Wait… are you going to help?" Liz asked.

"I understand that you want to save Cooper's life. But why Connelly's?" Reddington asked.

"He's a US Attorney, he—"

"The world would be a better place without him," Reddington said matter-of-factly. "If I told you we'd both probably benefit from our decision in the long run if we didn't put any extra effort into finding the Judge in time to save them, would you believe me?"

Liz swallowed. "Yes," she said after a moment. "I'd believe you. But that wouldn't stop me trying to save them."

Reddington turned toward the door. "I'll see what I can do," he told her as he left the room.

…:::…

Reddington knew he only had sixty seconds until his contact walked down the hallway toward him, but he sat on the hard, polished wood bench in the government building anyway, and took the opportunity to called the cowboy.

"Yes?"

"Bring in the girl," Reddington said. "Now." He hung up as a man approached him, looking like he'd seen a ghost.

Reddington's face slid from displeasure to a more jovial expression as he stood and held his arms out to each side. "Richard… it's been a long time," he greeted his friend. He looked him up and down, tilting his head to assess the other man's uniform. "I keep meaning to attend our academy class reunions, and then I remember how pinched I look in dinner dress blues."

"You know you made a hell of a mess when you left. Rooming with you was the worst thing that ever happened to me. What the hell do you want?" Richard asked grimly.

"Richard… I need to know about the Rifkin case."

…:::…

Tom burst in to the warehouse and took the stairs two at a time until he reached the top. He rounded the corner and found his colleague staring at the wall of evidence and orders Tom had been given and amassed over the course of his assignment. "Hey, what the hell is wrong with you? You come to my house?" he yelled.

"Calm down," she said unemotionally.

"You're not my handler. I don't work for you," Tom spat.

"Berlin is having doubts. It never looks good when an undercover agent goes dark for as long as you did."

"Yeah, well, Berlin doesn't have a clue. Four months ago I had to go dark because Reddington sent a psychopath with a knife into my house to try to get information from me, and because of that Liz finds my go-bag, my passports, then Gina gets shot and picked up by Liz's team… " Tom huffed out a breath in frustration. "Like I said, Berlin doesn't have a clue how hard I'm working here to keep all of this afloat. I've had my hands full."

"Stop," Jolene said abruptly, pointing to one of the monitors on a low table next to them. "Who's he?"

…:::…

The cowboy had made short work of the lock on the front door of the warehouse. He crept silently up the stairs, weapon drawn. He knew the girl was here, and while taking her on such short notice wouldn't have been his preference, he was a professional, and if Reddington wanted her brought in today, he didn't think that would be a problem.

When he peered around the pillar at the top of the stairs to see the girl standing still in the middle of the room, staring straight at him, his earlier assumption fractured. She'd seen him coming. She was waiting for him. She began to walk toward him slowly, and when she was within ten feet, she smiled.

Tom stepped quietly up behind the cowboy, and slit his throat.

"Well," Jolene said with a raised eyebrow, closing the rest of the distance between them. "That was anti-climacti—"

Tom dropped the heavy weight of the cowboy and spun, driving the knife into her gut. She gasped and looked up at him, shocked. She grabbed desperately at his shoulders, and he twisted the knife.

"You never should have come to my house in the first place…and you never should have talked to my wife."

…:::…

Liz was furious when she was sidelined. Ressler and Meera took a field team to the Pennsylvania farm they'd tracked the Judge's operation to, and she'd been told in no uncertain terms to stay put at the Post Office. She and Aram worked from their desks, providing what little support they could when it was asked of them.

She didn't even know Reddington had been involved with the rescue until she heard his voice in the background when Cooper called her to give specific instructions afterward about who else needed to be informed immediately about the events. "Is Reddington there?" she asked, interrupting her boss.

"I'm not discussing this with you right now, Agent Keen. I'll see you back at the office."

Liz hung up the phone angrily and looked up at Aram. "Did you know?" she asked fiercely. His eyes widened, and he held his hands up in surrender, shaking his head emphatically. Liz growled and retreated to her desk.

…:::…

Several hours later, Cooper and Reddington strode back into the Post Office with the rest of the team, Reddington looking like he'd just gotten the better half of a deal. Cooper swept away quickly, climbing the stairs to his office and shutting the door.

Liz stood up as Reddington walked past her desk and tilted his head, indicating she should follow him. She dutifully trailed him to one of the back stairwells, and as the door shut behind them, she began, "I'm sorry—I've asked a lot from you this week, and I haven't always been nice about it." Reddington said nothing, and Liz bit her lip, wondering why they were in the stairwell. "Thank you for… whatever you did for Cooper and Connelly," she continued, hoping the change in subject would loosen his lips.

No such luck.

"I thought about what you said about Tom, and you're right, I—"

"The tickets you gave me," he interrupted quietly, frowning at the concrete landing they were standing on. His low voice echoed in the space.

Liz nodded. "It's tonight, right? Are you still planning to go?" Liz asked. "If you don't have any one to go with, I'd be happy to be your date—" she offered, mentally wincing at the hopeful tone of her voice.

"I'm afraid I have other plans," Reddington responded, not meeting her eye as he seemed to regard his hat carefully as he turned it over slowly in his hands. "But thank you for the gesture. I'll reimburse you the cost of the tickets—"

Liz shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. "They were a gift." She managed a smile, and continued, "I'm sure you know someone else who'd like to use them. Hell, use them to butter up a potential source you think might be useful in future. You'll find something to do with them."

Reddington bobbed his head, his brow furrowed, and placed his hand on the door handle as if to leave, but stopped abruptly and turned back to Liz. His jaw worked for a moment before he finally exhaled sharply, deciding what he wanted to say. "Thank you for the gesture," he repeated, his demeanor tense, "but I'd appreciate it if you didn't bring this up again. I don't know what you know, or what you think you know about the subject, but… Please don't bring this up again. This is not something I discuss with you. Is that understood?"

Liz felt her cheeks flush. "I don't know anything," she said, and hurried to continue when Reddington rolled his eyes with skepticism. "That is… I know you've seen this particular ballet many times. And not just the number of times a fan of Tchaikovsky sees it. You don't frequent the ballet otherwise. It's just Swan Lake. That ballet is personal. I don't know why it is, but… it is." Liz shrugged, her face contrite. "I'm a profiler. I'm practically your personal profiler. I have information about your actions, and I make educated guesses about the motivations behind them. That's all."

"You know more about my past than you're willing to share with me," he said, obviously not convinced.

"Yes," Liz admitted freely. "I do. But not on this particular point. It was an easy assumption that Swan Lake meant something to you, and I saw tickets were available, simple as that. I don't know why you've seen it so many times, but going by the look on your face right now and this conversation? I'm guessing you don't watch it for pleasure. This looks more like punishment."

Reddington's left eye twitched slightly, and Liz knew she'd hit a nerve. Damn. She had made up her mind to smooth things over with him, and here she was, making it worse. Connelly was right: she was a dog with a bone.

"Why do you watch Swan Lake, Red?" she asked quietly, barely above a whisper.

Red palmed his hat onto his head and looked at Liz with a steely expression. "This is not something I discuss with you," he repeated, his voice dangerously low. "Is that understood?"

Liz nodded miserably, and Reddington swung the door open, leaving Liz alone I the dimly lit stairwell.

...:::…

Reddington walked quickly to the waiting car outside and slammed the backseat door behind himself as he got in. He withdrew his phone from his jacket and dialed Mr. Kaplan as the car pulled away from the curb.

"The cowboy," he asked when she answered. "… have you found him?"

"No."

Reddington clenched his teeth. "The girl?"

"Nothing. Both of them… they're gone."

Reddington didn't bother to end the call verbally, simply hit a button as he pulled the phone away from his ear, and tossed it on the seat next to him in frustration as he stared out the window.

"Back to the house?" Dembe asked from the front seat.

"Yes, briefly," Reddington said. "I'll need to change clothes, but then I'm going back out."

"Business or pleasure tonight? Or both?"

Reddington sighed as he watched the gray blur of DC streets pass. "Neither. I have tickets to the ballet."

…:::…

TBC.

Ugh, this one was a monster, and I apologize about the plodding and crazy transitions. I have grand plans for Ivan, and I swear I'll pick up the quality of things in the next chapter. :) Thank you for reading!