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: Okay. Initially this was just going to be the Pilot episode. Then I figured I'd write through Anslo Garrick Parts 1&2, because those are my favorite Season One episodes. And then I figured as long as I'd gotten that far, I might as well go to Madeline Pratt, but then I really wanted to write about the music box… So now I've got it in my head that I need to finish the entire first season. To make things worse, I have a very firm deadline of wrapping up this Season One rewrite before Season Three premieres. This gives me five weeks to write five episodes. On your mark, get set…. GO.

…:::…

Chapter 17: Milton Bobbit

…:::…

"Happy birthday….!" Tom smiled as Liz came in to the kitchen the next morning. He walked toward her slowly with a plate, a lit candle standing tall and alone in the center of a stack of pancakes. "My world-famous pancakes." He set them down in front of her on the table with a flourish. "Gluten-free," he added.

She hated these pancakes. Detested them. Always had. And she'd never understood the gluten-free aspect: neither one of them had a gluten intolerance. Nothing else they ate was gluten-free. Why make her suffer through pancakes made that way?

She forced a smile, which he saw right through. "You okay? What's—what's wrong?" he asked, all compassion and concern.

"Nothing… I'm just feeling a little… wonky," she managed.

"Uh-huh. Some of the kids at school have the flu. I hope I didn't give you something. It's the worst when you're sick on your birthday." Tom stopped and gave a gently teasing smile. "Or is this just because you turned thirty today? The number making you feel a little light-headed? It is a dizzying—ow!" Liz punched him playfully on the arm. "Kidding, I was kidding." His face quieted from a smile to a more serious expression. "But actually, I wanted to talk to you about something. Since pancakes—even ones as great as these—aren't a decent birthday present on their own, I want to book a trip. Let's go somewhere tropical, if only for a few days, and… I want to renew our wedding vows while we're there."

Liz's eyebrows shot up, and her stomach twisted. Tom slid off his chair and dropped to one knee, holding one of Liz's hands in his. "Elizabeth… will you… marry me?"

For a triumphant moment Liz envisioned picking up her plate, smashing it over his head, and stuffing his mouth full of the dry, flavorless pancakes as he writhed on the floor.

Instead, she gave a surprised, happy sigh, and breathed, "Yes!"

"Yes?" he repeated, confirming her answer.

"I think that's a great idea," she gushed, wondering if she was over-doing it.

He stood up. "Okay, we'll talk more about this tonight. I'd love to stay and eat with you, but because I let the birthday girl sleep in, I'm going to have to fly to get to work on time. So… dinner tonight with everybody. You call me if you start feeling worse? We can always reschedule until later in the week if you need." Tom picked up his bag, kissed Liz quickly, and headed toward the door. "Oh, hey!" he said, stopping as he caught sight of the music box on the coffee table. "You got it fixed? Already?"

"It wasn't really broken," Liz lied. "The hinge had come loose, but it went back together pretty easily."

"Good, I'm glad. You'll have to tell me the story behind this thing tonight." Tom smiled and dashed out the door.

The pancakes went out with the trash.

…:::…

Liz arrived at Reddington's residence du jour and was led into the kitchen. Reddington was standing at the counter, his back to her. Liz walked to the island in the center of the room and leaned against it. "Whatever you're making, are you making enough for two? I'm starving."

Reddington didn't look up from his task. "You haven't eaten yet? It's almost noon."

"No. Tom made pancakes for breakfast."

"You don't like pancakes?"

"I don't like his pancakes," she corrected.

"Well, all I can offer you is what I'm making myself: pimento cheese sandwiches, toasted with the crusts cut off. Eartha Kitt's recipe. It's a fantastic story—"

"—which I will gladly listen to in its entirety some other time," Liz interrupted, taking the sandwich Reddington had just made off of the plate on the counter. He watched her walk away with his food with a perturbed look on his face, but said nothing as he began to make a second one for himself.

Liz continued, unapologetically speaking around a mouthful of pimento cheese. "Today is the day you spill all your secrets regarding my husband. I know you've been doing your own research since you sent Ranko Zamani after him. You've shared very little of that with me. At this point, I propose we put all of our cards on the table and work together on solving the Tom Problem."

"All of our cards?" Reddington asked, cutting the crusts off his new sandwich.

Liz swallowed. "All of our cards as they relate to Tom," she amended. "We're not tackling any other topics today. Just Tom." Liz sat down at the kitchen table. "The day we began working together you tried to have him killed. Why? What do you know?"

"Little more than you."

"Well, that's vague," Liz said. "I'm going to need something more concrete than that."

Reddington sighed and joined Liz at the table. "Several years ago, it came to my attention that somebody was meddling in my business. To protect myself and my interests, I inventoried my vulnerabilities. I hired people to look for those who had been knocking on my door, so to speak."

"Was I one of those people? One of the people you found had been… looking in to your life?" Liz's jaw tightened. "Was I the intended target that night?"

"At the time, I didn't have a name," Reddington continued as if she hadn't asked her question. "I used several different people in the information business to make some inquiries. Some were more successful than others. One in particular gave me your address, and said the man living there was working for the entity that had been causing trouble for me recently. I sent Zamani to find out who the man was working for and…send a message." The euphemism was an obvious one, and Liz felt a chill run down her arms. Reddington had sent someone to kill her husband. He'd ordered a man to murder someone in her home. Reddington saw the change in Liz's expression and added, "I didn't know the man was your husband."

"Is that supposed to make the fact that you instructed a man to kill someone you'd never met somehow more palatable to me?" Liz asked quietly.

"I'm not trying to make excuses for my actions. And I've been responsible for the death of many people over the years; you know that. You've watched it happen before, Agent Keen, right in front of you. This isn't new information."

"Did you consider the fact that the information trail that led to my house might not have been Tom's trail?" Liz asked, ignoring Reddington's last statement. "That it was me, calling your colleagues and clients and contacts and lovers? That you had Tom attacked when really you should have sent Zamani after me?"

Reddington took a deep breath and let it out slowly, chewing a bite of his sandwich thoughtfully. "Since that night, I have been able to connect you to some of the 'knocks on my metaphorical door'. But the reason I sent Zamani after Tom in the manner that I did was because, beyond a shadow of a doubt, there had been a few shots across my bow, and Tom had been the one aiming the canon. Yes, I've found evidence of you looking in to my past. But so far nothing you've done has been… malicious."

"I've never tried to—"

"I know you haven't," Reddington cut her off, looking at her seriously.

"But Tom…" Liz shifted uncomfortably. "He chose me. He inserted himself into my life because of you."

"I can only assume that's the case," Reddington agreed. "But how did he know you had an interest in me? How did he know you were a potential source of information? Did you ever discuss me with—"

"Never," Liz said vehemently, not even allowing him to finish his thought.

"Searches? On your laptop? Phone calls from the house? He might have overheard…?"

"I'm careful. Very careful. But I can't promise you he didn't hack into my computer or tap a phone line. Until just recently, I had no idea what he was capable of, and in all honesty I didn't think I had to resort to espionage techniques to keep my laptop and phone calls—when I was alone in the house—secret from my elementary-school-teacher husband," she said, rolling her eyes at the ridiculousness of the situation.

"Fair enough," Reddington conceded.

They ate in silence for a moment before Reddington spoke up again, clearing his plate. "I'd be interested to know what Tom gave you for your birthday?"

"He wants to renew our vows," Liz said with a deadpan expression. "He wants to go away together. 'Somewhere tropical'," she quoted.

Reddington turned to look over his shoulder at her as he set his dish in the sink. "Things are unraveling for him. He's desperate to keep you close." He turned and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. "I think you've been presented with a unique opportunity. The people Tom works for are obviously very cautious. They operate slowly from the shadows. We could spend years tracking them to no avail, but now we have a chance to draw them out. Things will have to appear normal to Tom, to Cooper, and the others." He smiled at her and walked back to his seat. "Which is why you'll need a case."

…:::…

After briefing her colleagues at the Post Office on The Undertaker and the information Reddington had provided her with, Liz took a moment to call her brother-in-law, Craig, and invite him out for the weekend. It had been Reddington's idea to take Tom's offer of renewing their vows and run with it: do exactly what he asked, but speed up the timetable and take all opportunity to plan the details out of his hands. In addition to throwing Tom off balance with a surprise wedding, it gave them an opportunity to grab Craig. Because if Tom Keen was fake, Craig Keen most certainly was, too.

"But I don't want to renew our vows," she'd protested.

"The beauty part of all of this is that you probably won't have to," Reddington had assured her. "In case Craig calls Tom, though, your last minute invitation needs to sound plausible. You call Craig and tell him you're renewing your vows this weekend and you've bought him a plane ticket out here for tomorrow morning, but you're trying to surprise Tom with it, so you ask for his discretion. If Craig calls Tom to alert him, you're not doing anything other than what he asked of you. Tom will back up your story, essentially, by saying he was the one who suggested the vow renewal in the first place. But if things don't go according to plan in any way, you're going to have to invite some people to your apartment this weekend like you're actually going to go through with it. We should have the ability to take this little farce to its full conclusion. Just in case."

Liz had grudgingly agreed that the plan was a solid one.

Once again seeking privacy in the stairwell at work (she'd begun to think of it as Her Stairwell), Liz had called Craig and talked him into the next flight out—early the next morning—and assured him she'd pick him up at the airport.

That afternoon, Liz begged, and pleaded, and cajoled, and pointed out that if they got to Danny Moss—the Undertaker's next likely assassin—in time to stop him, they'd benefit from having a profiler present if negotiations were needed, and finally played the 'but it's my birthday' card in order to get Ressler to allow her to tag along in the field. The minute Ressler finally agreed, Liz was on the phone with Tom, explaining she still wasn't feeling great, and on top of that something came up at work and she'd be there late that night. Her birthday dinner would have to be postponed until later that week.

She found that she was desperate for any reason to avoid going home to her husband, especially on her birthday. She should get to spend it with someone she cared about, and someone who cared for her. Preferably the same person.

Since that wasn't an option, Ressler and his perennial bad attitude was still preferable to Tom, and by the end of the night, she had to admit she felt good: they had been able to track down Moss, and Liz had jumped in immediately, talking him down and getting him to drop his weapon very quickly. No loss of life, and now they had a solid lead on who was hiring these people to become end-of-life assassins. She'd even gotten a verbal pat on the back from Ressler as they drove back to the office. In true Ressler fashion, it wasn't much, but coming from him it was the equivalent of gushing praise.

…:::…

The next morning, Liz picked Craig up at the airport, smiling jovially and hugging him tightly as she exclaimed about how long it had been since he'd visited. She made the usual small talk on the way to his hotel, asking if he had anyone special in his life, inquiring about his job, and lamenting that neither one of them had any living parents to invite to their vow renewal. She asked a few gentle questions about Tom's parents, but Craig answered her vaguely, and she didn't press the subject.

He had two bags, and she offered to roll his carry-on upstairs if he'd be so kind as to let her use his bathroom before she ran off to yet another outdoor crime scene. "Would you mind?" she had begged, "I knew I shouldn't have had a third cup of coffee this morning, but Tom will tell you—I had a long day yesterday!"

He'd agreed, and she followed him up to his room.

The minute they were inside the door, Liz rammed the suitcase she'd been rolling into the back of his knees, causing him to stumble forward. He turned around to face Liz, managing to keep his feet under him, and was met by a solid right hook across his jaw. Liz kicked the door shut behind her as Craig barreled forward, slamming his shoulder into her abdomen and driving her up against the hotel room wall with enough force to knock the wind out of her. She made the most out of the fact that he hadn't been able to pin her arms down, and landed several more punches to his face before he finally backed off, tripping over himself as he reversed. He ended up on the floor, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, but before he could stand, Liz was towering above him, her gun leveled at his head.

"You know, Craig, I thought our talk on the way here in the car was good, but there are just a few more topics I want to cover..."

She dragged him to the bathroom, her weapon pressed to the back of his head in her right hand, while her left clutched a fistful of his hair, driving him forward. She kicked the back of his knees again once they reached the bathroom, and quickly handcuffed him to the exposed pipes below the sink.

"Who do you work for?" she demanded harshly, grabbing a water glass from above the minibar and forcibly wrapping his right hand around it. She set it aside to run the prints later.

"I don't know what you're talking about—" Craig tried.

"Who do you work for?" Liz repeated.

"Please, look this has got to be some—"

"I'm going to figure out who you are," she said. "Those fingerprints will probably come back as Craig Keen if I run them through the government databases, since Tom's just lead back to his alias, huh? So let's get some DNA from you, too…" Liz leaned forward and dabbed at the blood on Craig's lip with a swab. She popped the swab into its container and bagged it, setting it next to the water glass. "Somebody provided you with an identity, a history; embedded you into my life. I want to know who, and I want to know why."

…:::…

After a half hour of questioning, Liz's phone rang. "Ressler, hey, what's up?" Liz walked a few paces away from Craig. "Yeah, of course. No. I'll be right there." She hung up and turned back to the man handcuffed in the bathroom. He smirked at her.

"You didn't exactly think this through, did you?"

At that exact moment there was a knock on the door, and Liz called back to Craig as she opened the door for Reddington, "Actually… I did." Liz led Reddington toward the bathroom, Dembe bringing up the rear.

"Looks like we're a little late to the party!" Reddington said, enthusiastically looking at Craig on the floor. "You must be the brother-in-law."

"Ressler called. I have to step out." Liz motioned at Craig. "He isn't cooperating, but I got fingerprints and a DNA sample."

"DNA will be much more useful, but I do know an absolute artist with fingerprints—" Reddington began.

"Oh, no, you don't mean that Bosnian guy? Vlad… Vlad… what's his last name again?" Liz asked, frowning.

Reddington narrowed his eyes. "Cvetko. Vlad Cvetko. How do you know—?"

"He won't help you! Wasn't he the one whose wife you slept with?" Liz asked, looking at Reddington like he was crazy for considering asking the man for a favor.

"I—" Reddington looked briefly uncomfortable, but if Liz had blinked she would have missed it. His face spread into a self-satisfied smile, and he continued, "—you know, I could easily blame that whole night on the hashish and the grappa, but the truth is he's better off without her. She's fickle."

"They got back together," Liz informed him, deadpan.

"No. Really? Fadila went back to that funny little…?" Reddington raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. "Well, this actually makes things easier. He always used to ask if he could borrow this little villa in Dubrovnik I own; he wanted to take Fadila there for a long weekend. I'm sure a bribe will go a long way toward securing his forgiveness."

"He's not local, though, and even with—"

"I know, I know," Reddington frowned and waved a dismissive hand at Liz, shooing her toward the door. "I have someone in town; I'll hand the DNA off to her." As soon as the door closed behind her, Reddington looked down at the man handcuffed to the pipes and shook his head. "Aw, hell. Dembe, get the hacksaw. We're gonna have to take him out of here in pieces." When Craig blanched, Reddington began to laugh, tilting his head as he peered downward, amused. "I'm just kidding. But we will get you to talk."

…:::…

Hours later, Liz returned to the hotel room to find Reddington sitting on a chair in the bathroom doorway, placidly watching Craig as he hissed and growled about Reddington staying away from his mother if he knew what was good for him.

"His mother?" Liz asked, coming to a stop at Reddington's side.

"Ah, Agent Keen. Welcome back. Yes, Benson got back to me quite quickly with the DNA, and we tracked down Christopher's only living relative with little difficulty."

"If you so much as touch my mother—" the man on the floor spat before being interrupted.

"Then tell us who you work for," Liz jumped in. "I'm only stopping in here briefly, so I don't have a whole lot of patience right now, Christopher. Talk. Now. Or we bring Mom in." Even though Liz kept her gaze locked on her 'brother-in-law', she saw Reddington's head swing to look up at her, out of the corner of her eye.

"I get a phone call," he ground out, glaring up at Red and Liz. "They tell me where to go, and I go."

"Who tells you?" Liz asked.

"Different people. It's never the same person twice."

"Jolene Parker?" Liz pressed.

"I'm telling you I don't know names."

"Tell me about Tom."

"I don't know his real name. He's got a brother in Chicago. I've heard him talk about a woman, Niki."

"Niki? Is that some woman he sees?" Despite the way Tom made her skin crawl these days, she felt an irrational bolt of jealousy shoot through her.

"Do you think we sit around and we chat about it?" Craig asked snidely. "There a reason that his cover is that we're estranged and our parents are dead. There's a reason that there are no people in his life—because none of it is real."

Just then, the phone in the room began to ring.

"That's Tom," Craig said, nodding toward the sound in the main room. "He knows where I'm staying. It's only a matter of time before he's here."

The ringing stopped.

Liz tapped Reddington's shoulder. "Red… we need to get out of here."

The phone began to ring again, and after a beat Reddington pushed out of his chair and grabbed the entire phone, base and all. He looked at Dembe and nodded toward Craig. Dembe moved quickly, drawing his gun and training it on the man on the ground. Reddington walked toward Craig with the phone, and reminded him in a deep, quiet voice, "Your mother," before pushing the button to answer the call on speaker phone.

Liz held her breath. Her mind raced, listing all the ways this could go wrong.

"Hey," Craig said.

"Why didn't you pick up?" Tom was irritated.

"There's a situation. I'm handling it," Craig answered. "I just need time."

"Time for what?" Tom asked.

"What are you—my wife, Tom?" Craig snarled, shifting his eyes to Liz. "Listen up. I just need…" He trailed off, and Liz held up two fingers. "Two hours. I'll explain everything then. Just sit tight. Don't panic."

"Easy for you to say. I'm the one who's accountable to Berlin."

Liz cut her eyes to Reddington, who shifted slightly, his expression changing for a split second. He hadn't heard of anyone or anything happening in Berlin before. This was new.

Tom sighed in frustration. "I'm coming to your hotel now." The line went dead.

"Tell me about Berlin," Reddington said, extending his left hand with the phone in it back to Dembe, who took it from him to replace on the table. "Berlin," Red repeated, stepping closer.

"I can't," Craig said, a note of helplessness creeping into his voice.

"What's in Berlin?" Red asked, narrowing his eyes. Craig shifted uncomfortably. He was starting to panic. Liz watched as his chest began to rise and fall faster as his breathing sped up. "Is the bank in Berlin?" Reddington pressed. When he got no answer, his voice hardened. "Christopher… who's in Berlin?" Still nothing. "Dembe, we're moving the conversation elsewhere," he instructed suddenly, holding his hand out to Liz for the keys to her handcuffs, which she readily gave him. He leaned down and unfastened them, Dembe lifting his weapon again briefly as Craig was freed. "Wipe down the room," Red ordered as he reapplied the cuffs to Craig's wrists, pulled behind his back. Dembe grabbed a towel and went to work as Reddington turned to Liz. "Tell me about the building."

Liz took a deep breath. "The south elevator has no cameras, empties into the basement. Two doors past the mechanical room lead to the alleyway—"

At the sound of shattering glass, Liz and Red turned toward the window sharply, and Dembe rushed back into the room.

Liz stared silently across the room for a moment, her lips parted in shock, unable to process what had just happened. What kind of organization was so frightening that a man would take his own life by jumping out a window rather than give up information regarding his employers? Or was there a personal loyalty at stake? Was he protecting someone he loved within the organization?

"Well, then," Reddington's blasé voice cut the stunned silence in the room.

"That's it? 'Well then'? That's all you've got? What now?" Liz asked, turning to face Reddington as Dembe resumed hurriedly wiping down the bathroom. "What are you doing?" Liz asked as Red walked calmly to the chair where he'd left his things.

"Putting on my coat," he said unemotionally, picking up his hat from the chair.

"A man just jumped through the window," Liz pointed out, unnecessarily. "There's body on the sidewalk."

"Yes," Reddington agreed, taking her elbow and steering her toward the door. "And your husband, the police, and all the king's men will be here soon. I'm sure you don't care to stick around for that and explain, do you? I didn't think so. Dembe, I'll get her downstairs. After you're finished, grab the pretzels from the minibar."

Liz allowed herself to be led from the room, a small part of her brain pointing out that Reddington had thought of her immediately, not asking her to stay behind and help wipe down the room, and not telling her she was on her own as far as getaways were concerned. His immediate reaction was to take her with him. He felt protective, and he wasn't asking for anything in return. It seemed like it was just assumed she was part of his team now.

So there was that.

…:::…

"Keen! Where the hell are you?" Cooper barked over the phone as Dembe pulled out of the parking garage, Liz and Red in the backseat.

"I'm sorry, sir—" Liz gripped the door handle as Dembe took a turn quickly. "—I had some personal business to—"

"We'll talk about this later," Cooper said sternly. "Right now we need your help: Agents Ressler and Malik found Bobbit at the cemetery, and we don't have our psychology expert on hand."

"Sir, I really—"

"Save it, Agent Keen. Aram, connect her through to the com system."

"You're connected," Aram's voice came through the line.

"Keen, he's got a bomb strapped to his chest and the trigger in his hand," Ressler sounded out of breath. "Ideas?"

"Um… he's… he's alone?" Liz squeezed her eyes shut to concentrate, trying to catch up with the situation.

"No, he's here with Osborn. Bobbit's his own final assassin. Snipers en route, but we don't have time—"

"Bobbit… he… he wants justice, he wants Osborn to pay. Pay for what was done to him. We need to punish Osborn so Bobbit doesn't have to."

"What are you suggesting: that I shoot him?" Ressler asked scornfully.

"No, no—arrest him," Liz ordered, opening her eyes. "Put your gun down, ignore Bobbit, and march Osborn away in handcuffs," she said quickly.

"That's not going to work—" Meera's voice chimed in. "Ressler, wait, what are you—"

Liz swallowed, and stayed silent, listening with baited breath to the voices on the coms. Ressler, calling for Bobbit to stay calm. Reading Osborn his Miranda rights, explaining harshly that they knew about the clinical trials, the people who had died. Ressler's breathing was coming more heavily, and she could tell he was walking when a loud noise suddenly made her pull her phone from her ear. After a split second, she brought it back up and shouted into it. "Ressler? Ressler! Aram, what just happened?"

Reddington watched as Liz let out a shaky breath and her shoulders slumped forward slightly. "Yeah," she said quietly. "Of course. Right away."

Liz hung up the phone.

"So?" Reddington asked.

"Bobbit's dead."

Liz looked up and saw Dembe's expectant eyes watching her in the rearview mirror. "And everyone else?" he asked.

Liz managed a tense but relieved smile. "No one else got hurt."

Dembe gave her a smile and turned his full attention back to the road. Liz looked to Reddington, who was also smiling at her, his head tilted to the side, regarding her intently. After a moment he reached across the seat and placed his hand on her knee. "Well done," he said, his voice betraying the fact that she'd impressed and surprised him. He gave her knee a squeeze, and widened his smile slightly, but briefly, before withdrawing his hand and turning his gaze out the window.

Liz allowed herself a moment of relief and happiness before reality set back in, settling in her stomach like a weight. "Dembe, you'll need to drop me back at the Post Office, please," she said. She sighed, and looked out her window, mirroring Reddington. "I don't even know where I'm going to spend the night tonight," she mumbled.

Reddington turned to her sharply. "At home. With your husband."

Liz cringed. "No. Not after what happened today, not after… I can't do this anymore. I can't look at him, let alone touch him."

"Be patient. With Craig, things have been set in motion. How Tom reacts will tell us a great deal. You need to stay the course."

"I don't think I can. He attacked me in the warehouse he's been using as a base of operations to spy on me. The thought of sleeping in the same bed with him…" Liz said venomously, her lips pulled back in a grimace.

"We learned a lot today, Agent Keen," Reddington assured her. "But Tom doesn't know most of it. He knows you brought Craig into town, and he knows you're planning a surprise party with a vow renewal for this weekend. Did you invite some people like I told you to?"

"Yeah. Not enough, though." Liz looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. "I'll make a few more calls this evening before I go home."

"You take care of the guest list. Don't worry about anything else: I'll make arrangements to have champagne and flowers delivered to your home on Saturday."

Liz looked back up at Reddington, who had turned his attention back out the window. "Okay," she said, her voice despondent as she slouched further down in her seat, a sense of dread creeping up the back of her neck. "Thanks."

…:::…

TBC.

Author's Note: Sorry about the scene with Liz, Red, Dembe, and Craig in the hotel. I know it was almost verbatim. Couldn't be helped, though. Had to stay as it was.