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.

…:::…

Chapter 18: The Pavlovich Brothers

…:::…

The next time Liz placed a tracker on Tom, she went through Reddington for the hardware, instead of Aram, and rather than placing it in a toy, she went straight for his keys. She wanted to know exactly where he was at all times. No more messing around.

"He knows something's off," Liz said, sitting in a chair opposite Reddington, both staring at the pile of pictures and evidence in front of them, as if the act of watching the pile could somehow will concrete answers into existence.

"What makes you say that?" Reddington asked, picking up a picture of Jolene parker and squinting at it.

"I can feel it. I know him," Liz said with conviction.

"Tom is on his heels," Reddington sighed, tossing the photograph down on the pile again. "He's behaving erratically. After Craig's death, he's probably panicked, because he doesn't know who did it. We still don't know if killing Jolene Parker was part of his plan, or a spur-of-the-moment decision." Reddington leaned back in his chair and look across the living room of his safe house at Liz.

"You said they most likely worked for the same organization. If they did, why would he murder her…?" Liz pondered aloud.

"Perhaps he was ordered to. Perhaps he did something wrong, disobeyed an order, and she found out. Maybe he's gone further than he was authorized to go." Reddington shook his head. "Or perhaps he's just… out of control, irrational… Paranoid and reactionary. But whatever it is, he's scrambling for a foothold, and therein lies our opportunity to wait… and to watch."

"'Wait and watch'?" Liz repeated, her voice hardening. "I thought your plan was to bring him in? You said we were done with this!"

Reddington pursed his lips. "So you want to cancel the plans to go ahead with the party and renew your vows on Saturday?"

"Red, I can't do it." A note of desperation crept into Liz's tone. "I can't go through with that. Not only will I have to fake falling in love with him all over again, knowing what he is, but what do you think is going to happen Saturday night? After the ceremony? We'll be newlyweds, and how far do you expect me to take this? If I don't want him to suspect anything, I'll have to have sex with him." Reddington worked his jaw, and continued to stare down at the pile of papers on the coffee table. "Look at me," Liz demanded. She waited until Reddington obeyed before she continued, "You understand what you're asking me to do? You know how filthy that will make me feel?"

Reddington seemed to mull his options over for a moment. "Then suggest an alternative to somehow back out of this, now that Tom knows you're planning it. He knows you flew his brother in for the ceremony. Friends have been invited—are you going to call them all back and uninvite them? What will be your explanation?"

Liz grimaced, hating that he was right. "Promise me we can get Tom out of my life as soon as possible," she begged, looking at him imploringly.

"I promise," Reddington said. "But Tom isn't the only reason I called you here this morning. I'm afraid there's something quite timely afoot. The Pavlovich brothers are back in town."

"The team from the bridge that grabbed the general's daughter from me? During our first case with you?"

"The very same."

As Reddington launched into a lengthy explanation, involving a Chinese scientist named Xiaoping Li, and the most likely reason why the brothers had been hired to obtain her, Liz tried her hardest to pay attention. The more time she spent with Reddington, the more she admired him. He was charming, and witty, and an incredible storyteller. His intelligence kept her constantly on her toes, which she enjoyed, but at times it also frightened her. The good man she believed lived at the core of him was obscured more often than she was comfortable with; more often than she expected. The pragmatist in her understood that there were very justifiable reasons for the more violent and unethical acts he'd performed over the years, but the not-so-small part of her that maintained a thriving savior complex wanted to reach out to him, cup his face in her hands, and breath against his cheek that she knew him, really knew him, and that she was willing to put herself in the line of fire to keep him from having to compromise the good man she knew him to be ever again.

She watched his hands as his story became more animated, and wished she didn't know quite so much about psychology. Her marriage had crumbled almost the instant another man she'd had a growing obsession with appeared in her life. Literally within arms reach. She wondered if her feelings for Reddington were entirely due to the years of research, of following his life and career, or based solely on the fact that he just happened to be the man she was working closest with as she cut emotional ties with Tom.

It was probably a combination of the two.

Would she feel this way if Tom was just a fourth grade teacher? A good, simple man?

Would she feel this way if she wasn't Reddington's liaison to the FBI? What if Ressler was the one working with him on every case, and she was still relegated to research and advice from the confines of her desk chair at the office?

…would she still feel this way if he didn't look so damn good in a suit?

…:::…

The rest of the day seemed to crawl by at a snail's pace. Liz briefed the team on the Pavlovich brothers, and Ressler and Meera left with a tactical team to change the route Li was to take on her way into the country. They were too late, and as they called in the details, explaining the brothers and Li had left in a helicopter, Cooper glared across the room at Liz. The second the call ended, he called her up to his office.

She wasn't sure how long he read her the riot act about coming in late with intel, but it felt like an age. She wanted to bring Reddington into it, explain that he was the one who withheld the details, and that she had come directly into the office as soon as he'd told her the brothers were in town… But she stayed quiet, accepting the reprimands and castigation silently. Cooper vilified Reddington as a cowboy who delighted in playing with the FBI's time and resources, and she was accused of enjoying the ride he was taking her on a little too much.

She really couldn't argue with that last part, though she didn't admit to it aloud.

Hours later—hours full of paperwork, stale coffee, dread about her upcoming performance with her husband in front of all of their friends, and several text messages to Reddington that went infuriatingly ignored by him—Meera and the team got back to the blacksite.

The minute they walked in Cooper strode toward them, his eyes on Meera. "Agent Malik, you want to tell me why the director of national intelligence just called me? What don't I know about this case?"

Meera, looking somewhat guilty for withholding information, began, "The program Li was working on… it's germ weaponry. Banned by nearly every nation on Earth. It's called White Fog…"

Liz's phone buzzed, and she breathed in expectantly when she saw it was Reddington calling. Trying to step back from the group unobtrusively, she answered the call and murmured a greeting quietly, her head down as she walked quickly back to her desk.

"Where are you?" Reddington asked.

"Busy. The brothers… they took Xiaoping Li. We're—"

"Your husband is not in school."

"Wait, what? Where is he?" Internally, Liz felt a flash of self-recrimination, disappointed in herself for being so easily distracted from the goal of saving a scientist whose life hung in the balance.

"Meet me at 9th and Constitution."

"The National Archives?" Liz asked. She immediately looked at the team, and her stomach sank as she realized she couldn't leave. Cooper had his eyes fixed on her as Meera continued to talk, and Liz dropped her gaze to the floor, turning her back toward the others as if she was somehow less noticeable that way. "I can't—Red, I can't," Liz said, desperately wanting to turn and walk straight to the elevator. "Cooper's pissed that we lost Li, and if I try to duck out right now, it'll be both of our asses. Can't you follow him?"

"My people are following him, yes. I just thought you'd want to…" There was silence on the other end for a moment. "Nevermind. Good luck finding your scientist." The line went dead.

Damn.

…:::…

Liz was exhausted, and her nerves were sufficiently frayed that when she walked in the door, even though she was expecting Tom to be home, finding him sitting at the kitchen table with her music box in front of him still made her nearly jump out of her skin. She set her keys down, took off her jacket, and attempted what she knew to be a shaky smile. "Tom. You scared me."

Tom gave her a tight-lipped smile back. "You know, you never did tell me the story about this thing," he said, indicating the music box. "Where did it come from?"

"It was mine, when I was little. My aunt sent it to me as a birthday present. She's been going through my dad's things…" Liz trailed off, and swallowed. She walked to the table and sat down across from Tom. "How was your day?" she asked, grasping for a topic change. She felt like she had battery acid in her mouth and coils wound around her muscles, and she was fairly sure if she had to bear another evening making conversation with Tom she was going to scream.

"Good. Busy. You know Billy Salter? He was acting up again because his mom keeps packing these fruit roll-ups, and they give him this satanic sugar high, you know, so…"

"Hmm. Didn't get a chance to be anywhere else? Ressler was at the National Archives today, and thought he saw you there…?" Liz said, suddenly furious at Reddington for making her continue this farce. She knew her line of questioning was heavy-handed and inadvisable, but she didn't care.

"Nope. School all day," Tom said, staring evenly back at her.

"Huh. Well, he's only met you a handful of times; he must have been mistaken. Or maybe you have a doppelganger out there." Liz felt tensed, and ready. For what, she wasn't sure. "Your pot's going to boil over," she pointed out, inclining her head toward the stove without looking at it.

Tom pushed back from the table and walked into the kitchen. He turned the burner off, and slowly spun to face Liz. "You know… I really don't want to cook tonight. Tell you what. Why don't you… grab a couple beers from the fridge, and I'm going to walk down to that new Thai place on the corner. Let's just do take out tonight. What do you say?"

Liz nodded. "Sounds great," she said, forcing a smile. She wondered how far they were going to take this. They both knew the other one was well aware of the game they were playing, but neither was willing to be the first to break character.

Tom nodded. "Okay, well, I'm going to take Hudson with me. He's been cooped up all day." Liz stood, and watched as Tom called the dog to him, attached his leash, and walked toward the front door.

Liz cast around for a plan, a course of action, anything, but she found herself rooted to the spot, watching as her husband walked toward the door. She knew if she let him leave, he'd be gone. She should try to keep him here, but no words came to her lips, and her breath sounded loud in her ears, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.

The door clicked closed behind Tom and Hudson, and in that instant Liz felt like she'd been released. She dashed for her purse and pulled out her phone.

"Agent Keen, I'm glad you called," Reddington said as he picked up, his tone serious. "I'm going to need you to stop by tonight—I have something I want to discuss—"

"Red, Tom's gone—he's gone," she interrupted. "I screwed up, he knew something was wrong, and I couldn't stop him, I just—he left, he's gone—"

"Slow down—"

"I screwed up. And he took my dog—dammit—why did I let him walk out the door?" Liz sighed and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"What did you say that tipped him off?"

"I mentioned the National Archives; I said one of my colleagues saw someone who looked like him, and asked if he'd been there today, which—I know—was a really bad move—"

"Agent Keen," Reddington interrupted harshly. "Where are you?"

"Home, I'm at home."

"And you know he's gone? How do you know? Did you see him get in a car?"

"He knows I know, Red. The charade is over. He's probably on his phone calling his handler for an extraction right now—"

"And he just left? When?"

"Less than two minutes ago. Why? Please don't tell me you want me to try to tail him, because I'm—"

"Did he take his keys?" Reddington's voice was hard.

"Yes."

"He didn't leave. I'm looking at the live tracking data right now, and he's still there—he's at your back door—"

"He's what?" Liz immediately spun and hit the panel of three light switches on the wall, plunging the kitchen and downstairs into darkness. She pressed her back against the wall and bit her lip to keep from cursing. She didn't have her gun on her.

"I'm sending someone—" Reddington's voice was tight and fast. "Can you get out of the house? Do you have a weapon?"

Liz reached forward in the darkness and grabbed the pot of hot water from the stove and stepped back to the wall. She heard the click of the back door opening, and stayed silent, taking a deep breath.

"Do you have a weapon? Agent Keen? Liz—"

Liz hung up the phone and slid it softly into the back pocket of her pants. She listened carefully to the soft footsteps crossing the floor, coming closer. He'd either head upstairs, or into the kitchen, looking for her.

A shadow passed through the dim light from the streetlight outside, and she gripped the handle of the pot tighter. He was coming to check the kitchen first.

As soon as she saw the edge of his form move slowly around the edge of the wall she was hugging, she swung the pot at him with all of her strength.

Tom growled in pain as hot water splashed over his arms, and up into his face. He stepped back, squinting his eyes shut, and Liz took the opportunity to take another swing at him with her spur-of-the-moment weapon. This time, his hands—one of them holding a gun, she realized—weren't in the way, and she hit him squarely in the temple.

He went down like a sack of potatoes.

…:::…

It was truly amazing how heavy her husband was when he was unconscious. Liz dragged him to the front entryway and handcuffed his arms around the banister. He started to come around just as she secured the second cuff into place.

Liz backed up and perched in the darkness on the arm of the couch. "Two years. That's a long assignment," she said.

Tom winced and tried to bring a hand to his head where he'd been hit, but found his wrists bound. He pulled at the handcuffs experimentally. "We've been married for two years, Liz. The assignment started well before that."

"Where's my dog?" Liz asked.

Tom said nothing.

"You'd think I'd be happy right now. I mean, I'm relieved, not to have to do this dance with you anymore, but… Shouldn't I be happier that you're going to spend the rest of your life in prison? You'd think I'd get some satisfaction from that, but I'm having trouble. Because at the moment, I just don't think there's a sentence, or punishment, or revenge that could ever come close to making up for what you've done."

"I was doing my job," Tom stated matter-of-factly.

"Your job? That was our life!" Liz spat, her voice rising. "We were going to have a baby—you begged me to have a baby!"

"I was doing my job," he repeated.

"Stop talking about your job!" she demanded. She could feel her phone buzzing in her back pocket. She reached for it, declined the call, and set it down roughly on the coffee table.

"Is that him? Was that Reddington?" Tom asked, looking at the phone. "What's the deal between you two? What's your obsession with him? It's going to bug me that I never figured it all out. I know you've known him a long time… since before you were adopted. Is he back for you? You guys got, like, a, uh, 'daddy-daughter' thing going on?"

Liz stood and walked into the kitchen.

Tom's smirk could be heard in his voice. "What's your plan? You going to have Daddy come over? Is he going to make me talk?"

"No, I don't need him for that," Liz said grimly, walking back toward Tom, holding a wrench in one hand. "I can do it myself. Who do you work for?"

"I have nothing to say," Tom said, seemingly unconcerned.

Liz nodded as if she'd expected that answer, and moved behind him, fitting the wrench around one of his thumbs. "Who do you work for?" she repeated.

"Come on, Liz," Tom scoffed. "You don't have it in you."

Liz twisted the wrench and felt—rather than heard—the bones in his thumb crack as he cried out and twisted, his arms tensing and his back bowing. His cries melted into cold, slightly-hysterical laughter before dying down to a harsh chuckle. "You broke my thumb," Tom said, his expression a cross between a smile and a grimace.

"Yeah, I did," Liz replied glibly. "If you're looking for sympathy, you might want to start with honesty. Here's an example of honesty, Tom. You've been making me pancakes for more than two years. I hate your pancakes."

Tom nodded, and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "You want honest? Here's one. If you're going to handcuff somebody, don't break their thumb—"

Before Liz knew what was happening, Tom had launched forward with a cry as his broken hand slipped free of the cuff. He hit her hard, tossing her back across the coffee table, which splintered under their weight and sent them both sprawling on the floor. Liz scrambled to her feet, but Tom grabbed one ankle and pulled, bringing her back down onto her knees. She pushed forward, trying to get to her gun, which was lying on the entry hall table, but Tom landed hard on her back, his arms encircling her. She threw her head backwards, butting into his nose, and he cried out, but didn't let go. He lifted Liz easily off the ground and twisted her, dropping her hard on her back on the floor.

The wind knocked out of her, Liz lay gasping for a moment before Tom grabbed a handful of her hair and began to drag her. She kicked out one of her legs, catching him hard on the side of his knee. His grip faltered, and she took the opportunity to land a solid punch into his midsection. He huffed, but stayed standing. He pulled his good arm back, and even though she saw it coming, Liz wasn't fast enough to avoid the hit to her jaw.

…:::…

She came to in the same position she'd had Tom in moments before: handcuffed to her own banister.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Liz," Tom was saying, his gun in his hand. She looked quickly toward the entry hall table, but her gun was gone. Glancing back at Tom, she saw it tucked into the waistband of his pants.

She scoffed, and raised her eyebrows. "Your right hook would seem to tell a different story," she growled.

"My job was never to hurt you," Tom continued, ignoring her comment. "I'm one of the good guys. Reddington is not who you think."

"You have no idea who I think Reddington is," Liz snarled. "If whoever you're working for is looking to punish him for something, then they're the ones who are mistaken about him."

Tom shook his head. "You know a lot about him, Liz, yeah, I get that. But are you sure you know it all?" With a sigh, he started for the door. Just before he clicked it closed behind him, he looked back at her, his expression almost sad. "Goodbye, Liz."

…:::…

Five minutes after Tom left, a man came in the back door, turned on the lights, and walked slowly toward Liz, his hands held up. "Mr. Reddington sent me," he said. "Do you have the keys to the handcuffs?"

Liz nodded. Once she was free, the man nodded at her and backed away, explaining Reddington was on his way, but he would wait outside until then.

"Thank you," Liz managed as the man disappeared out the door. She stooped to pick up her cell phone, noting five missed calls from Reddington, and called him back.

Reddington skipped 'hello' entirely. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice serious.

"Yeah. I'm going to have a wicked bruise on my jaw, but other than that…"

"I sent someone—"

"He's here. Thank you. He's still out front."

"I see him. We're pulling up now."

Liz ended the call and waited until Reddington walked in the front door. She caught sight of Dembe's shoulder before Reddington closed the door behind himself. Apparently this was going to be a private conversation. Liz wondered how much more admonishment she was going to have to endure today. After her meeting with Cooper earlier, she felt like she'd already had her fair share.

She sighed and walked to the kitchen table. She sat, and gently kicked the chair next to her, pushing it away from the table in a silent invitation for Reddington to take it. He walked past it without pause, passing into the kitchen. He returned with a cold pack, picked up one of the linen napkins from the table to wrap it in, and handed it to Liz.

She looked up at him, standing above her.

"You were right about the bruise," he explained, his eyes fixed on her jaw.

Liz sighed and held it to her face. "He's gone. My husband is gone."

"Your husband never existed."

"I'm glad. I'm glad the charade is over."

Reddington finally moved to sit down in the offered chair, placing a file folder on the table between them. "You've had a rough night. I understand… from the emotional point of view, this must feel like an extraordinary violation and betrayal. But you should try to keep in mind… for Tom it was business."

"Are you trying to make me feel better?" Liz asked, confused. "I just said I was glad he's gone. I thought you'd have a lecture for me about losing an asset; about not being careful enough tonight—spooking him and then letting him get away."

"You married him."

"What's your point?" Liz snapped. Her patience was running thin.

"You fell in love with him."

"That was before I knew what he was—"

"Agent Keen… Liz… you fell in love with a man, you married him, and he lied to you and betrayed you."

"If you are trying to make me feel better, this is a strange way to do it."

"You were considering adopting a child with him, even though you didn't want one, because he wanted one, and you cared enough to take that journey with him. He was the one person you chose in your life who you thought could make you happy; who could make you feel safe."

"Yeah," Liz scoffed and rolled her eyes, adjusting the ice pack. "And what does that say about me?"

"It says you have a good heart, and you're willing—not only to sacrifice and compromise for the people you love, but you're also willing to allow yourself to be vulnerable in the pursuit of meaningful connections and partnerships."

"I know. It's a weakness. I'll work on it," Liz mumbled.

"No," Reddington shook his head. "I was going to say it takes a brave person to do that. Someone braver than me." Reddington didn't smile, and fixed Liz with a serious gaze. "Right now you're angry, and with good reason. But you should also remember… if at any point you feel the urge to grieve for the relationship you lost… you've got a good reason to do that, too."

Liz just stared at Reddington, at a complete loss for words.

"Now, like I said, you've had quite a day… But something came into my possession this afternoon that I'm going to have to ask you about. I've been looking into the time between Tom's flight being rerouted to Tulsa, and his arrival in Nebraska for your father's funeral. There were discrepancies, and I still have some phone calls to make, but my contact was able to acquire…" Reddington paused as he picked up the file folder between them and opened it. He pulled out the drawings that had been at Sam's bedside in the hospital; Liz's childhood drawings of Reddington. "I need an explanation for these," he said firmly, spreading the sketches out across the table.

Liz felt a cold chill run down her back. She did not need this right now. "We don't have time for this, Red. We lost Tom tonight, and I'm only home for a few hours of sleep and a shower before I'm supposed to be back at the office. Xiaoping Li is still missing, and if we don't find her—if she gets sent back to the Chinese—she's gonna die."

"The pictures," Reddington insisted, pointing at them.

"Did you hear what I just said?" Liz asked, pulling the ice pack away from her face. "These pictures don't matter right now."

"We haven't lost Tom."

Liz paused for a moment, digesting what was said. "This whole time, you've never let him out of your sight," Liz said with a realization. "Your people are following him now. The man who came in here and unlocked my handcuffs?"

"You were in handcuffs?"

Liz glared at Reddington, who sighed and bobbed his head. "Yes, he's one of the tails I'd hired for Tom. Not at all combat savvy, though, so I apologize—I couldn't send him in to help you until either Tom left, or you subdued him, in which case you wouldn't have needed him."

"So you have people on him still? Right now?"

"Yes."

"You don't want him brought in. You're hoping he'll lead you back to whoever hired him in the first place."

Reddington pushed the drawings toward Liz across the table. "Explain the drawings, Agent Keen."

Liz crossed her arms. "I'm not discussing this with you tonight, Red. I've had a hell of a day, and unless it concerns the names on your Blacklist, I'm not—"

"Fine. I have a new name for you. The Kingmaker."

"A new—? You aren't listening at all, are you? We're not even done bringing in the Pavlovich brothers! Xiaoping Li is still out there, and you're giving us a new case?" Liz asked incredulously.

"Don't worry so much about the Pavlovich brothers—" Reddington waved a hand dismissively, frowning with distaste at Liz's myopic view of the situation. "—sometimes they can actually be quite useful. For instance, if we ever need to forcibly bring in Tom. I'll probably enlist their services."

"And Xiaoping Li?"

"They're probably putting her on a cargo ship."

"So… what? Look through the manifests, timetables, shipping routes…?"

"She isn't cargo, Agent Keen, she's contraband. This is a smuggling operation. And nothing gets smuggled in or out of the Chesapeake without Rolph Cisco knowing about it. Have Donald pay him a visit." Liz stood and began to walk to the door, but Reddington grabbed her bicep with a firm hand as she passed and stopped her. "Call him. You're going to stay here and talk to me tonight."

…:::…

TBC.