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'm letting most of the cases mostly fade into the background at this point, because let's face it: the characters are what we're all here for, right? That said, the final chapters have to focus on the Blacklister a bit more, because it's Berlin! BERLIN! I did it! I made it to the finale of season one! This has been a crazy-involved endeavor, and I appreciate all the love and support and reviews and kudos I've gotten so far, because I'm flattered and frankly a little bit amazed that people have stuck with me this long. :) Part two of Kingmaker should be posted tomorrow (the length of this thing got away from me)!

…:::…

Chapter 19: The Kingmaker Part 1

…:::…

Previously: "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 Tom's flight that was rerouted to Tulsa, and his arrival time 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 stood, ready to drag her exhausted, bruised body back to the office to continue work on the case with Ressler. Xiaoping Li needed to be found before she was smuggled out of the country, and Reddington had just given them the best tip they'd had all day. Not only was she grateful for the help with the case, but it gave her an excuse to leave the conversation—and those drawings—behind for another few hours.

But Reddington had a different plan, and he grabbed her bicep with a strong hand as she passed, stopping her. "Call him. You're going to stay here and talk to me tonight."

"No, I'm not, Red," she said, pulling at her arm. Reddington's grip tightened painfully, and he stood, firmly pushing her backwards and down into the chair she'd vacated. She looked up at him with a mix of shock and anger. "How dare you come into my house and—"

"I've tortured and killed people in their own homes before. Usually for nothing more tangible than the kind of information I'm requesting from you." Reddington stayed standing a moment longer before returning to his chair, satisfied that Liz wasn't going to try to leave again. "The drawings."

"Are none of your business right now," Liz said evenly, trying not to panic.

"They're of me," Reddington shot back.

"Are they?" Liz narrowed her eyes.

"You drew them," Reddington accused.

"Are they signed?" Liz asked.

"When did you draw those pictures, Agent Keen?" Reddington's voice gained an even harsher edge. "And why was your father in possession of them?"

"Red, I'm sorry, but I can't discuss this with you right now. You're going to have to be—"

"If you know what's good for you, you will not suggest that I be 'patient'," Reddington said in a low growl.

Liz fell silent. She hated having to keep these secrets, but if they started discussing how she knew Raymond Reddington, he'd end up with an even larger price on his head. She looked at him, her expression stricken and remorseful. So often she forgot that she was dealing with a killer. A violent survivalist, having made his way in the world—and underworld—for the last twenty-five years due to his ability to out-wit, intimidate, and harm. She didn't want to be scared of him, but the look in his eyes made a flicker of worry dance in her gut.

"The sketches aren't important, Red," she whispered finally. "Right now? They're a distraction, and a dangerous one. If I explain those drawings, you will end up with a target on your back so big that I won't be able to protect you."

Reddington gave a sharp, derisive laugh, and smiled coldly, shaking his head. "I'm fully capable of protecting myself, Agent Keen. I don't need you for that."

"You wouldn't have turned yourself in to the FBI if you could protect yourself," Liz leveled at him.

"Watch your tone," Reddington warned venomously, his expression dark.

"It's not my tone, Red," Liz said, raising her eyebrows. "Someone was spending a lot of time and energy trying to depreciate your business—and still is—and before you showed up on our doorstep, you had no idea who it was, or what they wanted. You were taking so many hits that you realized you needed an ally. You needed protection. You needed an asset whose loyalties were more predictable than your usual contacts, so you could investigate the source of these… attacks. You knew the FBI had a task force dedicated to you, and you also knew your wealth of information regarding the criminal underworld would be enough to keep you out of a tiny cell with no windows."

Reddington was sitting completely still, his face an unreadable mask. Liz knew this tactic could blow up in her face pretty spectacularly, but now that she'd started, she found herself unable—or maybe just unwilling—to stop.

"You turned yourself in so you could avail yourself of our resources. You've been trying to track down who's responsible for these smaller hits before they get close enough to actually take a chunk out of you. Tom, Gina Zanetakos, Jolene Parker… they all worked for somebody. And it's no secret at this point that you're working with the FBI. Hell, just take Madeline Pratt. She's a woman scorned, and she's also no stranger to passing around information when it suits her. And she's just one person. You know people are talking. How much more of this can you withstand, Red? Your friends are probably even talking. Shouldn't you be more concerned about that right now?"

"I don't have any friends," Reddington said dismissively. Liz could tell she'd struck a nerve, and had come close enough to the truth to rattle him, despite his continued control of his outward appearance.

"Well, you might not have any left in the more nefarious circles you're used to running in, but you do have friends, Red," Liz said, her voice softening. "You have me."

Reddington gave a frustrated sigh, leaning an elbow on the table and crossing his legs. He looked away, across the living room, but his eyes were unfocussed. After a moment he licked his lips and bobbed his head back in Liz's direction, resigned. His gaze fell on her bruised jaw, and he gestured at the abandoned ice pack on the table. When Liz picked it up and replaced it on her face, Reddington began grudgingly, "The Kingmaker."

"Tell me about him," Liz said promptly, relieved she'd been able to redirect him for the time being.

"Emil Dusek is a politician in Prague. He was recently arrested under suspicion of murder. I believe he was framed."

"And you want us to prove his innocence?" Liz asked doubtfully.

"Goodness, no, what the hell do you think you could you do from here? No. Dusek is lost. But he was targeted. By the Kingmaker, I believe, in order to weaken my… interests overseas, and cost me a great deal of time and money. What I want to know is who retained him."

"You think this Kingmaker caused trouble for some politician in your pocket in order to get to you? And you also think whoever hired him was responsible for Tom and Jolene Parker and Gina Zanetakos and all the rest?"

"Yes."

Liz nodded, and stood, but didn't walk away. "Well, then. Let's get the FBI to arrest him, hmm?" The way Reddington looked up at her, Liz could tell he hadn't expected it to be so easy to bring her on board with this case. Internally, she shook her head in exasperation, wondering when he would finally realize she was on his team, for better or for worse, and that—increasingly—everything she did… was for him.

…:::…

The next morning, Liz woke up to a pounding headache. She supposed that was par for the course after the beating she'd taken from Tom the night before. She wondered briefly if she might have gotten a concussion when he knocked her out.

Before to going to bed, she'd called Ressler and passed on the information regarding Xiaoping Li, and their new case. He'd been predictably peeved at Reddington's gall, saddling them with a new Blacklister before the prior case had been closed. "Think of yourself like a doctor," Liz had groaned into the phone, flopping back on to her bed, still in her street clothes. "You're on call, and sometimes a second heart attack comes in before you've stabilized the first one." Ressler had grumbled something about the difference in pay scale between himself and a doctor, and hung up.

Liz took something for her head, jumped in the shower, and headed to the office. By the time she got there, Ressler and Meera had already left, confident about the likely location of Xiaoping Li. She and Aram provided support over coms, researching the Kingmaker in their downtime, and after the woman had been safely recovered by the team, Liz grabbed her coat and headed for the door, calling back to Aram that she was going to take an early lunch to check in with Reddington on the new case.

…:::…

"Jamie, tell your people I'll have an answer by the end of the week, but whether or not we do business, I'm keeping all the samples," Reddington said jovially to the man who passed Liz as she stepped into the foyer of Reddington's newest temporary residence. "Ah, Lizzie, perfect timing. Say hello to Jamie."

Liz faltered slightly. 'Lizzie'? "Hello," she managed, turning to watch as the man exited through the front door. She spun back to Reddington, her eyebrows raised. "'Lizzie'?"

"Well, I couldn't very well call you 'Agent Keen' in front of a drug dealer, now could I?" Reddington said, looking at her as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

At that point, Liz got a chance to look at the bags and boxes and food and plants spread across the large dining table. "What is all this…?"

"Cannabis," Reddington replied matter-of-factly, walking past the mess and Dembe, who sat at one end of the table, plowing through a tub of ice cream. The seated man ignored Liz completely as she passed him, following Reddington. "Jamie's trying to form a huge consortium of farms and warehouses outside Denver and having a little trouble securing the financing, so I would be the bank." Reddington led Liz into a small sitting room and shut the door behind them. "I'd offer you an edible, but we have work to do."

Liz shook her head and resisted rolling her eyes. "We recovered Xiaoping Li this morning. She's going to be fine. Meera will probably be tied up with her debriefing for the rest of the day once they get back to the office."

"Congratulations," Reddington said, seating himself in an impressive wingback chair.

Liz took a moment to look around the room. "So who usually lives here?"

"Oh, yes, please excuse the house. My host spends a tremendous amount of money on all the wrong things." Reddington waved a hand at the floor. "You should see the pool he's got downstairs. I'd be bobbing around in there now if it weren't for my job as a lifeguard my junior year in high school. Had to give mouth to mouth to Mrs. Beerman. She belched up a lungful of corned beef and chlorine. I haven't been in a pool since."

"What percentage of your stories are just adorable anecdotes you come up with on the spot to sound charming and chatty? Put whoever you're speaking to at ease?" Liz asked, her eyes narrowed.

"Excuse me?" Reddington replied.

"You were in the Navy. You've been in lots of pools since junior year of high school."

"Oh, you're no fun," Reddington said, wincing. "Fine—to business. Have you made any progress on the Kingmaker?"

Liz stifled a smile. "You said he traveled from Prague yesterday—there were six flights he could have been on. We pulled the passenger manifests and applied my profile: foreign national, male, thirty-five to sixty-five years of age, traveling alone in First Class. That narrowed the list down to forty-seven passengers. Of those, forty were on business. We were able to confirm their identities and itineraries with their respective corporations, which leaves seven potentials. Six of which checked into the hotels they had listed on their immigration forms. One did not."

"Well done, Agent Keen," Reddington inclined his head toward her.

"What happened to 'Lizzie'?" she asked smoothly.

Reddington ignored her. "When can I speak to him?" he asked.

"Oh, you didn't let me finish. We don't have him. We have a picture of him—" Liz pulled a printed security camera picture from her pocket and unfolded the page, passing it to Reddington. "—but he'd cloned someone else's credit card and passport. He's still in the wind."

Reddington frowned at the picture. "No leads on where he might be headed?"

"None," Liz said, watching Reddington carefully.

Folding the picture again, Reddington stood, holding an arm out toward the door. Liz stood, understanding she was being dismissed. "Thank you for the update," Reddington said as he led her back to the front hall. "But it seems like it's time for me to take matters into my own hands a bit more. If you'll excuse me… I need to set up a meeting."

…:::…

Alan Fitch was generally horrified to see Raymond Reddington waiting for him at his usual table at his favorite restaurant, and said as much.

"Five is awfully early to eat dinner, Alan," Reddington said with a look of disappointment. "Just how old are you these days?"

"This is out of bounds, Ray," Fitch warned him.

Reddington brushed off Fitch's indignation and got straight to the reason for his visit. "What I've come to discuss—and I realize this is a somewhat dramatic analogy—but I'm under attack and have been for some time. My interests; my allies. Someone has targeted my key infrastructure, and the truth is, I'm bleeding."

Fitch, seated across from him, scoffed quietly. "Why should I even consider involving myself in your mess?"

"Because my enemy is your enemy."

"We co-exist, Ray. Surely our last interaction proved that we're not friends. Don't overestimate out relationship."

Reddington tamped down on the fury that threatened to boil to the surface at the mention of the previous Anslo Garrick ordeal. If it was one thing he hated, it was appearing weak or undignified in front of other people, especially people he worked with. He leaned forward, dropping his voice. "We don't co-exist. The way I see it, we're both holding loaded guns, pointed at each other. What I possess would lay waste to you and your Alliance. And yes, should I ever use it, you'd probably kill me on the spot. But what we're talking about is mutually assured destruction. So we've both… behaved ourselves… up to this point." Reddington leaned back in his chair and gave a shrug. "Now… this enemy of mine. If he prevails, and in doing so, finds himself in possession of that information, he may very well choose not to be so... well-behaved. You're already involved in this mess, Alan, and if I lose control of the information, you may be exposed. And if I die, it triggers my own protocol for release."

"I don't respond well to threats," Fitch said, his benign delivery an obvious oversimplification of his mood.

"I'm not here to threaten you," Red assured him. "I'm here to see if we can work together."

…:::…
TBC.