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: Gotta take a moment to thank everyone, again, for not only sticking with me, but commenting and reviewing with such love. This project started out as a way to see how little I would have to change-how SIMPLE it would be-to create an equal but still interesting relationship between Red and Liz, and how little I'd have to change to make Liz into a stronger, more fully-formed character. Turns out the answer is: not much. I wanted to prove that The Blacklist could still be basically WHAT IT IS, and still have a badass female lead. I can't tell you how much it means to me that so many of you have mentioned this in your comments! I'm incredibly flattered by all of your words. Thank you, thank you, thank you. :) (And an extra thanks to almcvay1 for assuring me I hadn't started typing gibberish.)

…:::…

Chapter 21: Berlin Part 1

…:::…

Liz called Reddington back immediately, hoping the call had just been dropped, but knowing in her heart that he'd hung up on her.

She called back three times in quick succession. Nothing.

After an hour, she called him again. Twice.

Nothing.

Liz walked slowly over to Ressler's desk. "I need to talk to you," she said quietly.

"I'm busy, Keen. I shot a guy today, remember? Comes with a bit of paperwork, even when it's a 'bad guy'."

"My husband was an agent inserted into my life to learn about Raymond Reddington and this task force. Yesterday night I confronted him, and he fled," Liz said flatly.

Aram and Meera were standing within earshot, and both stopped what they were doing to stare over at Liz. Ressler looked up at her for a moment from his desk chair, his mouth open as if he wanted to reply, but couldn't find the words to make his response audible. Finally, rather than saying anything, he stood, grabbed Liz by the bicep, and marched her upstairs to Cooper's office.

Several hours later, she'd explained everything she felt she could. They'd immediately called in an interrogator to question her; someone other than a team member. She gave the entire timeline from the moment Tom had first made contact at a coffee shop in Georgetown, to their fight the previous night. She explained only that she felt Tom had targeted her in an effort to locate Raymond Reddington, and that her expertise—used heavily by the FBI starting in 2007—was likely the reason she'd been chosen in particular. Quick to admit she had no actual proof of this, she posited Tom Keen's secondary purpose in her life was data collection and counterintel regarding the task force. Since nothing specifically indicated that he knew how her path had crossed Reddington's twenty years ago, she felt confident leaving that information out of her report. Red didn't know, Tom didn't appear to know, so the FBI didn't need to, either. Simple as that.

"Did you tell your husband you were working with Raymond Reddington?" the interrogator had asked.

"I did not," Liz said. "And if we could refrain from referring to him as my 'husband', I'd appreciate that."

"And you have no idea of his whereabouts at this time?"

Liz didn't hesitate with her answer, since even though Reddington was having Tom followed, he hadn't shared any of the information with her. "No."

She went on to describe her theories about him goading her into turning him in to the FBI so he might get a first-hand look at the facility, and she gave full descriptions and accounts of all she knew regarding his three accomplices: Christopher Maly, Jolene Parker, and Gina Zanetakos.

"I'm not actually sure how she's connected," Liz amended after mentioning Zanetakos. "But she is available for questioning, since she's serving a sentence for conspiracy and murder at Danbury."

"No. Gina Zanetakos escaped two weeks ago when she was on a work furlough. Her whereabouts are unknown."

Liz refrained from speaking her mind about the insanity of letting that woman out on a work furlough to begin with. She could just imagine the expression on Reddington's face when she told him later.

If he ever spoke to her again.

…:::...

That night, Dembe walked into the room where Reddington sat, poring over documentation spread across a table in front of him. Reddington looked up expectantly, but said nothing.

"They lost the husband," Dembe said, holding up a phone.

Reddington scowled, and looked back down at the paperwork.

"How bad is it?" Dembe asked.

"Worse than I thought," Reddington said darkly. "How's your Russian these days?" he inquired, tilting his head at the documents in an invitation to have the other man join him at the table.

As Dembe began to walk toward him, there was a loud knock at the front door. He stopped and looked sharply at Reddington, who shook his head, his eyes hard. He wasn't expecting anyone tonight. Dembe's right hand went to his weapon as he left the room to see who was calling so late.

A moment later, Dembe led Liz back into the room. Reddington sighed in frustration and shook his head. "Agent Keen, I have little time for you tonight, and an even smaller amount of patience, so you're going to need to—"

She cut him off. "I told the FBI everything we know regarding Tom today."

"You what?"

"I tried to contact you; you ignored me. It was going to come out sooner or later, and I wanted to stay ahead of it; control the information. I gave you an opportunity to weigh in on what was said, but you wouldn't pick up the phone."

The muscles in Reddington's jaw jumped, and Liz noted the small tick beneath his left eye.

"You look like you've had a generally terrible day," she went on, quietly. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Yes," he answered, sarcasm in his tone. "Tell me who hired the Kingmaker to frame my man in Prague."

"I'm sorry; I had no control over that—"

"You don't seem to have control over a lot of things, Agent Keen," Reddington said irritably. "And the FBI, for all its pomp and circumstance, doesn't seem to, either. I'm beginning to think being attached to this agency isn't worth the hassle anymore," he mumbled.

"Leaving would be a mistake, Red," Liz said quickly. "You need me—"

"And why is that? Hmm? Who are you?" Reddington stood up and advanced on Liz, who stubbornly held her ground. "Why do I need you, in particular? How did Tom pick you—what piece of information did he have that made you his target? And who was it that hired him to infiltrate your life? To marry you?"

"I don't know what Tom found that made him believe I was a way to you. It could have been any number of things," Liz answered honestly. "And I don't know what group he worked for."

"I didn't ask what group he worked for; that information is inconsequential. I want to know who hired him."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Liz asked suspiciously.

"Not always. And not in this case." Reddington turned back to his papers, and sat down, turning away from Liz dismissively.

"You found the agency Tom was working for?" Liz asked, her voice rising in anticipation. She took a step toward the table.

"Go home, Agent Keen."

"Red, I don't know what put you into such a tailspin over the last two days, but you look like you could use some help," she said, her voice almost pleading with him to let her in.

Reddington inclined his head to one side and sighed. "Since aligning myself with the FBI a year ago, I haven't been able to ascertain who is coming after me. That was my most pressing reason for this affiliation." He paused and rolled his tongue in his mouth before continuing unemotionally, "Now, I've never seen any sense in sticking around in an unhealthy relationship, and if I'm not getting what I need out of this…" He waved a hand between them. "...it might be time for me to go. I've spent a lot of time and energy helping your government bring down 'bad guys' over the last twelve months, and meanwhile, my closest contact within the agency refuses to tell me what she knows about the people after me, or why she's been stalking me for years." He paused pointedly, and Liz was unable to hold his gaze, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I came to you people for answers, and all I've gotten is a guest-starring role in your task-force's cops and robbers game. Someone is after me, Agent Keen, and I'm not sure you're able to help me with that. I think it's time we ended our arrangement and went our separate ways."

Panic burst in Liz's chest, and she fought to keep her face from betraying her frantic dismay. He couldn't leave. She couldn't lose him.

"I can help you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She suddenly saw herself through his eyes: young, and small in the world. And probably incredibly naive.

"No, you can't. We're done. I'm sure you can show yourself out." Reddington looked down at his papers.

"Don't do this, Red. You and me… we're not finished," Liz insisted.

Without looking up from his task, Reddington said unemotionally, "'You and me' weren't anything to begin with, and if we never started, then there is no 'finished' to be had."

Liz realized hanging her hopes of him staying on anything personal relating to the pair of them was a bad idea. She quickly switched tactics to play on his sense of self-preservation instead.

"If you run, they'll tear up your immunity deal. It'll be over." Liz walked over to where Red sat, leaving only a small distance between them. "They get their hands on you again? You'll either die in the take-down, or you'll end up in a dark hole where I can't find you. They'll imprison you, suspend habeas corpus indefinitely, and you'll never see sunlight again."

"You don't think I have the ability to disappear?" Reddington asked, slightly insulted. "I've been avoiding various people and agencies who wanted to catch me for decades. If I want to leave, you and your Agent Ressler would not be able to find me again, I assure you."

Liz gave a somewhat disgusted roll of her eyes. "First of all, he is not 'my' Agent Ressler," she began. "And second, yes, we would be able to find you again. You don't think I've learned an extra thing or two about you since this all started? I bet I know more about you than the rest of the world put together, and it's probably fairly obvious to you at this point that I've had a vested interest in Raymond Reddington for quite some time. You can't honestly believe I haven't continued digging and filling in more blanks about you while you've been asking to search for names in ViCAP, or looking through the Alchemist's files? You have no idea what I'd be willing to do—what rules I'd be willing to break—to help you. You know you could have been asking me for these things the whole time? You think I don't want to help you find who's trying to take you down?"

"Trust is not something that comes easily in my line of work, Agent Keen, it has to be earned."

"And when have I ever shown myself to be anything but thoroughly on your side? What have I done to make you think you can't trust me?" Liz placed a hand on the table in front of Reddington, leaning in to his workspace so he would have to acknowledge her. "You do trust me. You wouldn't work with me the way you have been—you wouldn't consciously include me in things—if you didn't. You've gone out of your way to save my life multiple times in the last year—"

"Agent Keen, you're my contact at the FBI, and yes, we've developed a sort of working relationship that's been built on... a small measure of trust between us," Reddington admitted. "Working with the task force over the last year, I found the agents to be just the type of people I expected: the human equivalents of stale, dry, flavorless water crackers, and you were notably the most palatable one in the whole bunch," he confessed. "I did not want to have to work with Donald Ressler, and after the first few weeks I wasn't about to go through the hassle of learning—" Reddington looked her up and down. "—someone else. You were worth protecting because you were useful. You were business." Liz worked hard to keep her face unemotional, despite the fact that she felt like she'd just been punched in the gut. "Now, I know I'm not just business to you," he was quick to continue, "but since you won't tell me what our connection is, I still don't know that we even actually have one. You could have fixated on me in school, the first time your Criminal Psychology 101 professor gave a lecture on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted, plastering my face up on his overhead projector." Reddington looked like he wanted to say more, but the words fell silent in his mouth, and he swallowed, rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, and turned his head slightly to look past Liz, his eyes unfocused across the room.

"If I first became aware of you in college... explain the drawings," Liz argued in a low voice, determined to talk him out of leaving, even if she had to give up some ground.

"What a wonderful suggestion! Explain the drawings," Reddington demanded, looking up at her sharply. "Explain why Tom Keen thought you were important enough in the search for me that he married you. That level of commitment to a cover would have been warranted only if you were someone very special, and someone who had very specific ties to me. Explain who you are, Agent Keen. Tell me your real name. Tell me where you were born. Tell me why you had to go to live with Sam. Tell me anything. Because I don't trust people I know nothing about."

Liz rotated until she was able to sit, perched slightly on the edge of the table. She took a long moment to decide how much to tell him. If giving up some information was the only thing that could make him decide to stay… then so be it. "As a freshman in college I begged my way into an advanced-level criminal psychology class. I knew I wanted to become an FBI agent, and I wanted to do it as fast as possible. I recognized your face—the face I'd been struggling to draw for years—as one of the FBI's Ten Most Wanted. It was a bit of a shock, to be honest. I wasn't expecting to see your face in the middle of class one day, without warning. And you'd aged—" Liz broke off, biting her lip. After a beat, she added, "That was the day I learned your name."

"But you'd drawn me before that?" Reddington asked quietly.

"Yes."

"Why."

"Because I needed to remember your face." When he didn't say anything further, Liz continued, "Since our first case together, we've saved a lot of people, Red. And you can help us save more. If you walk away now, those lives will be on your hands." She looked at Reddington imploringly. "Are you really willing to put your frustration with me above the lives of innocent people—?"

She shouldn't have appealed to his sense of good. She saw the change in his mood immediately. "I really do have a lot on my plate right now," Reddington interrupted her firmly. "Dembe?" he called. Lowering his voice again, he addressed himself to Liz once more. "As we've discussed, someone has been targeting me recently, and my ship is taking on quite a bit of water at the moment, so I have work to do." Dembe entered the room behind Liz, and Reddington nodded at him. "Dembe, Agent Keen was just leaving; do you mind seeing her to the door?"

Dembe stepped forward, his arm extended in an invitation to Liz to follow him.

"Let me help," Liz said, side-stepping the bodyguard.

Reddington tossed down the pen he was holding and turned to Liz, exasperated. "You cannot help, Agent Keen. Now, unless you speak Russian, I think we'll do better without the distraction of—"

Liz continued to stay a few strides ahead of Dembe as she rounded a large chair and made her way to the opposite side of the table. "It's a little rusty, but I'm sure it's better than yours," she said.

Dembe stopped, and Reddington looked up from his papers.

"Like I said… how can I help?" she asked, her eyebrows raised earnestly.

Reddington narrowed his eyes at Liz for a moment before slowly and deliberately choosing a single page from the spread on the table. He extended his arm toward Liz, but didn't stand or lean toward her, making her go out of her way to reach for the paper. She took it and skimmed it as she pulled out a chair for herself. She sat, and looked up at Reddington. "Berlin."

"What about it?"

"'Who', not 'it'. Berlin is a person. And he's coming. For you." Liz passed the sheet of paper back across the table quickly and picked up another. "Where did you get these?" she asked.

"Does it give a date?" Reddington asked. "Berlin's arrival?"

"No," Liz responded, frowning at the page she held. "But there's reference to a plane…?" Liz trailed off. "Do you remember when I gave you the photograph of the girl? At Stanley Kornish's cabin?"

"The Stewmaker?" he clarified. Liz nodded. "Yes. Why?"

"This mentions her." Liz passed the page back to Reddington. "Why did you kill her?" Liz asked gently, attempting to keep her voice as non-judgmental as possible, even though it turned her stomach a bit to think of the girl he'd handed over to that monster. She'd never been able to figure out what move he'd been making at the time. It seemed vastly out of character for him.

"Who says I killed her?" Reddington answered evenly.

Liz faltered. "She… Her picture. He had her picture in his trophy book. I know you arranged transport of her body from Russia to the United States in 1991, I know—"

"You know a lot, yes," Reddington interrupted. "But you don't know the whole story, and you obviously do not know the details of my first few years… on my own." He tilted his head and regarded her stoically. "You were, what… seven? Eight years old in 1991? How do you even know any of this?"

Liz shrugged one shoulder in a lazy, minimalistic gesture. She felt exhausted now that the adrenaline from Reddington's threat to leave was starting to dissipate. "Lots of kids take a year off after college. Backpack. Get off the grid. See the world." Liz ran a finger along the edge of the expensive, ornate table edge. "They say kids who do it are less burned out when they come back to start jobs or go on to graduate level education. It's good for them." She looked back up at Reddington and held his gaze. "They learn a lot."

Liz suddenly realized Dembe had silently withdrawn from the room. Apparently she'd been allowed to stay. Some tension seemed to lift from her shoulders, and the tight line of her mouth relaxed a bit, even managing a hint of a smile. "So what else can I help you with?"

…:::...

The next day when Liz walked into the blacksite, it took less than a minute for a feeling of uneasiness to settle over her. Ressler and Meera wouldn't look at her, and while Aram didn't avoid eye contact, his good-morning smile across the room seemed to be tinged with pity and apology.

"Aram." Liz came to stand beside his desk, leaning against the edge. "Where's Cooper?"

"Uh… in his office. He's been in there since I got here, and I was… early."

Liz looked up through the half-drawn blinds. "Who is he talking to?" she asked, squinting at the unfamiliar younger man.

"Don't know. But apparently he's up high enough that he can give Cooper orders," Aram said with a touch of fascination in his voice.

"What orders?" Liz asked.

"Um… you'll, uh… You should really talk to Agent Ressler or Agent Malik about that…?" Aram shuffled some papers nervously and gave a hasty excuse to walk away.

Glancing at Meera and Ressler, Liz felt a cold dread creep up her back, and she glanced up at Cooper's office again. Just then, she caught sight of the head of their tactical unit as he walked in behind her, brushed past her without slowing, and made a beeline for Ressler. Liz grabbed her bag from her desk and immediately walked back to the elevator.

…:::...

After a terse phone call with Dembe, Liz arrived at the park where Reddington was sitting at a small table, inlaid with the pattern of a chess board. The pieces were splayed out in front of him, and even though no one sat across from him, he seemed to be in the middle of a game. Liz approached Reddington quickly, doing her best to quell the desire to sprint to him since she needed to avoid drawing any unwanted attention to herself. "Red—"

"I prefer to play with myself in private," he interrupted her lightly, not looking up.

"Red, we don't have time for your jokes—" Liz hissed. Reddington dropped his cavalier attitude immediately, on edge at the sound of the worry in her voice. He glanced at Dembe, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He hadn't seen anything worrisome yet from his post at the edge of the park.

"I need you to come with me," Liz said.

"Where?"

"You need to get in the car," Liz insisted.

"Why?" Reddington asked, suspicious.

"Remember Brussels?" Liz asked, breathless. Reddington clenched his jaw. "Go. Now," Liz warned, her voice low.

Dembe began to jog toward them just as Reddington's eyes slid to the side and caught sight of a man in full tactical gear, his weapon raised, moving in a quick crouch to take cover behind a low, decorative brick wall. Reddington held up a hand to Dembe, who froze on the spot. He inclined his head and shot his eyes to the left, and Dembe tensed, as if he wanted to refuse the order. Reddington continued to stare at him until the other man began to back up slowly, and turned to walk away in the direction Reddington had indicated, his face anxious.

"What have you done?" Reddington asked, scanning across the park, noting the other shadows approaching.

"What have I done?" Liz asked, confused.

"Who told you about this?"

"No-one. I got to work this morning and something was off—I need to make sure you're—"

"They did that on purpose. You led them here. They didn't know where I'd be this morning, so they made you jumpy and then followed you."

Liz turned in the direction Reddington was staring and felt all of the air leave her body in a rush. He was right. They were here. "Red—I swear, I didn't—"

"I know you didn't. And I appreciate the sentiment." Reddington looked up at Liz and gave a sincere nod.

"You just told Dembe to leave…" Liz said, taking another step toward Reddington.

"Stop moving," Reddington said sharply. "Dembe needed to back away from me, as do you. Right now."

"Red, I'm not going to leave you here alone."

"Yes, you are. If you try to protect me from this, you'll just end up in a matching hole," he said grimly.

"Let me talk to them, Red; this isn't the right time for one of your selfless moments," Liz said desperately.

"I don't have selfless moments, Agent Keen. I'm sorry if this cracks the image you have of me in some way, but I'm always trying to think of some angle I could play, or advantage I could gain. Right now? I'm telling you to leave so that I can maintain an ally in the FBI. You're no good to me in a cell."

"I know what you did for Dembe. When you first found him," Liz said in a rush. "And I sure as hell know what you did for me. Don't tell me you can't be selfless."

Reddington rolled his jaw, once, and reached into his jacket. He withdrew a gun and held it lightly, resting on his thigh. He pointed it at Liz.

"Please excuse the gun; I'd hate for them to think we're in cahoots. It looks like someone in the government got wind of our alliance and my agreement with the FBI. I'm sure they disagreed with the situation: an international criminal… in bed with the FBI. More than likely my immunity has been voided and all paperwork to that effect destroyed."

"I'm sorry," Liz breathed, panic making her heart hammer in her chest. She should have let Reddington walk away last night when he'd told her he was done with the FBI and wanted out. "I should have let you go last night. I just… I need you to—"

"Drop the weapon! Now!" Harsh orders were barked from one of the men surrounding them from a distance, and Liz jumped slightly.

"—I just want you to know this isn't the end... for me," she said, rushing to get her words out before the tactical team descended on them both. "Working with you over the past year… Before that, I felt like my life had been cut into two pieces. Like I was two people. With you… It doesn't matter what happened with my marriage, or anything else this year. You've made it all worth it. And there are still answers you need, and answers I need, and neither one of us can get them without the other. So like it or not—and no matter what they do to you—we're stuck with each other. You understand me?" she asked, pleading for a response.

Reddington stood up and stepped toward Liz, almost casually, reaching for her with his empty hand. The surrounding team surged forward, shouting orders at both of them. Reddington took Liz's hand and gave it a quick squeeze—so fast she questioned whether it had actually happened—and pressed his gun into her grip. Not releasing her hand, he knelt slowly in front of her. Liz's brain raced for a solution, but she felt like she was trying to find purchase on a too-slick surface. Reddington tried to withdraw his hands from Liz and his weapon, but Liz clung to him. "Wait—" she whispered fiercely.

"You need to back away now, Lizzie," Reddington said, his voice smooth and calm, nodding at her. Giving her permission to leave him there, kneeling on the ground.

She loosened her grip and stepped back, taking the gun with her.

Reddington removed his hat and placed it on the table beside him, folding his hands behind his head, his posture agreeing to a peaceful surrender as armed agents swarmed around him. One of the team grabbed Liz roughly by the arm and dragged her backward, relieving her of Reddington's weapon.

The last thing she saw before she was swept into a van was Reddington, face down on the ground, his hands pulled behind him, guns trained on his back.

…:::…

TBC.