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: It's the last episode of the season! *sigh of relief* This has been a monster challenge. If you're still here… thanks for sticking with me. I'd like to do Season Two, but I need a break and a bit more mythology first. Maybe I'll start it over the winter hiatus? But for now… the next chapter will be the end of my 'season'. ;)

…:::…

Chapter 22: Berlin Part 2

…:::…

"At least you don't have to worry about immunity anymore," Ressler said as he led Reddington into the cell. "You're never gonna go on trial. You're just going to disappear."

Reddington passively allowed his wrists to be handcuffed to metal brackets, spread far apart on the bench. As Ressler swung the door of Reddington's newest cage closed with a clang, he asked, "What is it with you and Keen? She's been weird about you from the first time I ever met her, and—" Ressler paused to look Reddington up and down as if evaluating him again. "—I've never been able to figure out the obsession."

Reddington regarded the man in front of him coolly. "What level of SPF do you have to use when you go to the beach? Eighty? Does it even go up that high?" Reddington tilted his head, and added with a flat affect, "Can you even go to a beach?"

Ressler gave a thin smile, with narrowed eyes, and walked away toward the door.

"I don't know," Reddington said, his voiced raised to carry across the room before Ressler crossed out into the hallway.

"You don't know what?" Ressler asked. He looked at Reddington's back. The man sat still as a statue, his back straight.

"What it is between Agent Keen and I."

…:::…

As soon as Liz saw Cooper step off the elevator at the blacksite, she jumped up and hurried toward him. "Sir—" She skidded to a stop. "Sir, about Reddington."

"My hands are tied," Cooper said brusquely.

"He can help—" Liz began entreatingly.

"Agent Keen, while you and the tactical team were bringing in Reddington, there was a major plane crash on the banks of the East River. We're getting intel that it may have something to do with 'Berlin': a word that has graced several of your more recent incident and information reports, if I'm not mistaken?" Cooper raised his eyebrows at Liz.

"While the tactical team and I brought in Reddington?" Liz asked incredulously. "Sir, I don't know what you—"

"Keen!" Ressler shouted from his desk. "Get over here. Sir, I need to borrow Agent Keen for a moment?"

Cooper nodded at Ressler. "Fine," he allowed easily, obviously relieved to have an excuse to leave.

Liz walked toward Ressler, her expression confused and irritated. "What was he talking about—?"

"I told almost everyone that you were in on it. You led us to Reddington willingly," he insisted, his eyes hard. "You had to play it like you got spooked here and ran off to warn him, because we don't know if he'd smell us coming a mile away otherwise." Ressler stood up, taking advantage of his height over Liz to make his point. "But now you need to take a really close look at your priorities, Keen. You've gone pretty far off the rails since Reddington turned himself in, and people are starting to ask questions. If anyone around here knew you weren't pretending to run off and warn Reddington this morning, and that tipping him off had been your actual goal? You wouldn't just be kicked off the task force, you'd be facing federal charges." Liz opened her mouth to interrupt, but Ressler held up a silencing hand. "The business with Reddington holding a gun on you didn't fool me. You nearly fled with him as a fugitive." Ressler took a step back, glancing around them as if he worried someone had overheard their exchange. "There is no 'next time'. I'm not saving your ass again. Get over your crush and get your head on straight, Keen. And fast." Ressler walked away, leaving Liz fuming silently, rooted to the spot.

…:::…

Less than an hour later, the team assembled around the bank of monitors to review the current situation: the plane, which had taken off from Bogota under a fake flight plan and carrying varying degrees of criminals from several different countries, had crashed, leaving many unsavory survivors who had immediately scattered to the wind.

"We've apprehended a handful of the men believed to have been traveling on the plane," Meera summarized. "They all claim to have been kidnapped and placed on the plane against their will. They also all deny knowledge of a group operating out of Berlin or a potential upcoming attack there; the majority have never been to the city."

"Berlin's a person," Liz spoke up, her voice sharp. Heads swung to look at her.

"And you know this how?" Cooper asked.

"Reddington has paperwork to that effect. Berlin is a man, and he's been targeting Reddington for quite some time."

"How long have you had this information, Agent Keen?" Cooper asked, his voice hard and admonishing.

"It's new. Just before… we… brought Reddington in this morning," Liz said carefully.

"Then it still should have been communicated to the team over an hour ago." Cooper looked at Meera. "Take another crack at all of the prisoners we have in custody. See if 'Berlin' as a name shakes anything else loose. Any others pop up on our radar?"

"Another lead just came in, actually—I was about to take a small team to an apartment complex where my sources say another one of the survivors is holed up."

…:::…

Reddington's head had begun to droop, his shoulders sagging. The way his arms were cuffed and spread meant that his position and posture were severely limited, and the back of his neck was killing him. He shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench.

The loud clang of one of the outer doors brought his head up, and he swung it stiffly to one side to try to see who had come to visit. The older man who rounded one side of his fenced-in cell caused him to sigh in frustration and shake his head.

"I got to tell you, Ray, this concerns me."

"Really?" Reddington asked antagonistically. "How so?"

"I'm in the intelligence business," Fitch said, coming to a stop in front of Reddington, his hands tucked casually into his pockets in what Reddington thought was an obnoxiously comfortable stance. He fought to remain still. He didn't want to appear at all bothered by his current restraints. Fitch continued, "That mean knowing things. We tried to trace where that plane originated, where it was headed—hell, even who it belongs to. We've come up dry. Why do I think this is connected to your adversary?"

Reddington allowed himself a carefully smug smile and crossed his legs, his lower back complaining. "Perhaps if you had accepted my offer of alliance, neither one of us would find ourselves in this position now: you, managing a massive intelligence failure and national news spectacle, and me…" Reddington looked around at the cage of bars surrounding his bench, with an additional ring of fencing topped with barbed wire around it, in the center of a highly secure government blacksite. He couldn't help but feel flattered that they thought all of this was necessary. "…with this… enchanting view."

"My people made their decision," Fitch said honestly. "That said, I think they made the wrong one. Having you disappear into some black hole somewhere doesn't serve either of our interests."

Reddington narrowed his eyes at Fitch. "Does that mean you intend to let the animal out of its cage?"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple. The best I can do is give you a fighting chance. I've arranged a transfer."

"That's all I need," Reddington assured him in a low, confident voice. "I can take care of the rest."

"You know, each time we have one of these little talks, I wonder if it'll be our last. But when I consider the odds, I usually figure you'll come out fine. This time…" Fitch shook his head sadly. "I'm not so sure. You and your task force are now all targets. Good luck, Ray."

…:::…

That afternoon, Reddington was led in handcuffs from his enclosure, through a maze of hallways, and out into the underground garage. As he slid into the backseat of a large, black SUV with tinted windows, he was delighted to find Donald Ressler sitting across from him. His face broke out into a broad smile.

"Of course it would have to be you," he said, laughing. "Because Lady Luck just adores me that much."

The door was closed behind Reddington and the car engine started.

Ressler looked like he'd swallowed pure fury. "For the record," he said, his voice strained. "I was ordered to do this. I hope you're killed in the attempt." Reddington smiled grandly at the younger man as the SUV sped out of the garage.

After they'd been on the road for several minutes, just long enough to clear the immediate reach of the blacksite, Ressler growled in a low voice, "Two shots at my jaw—that's all you get." He turned to face Reddington with a glare. "So you better make it good, because if I'm not unconscious, you're getting a bullet in the temple."

Reddington leaned in conspiratorially, his eyebrows raised. "Well, I've never been one to shy away from a challenge."

…:::…

Dabbing at the smear of blood beneath his nose, Reddington dialed Liz's cell phone. "Lizzie—listen to me—you're in danger. You, Agent Malik, Cooper, Aram—everyone on the task force." Reddington shifted the pay phone, pinning it between his ear and shoulder. "Although… feel free not to go out of your way for Agent Ressler..." he mumbled under his breath, wincing as he gingerly touched the cut on his scalp.

"What are you talking about?" Liz asked quietly, scanning the room to check the location of the other members of the team.

"There'll be time to explain later. For now, pull everyone back. You are all in danger."

"Where are Ressler and Meera?" Liz asked, turning to the only person Reddington listed that she could locate.

"Uh, Ressler was overseeing Reddington's transport, but he's been picked up by the tac team out there with the wrecked car, and Meera's still tracking down another possible plane crash survivor…?"

"Get them back here. We're all being targeted. I'll call Ressler, you get Meera on coms. Where's Cooper?"

"He's upstairs, talking to a really scary looking guy in a suit—but—wait—I can't reach Agent Malik. She's already in the field, and she's not responding—"

"I need an address," Liz demanded.

"No, you don't," Cooper's voice startled her, and Liz spun around to see him striding toward her. "What's this about everyone being in danger?"

"Sir, Reddington just called. He says the entire task force is being targeted. We need to pull back. Please, I know you don't trust him, but we should not gamble with agents' lives—"

"I agree," Cooper cut her off. "But if the rest of the team is in danger, so are you. Send a second team out for Agent Malik, and tell Ressler to get back here as soon as he can," he instructed Aram. "The more people who ask me about Reddington and our work here, the more paranoid I seem to become. And you're right," he said, nodding at Liz. "I'm starting to think Reddington can help us with this current case better than anyone else."

…:::…

Her eyes glassy and red-rimmed, Liz walked slowly down a wide hallway toward the sound of a news broadcast. She was exhausted, and trying to shake off the numbness that had come with the news radioed back by the second tactical unit sent after Meera and her team. Liz had called Dembe to get Reddington's new cell number, and their current address. Neither of the men had bothered to meet her at the door, and she'd been given the gate code without having to ask.

When Dembe saw her approach, he stood and quietly left the room, passing her in the doorway.

"Meera's dead," Liz said softly. When Reddington didn't reply, she went on, "You said we were all targets. Why?"

"Berlin. I still don't have all the answers, but I believe he's come after me seeking revenge. For what, I don't know. I believe it has something to do with my time in Russia. Which… with all I've learned about you recently, means I have to ask… What do you know about this that you haven't told me, Lizzie?"

"Red…"

"Meera was a casualty in a war she didn't know she was fighting," Reddington said gravely. "One that reaches into the highest echelons of multiple governments, and one I find myself in the very center of. I met with someone today who told me you were all in danger. I worry about how he knew that."

"Who?" Liz asked.

Reddington ignored the question. "What do you know about my time in Russia? I've been there many times over the years. I need whatever information you've been keeping from me."

"If Berlin is targeting the task force, it's because you've aligned yourself with us," Liz said, sidestepping Reddington's request. "We're your new team. He wants you isolated. We provide too much support and protection." Liz swallowed thickly, thinking of how little protection Meera had had when her throat had been slit in a grimy third floor apartment that afternoon. "He needs you alone. And vulnerable. He needs you scrambling."

"Russia," Reddington insisted.

"I have no information on Berlin, Red," Liz admitted, spreading her arms in front of herself. "Everything I know pertaining to this case, to my knowledge… I've already told you."

Reddington nodded, and pushed himself up from his chair. "I think it's high time we paid the Russian ambassador a visit."

…:::…

The home of the Russian ambassador was opulent, and when he arrived home, calling for the dog that usually met him at the door, he was startled to find a man and a woman seated at his dining table, slicing peaches. The woman was laughing, and the ambassador's dog, Tuzik, was cradled in one of the man's arms.

"If only I'd known! I've got a ton of champagne at my place; you should have told me to bring some…" Liz said, reaching for another slice of fruit.

"Oh, is it good? I confess, I bought an entire case of something I'd never tried before, just because of—and I'm ashamed to admit it—the price point."

Liz made a show of cringing. "Was it terribly expensive?"

"Not remotely," Reddington laughed. "I wasn't going to waste the good stuff on your husband; please excuse my candor—" He interrupted himself to look up at the man standing in the doorway. "Ah! Good evening, Ambassador!"

"Who the hell are you?" the other man asked angrily.

"No need to worry. Tuzik already gave us a tour and we're all getting along splendidly." Reddington palmed the knife he held and picked up a slice of fruit with two fingers, holding it out as an offering. "Care for a peach? We got here a little early and were both famished, and there's a wonderful little produce stand around the corner."

"I'm calling the police."

"Mr. Ambassador, as we speak, there's an unmarked plane being pulled from the East River. I think we both know that plane is Russian."

"That plane has no ties to the Russian government," the man was quick to insist.

"You really should try the peaches. They're perfectly ripe—and freestone."

Reddington handed the small dog off to Liz, who gently transferred him to her lap. "What's 'freestone'?" she asked.

"Well, unlike a clingstone, the pit of a freestone separates more freely from the flesh," Reddington picked up another fruit and began slicing into it with his knife. "It makes it ideal for consumption."

Tuzik whined in Liz's arms.

"The prisoners on that plane. I need the manifest," Reddington said, his voice low and serious, all previous attempts at lighthearted banter gone.

The ambassador looked at Liz, and dropped his eyes to his pet. "I swear… if you hurt him…"

Reddington barked a laugh. "Oh my goodness, no! She's not a monster," he said, gesturing to Liz with his knife. "You really think she'd harm a dog?" He turned to her. "In fact, she has one of her own about this size, don't you?"

"Actually, I'm pretty sure he's dead," Liz said matter-of-factly before turning to look at the ambassador. "But I really can't say for certain."

…:::…

Liz called in the information on the manifest that the ambassador had willingly given them: two guards, ten prisoners. She hung up just as she walked in through her front door. She kept her gun in her hand and cleared all rooms before grabbing one of the bottles of champagne from the previously untouched case that had arrived for her vow renewal the previous Saturday. The flowers were all sitting in pitchers and plastic tubs on the kitchen table. They weren't her style, but she still couldn't bear to just throw out multiple bouquets sent to her by Raymond Reddington. The rational part of her brain loudly insisted that it was just window dressing in his continued use of her as live bait, but she decided she didn't care for that explanation, no matter how logical and probable it was. There was a large bouquet of red roses, which smelled beautiful, but Liz was unable to imagine herself ever picking it for herself. She didn't like roses. She paused, working on the cork, and stared at the blooms on her table. If she didn't like roses, what would she have preferred instead? Fresh flowers had always seemed a frivolous waste of money to her: they always withered and died so quickly. She couldn't even keep house plants alive. Everything in her home was fake, and badly in need of dusting. She'd had a cactus in college that had survived her entire junior year, but she doubted that counted.

The champagne cork released with a satisfying pop, and Liz turned to walk upstairs with the bottle, not bothering to grab a glass, clean up the slight spill she'd left on the floor, or retrieve the cork from its landing place across the room.

Wanting a shower but valuing the softness of her sheets more, Liz stripped her work clothes off and sat on the bed. She stared at the wall and drank her champagne straight from the bottle.

She only made it through three inches of the bottle's contents before she fell asleep, her bedside lamp still on.

…:::…

The next morning at the blacksite, Cooper gave a brief update on the work done at Meera's crime scene overnight. "I hope you all got some rest last night," he added. "Because from this point forward, nobody sleeps until Agent Malik's killer is found."

"Sir?" Aram spoke up cautiously. "The guard that survived? Just came out of surgery at the hospital. His doctors say he's awake enough to be questioned."

"Ressler, take Keen," Cooper ordered. "No one goes anywhere alone. Find out what that guard knows."

Ressler, his mouth a thin, tight line, turned on his heel and walked straight to the elevator.

…:::…

"Look, we know you've been through a lot. But we just need to ask you a few questions." The guard in the bed nodded at Liz and Ressler as they stood beside his hospital room bed. Ressler proceeded to pepper him with questions about the prisoners, the location they'd taken off from, their orders for delivery, and handling in between.

"Did any of the prisoners mention 'Berlin'?" Liz interrupted at one point.

"Berlin?" The guard's face clouded with confusion. "No…? I don't think so, but it was loud on the plane, and there were only three of us guards. We couldn't pay attention to all of the prisoners all of the time."

"Have you ever heard of a man going by the name Berlin?" Liz pressed.

The guard's face creased with pain as he tried to shift in his bed. He lay back with a defeated stillness. "I only know the story…" he murmured.

"Story? What story?" Ressler asked.

The guard sighed. "They say he was in the KGB, and was notorious for the brutal way he would… carry out his assignments. Nothing was sacred to this man besides his country, and his wife and daughter. His wife was killed by a drunk driver. She was hit one night on a snowy road in Russia during a winter storm… This man—this Berlin—burned down half of Russia looking for who was responsible, and when he finally found him, Berlin left his body in pieces, sprayed across the bricks in an open city plaza. But the man, his wife's killer… turns out he was important to people in high places, and Berlin was arrested and imprisoned for the public and bloody death he'd handed out. Someone must have wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine, because his daughter—the one thing left in the world that he cared about—disappeared. And one day, something arrived in his cell. It was a pocket watch he had given his daughter, and inside was a picture of her. And a few months later, something else arrives: her ear. And then a finger. His enemies sent her back to him piece by piece.

"No one knows how he did it, but he did—some say that he carved a knife from one of his daughter's bones—and slaughtered all the men that had held him captive for so many years. Then he vanished… disappeared… A ghost. Hunting, searching for the man responsible for his daughter's death."

"That's it? That's the whole story?" Ressler prompted.

"That's all I know… and I… I'm feeling very light headed… Do you have any more questions…?"

"Not at the moment," Liz said quickly before Ressler could push the poor man any further for information he didn't seem to have. "You've been very helpful; thank you."

Liz and Ressler moved to leave, but just as they reached the door, something snagged in Liz's brain and she frowned. "I'm sorry, just one more question," she said, turning back to the man in the bed. "You said there were three guards on the transport plane, watching all ten passengers. But the manifest shows there were only two of you…?"

The guard shook his head. "No. There were three."

Liz called the Post Office as she and Ressler hurried back to their car. "Berlin—he wasn't one of the prisoners—he was on that plane as an extra guard."

Her second call was to Reddington. "We need to meet. I've got a lead on Berlin."

…:::…

TBC.

Next chapter is the last one!