"Give him what he really wants," Gina suggested, then delicately sipped the soup from her spoon. "Maybe he'll take you back. You need a handler."
"What he really wants is for someone to put a bullet in my head." Jacob dropped the fry he'd failed to work up the enthusiasm to eat and leaned back, pushing his plate away. "That why you're here?"
"Here in America? No, not even for you. In the city, yes. If I have to be in this country, at least I can have a little fun." Gina's nose wrinkled in distaste. "I prefer Europe this time of year."
"You prefer Europe any time of year," he reminded her, and grinned when she ruefully ducked her head.
His amusement faded as he realized he wasn't pretending. Despite everything, he was kind of happy to see her. Well, didn't that say a whole lot for his mental health? "So you going to do it? Pretty sure Wendy won't try and stop you."
Behind the counter, Hello-my-name-is-Wendy glanced up, then went back to her crossword.
"Not before I finish eating." Gina tore a piece off her roll. "And then not for thirty minutes after."
"Yeah, I think that's swimming, not assassination. Where is he? Spain?"
A noncommittal shrug. "You know him, he likes to travel."
"Give me a day to work it out," he bargained, catching her gaze again and aiming somewhere between desperate and sincere. "Give me one day and I won't fight you."
The first job they'd worked together, they'd had bad Intel, no exfil and zero trust. Both of them had been bloody before the last guy went down, but she'd laughed. Not from nerves or relief - with a bullet in her leg and three bodies at her feet, she'd laughed with this real, genuine joy that forced him to laugh right along with her.
He'd never been able to emulate it, and it turned out familiarity didn't make him immune. He grinned again and held up his hands as she giggled.
"I know when you're lying," she said, when she'd calmed down. "Your heart beats."
"Fine." He dropped his hands back to the table. "Then I promise I won't kill you."
"We both know you can't."
"Yeah," he said, and let his smile seep away. "I can."
"No, I don't think so," she concluded, after considering his expression for a long, clinical moment. "You've always been a little soft and now you're even softer."
"You're the one giving me warning," he pointed out.
"Or lining you up for a shot." She rested the spoon in her empty bowl. "So many tall buildings in New York. It's a dark night, and you're lit so well."
"No." He leaned forward, framing himself in the window beside their booth, making himself a better target for her non-existent sniper. "You wouldn't let someone else do it."
"Give him what he wants," she repeated. "Maybe he calls off the hit. You have a day. After that, if it isn't me, it will be someone else."
"I missed you," he said, and wasn't sure why.
She patted his shoulder as she stood. "Liar."
-o-
"Sorry, I didn't hear that, but it looked like it hurt." Don pushed open his apartment door and gestured inside.
Keen had been skulking in the hall when Don had finally made it home, receiving wary glances from Nana Polega as she took her elderly Pomeranian for its usual late night shuffle. Honestly, when he'd impulsively invited Keen to come by, Don hadn't anticipated it would be at midnight, after he'd pulled eighteen hours on security for one of Reddington's mysterious CIs.
In hindsight, and given both Keens had made a career of disrupting his life, that had probably been optimistic.
"Say it again. Little slower this time." Don draped his jacket over the back of his couch and loosened his tie as he headed towards the refrigerator. "'Agent Ressler, I what your what?'"
Keen propped himself against the kitchen diner. "I need your …" His mouth twisted shut and he shook his head, straightening again. "No, you know what - forget about it. Should have just gone to Reddington. Or Liz."
Don had been about to offer him a beer; he abruptly changed his mind. "You know where the door is," he said, helpfully pointing that way.
"McCready's still got a bounty on me," Keen ground out after an obvious moment of internal debate. "I've been on borrowed time since I came back. The cameras you set up outside the courthouse probably clipped me - there's at least one hitter in the city right now. That's on you," he concluded. "You owe me."
"I really don't." Don twisted the cap off his bottle, then clocked the stiffness in Keen's posture. "They make a try?"
"Not seriously, she was just proving a point. With a knife." Keen looked more embarrassed than injured. "Me and Gina go back."
"Gina… Gina Zanetakos?" Don carefully put the bottle on the counter before he broke it - either in his own hand or over Keen's head, could go either way. "The picture wasn't a plant, was it? You did assassinate-"
"I'm just saying," Keen interrupted, "that with Gina, it's complicated."
"Facebook, 'It's complicated' or agent-of-a-foreign-power, 'it's complicated?'"
"She thinks if Bud gets what he wants, he might call off the hit."
"What he wants is you dead," Don pointed out, then picked up his beer again and headed for the couch. If he couldn't have a little peace and quiet, he could at least be comfortable.
"That's what I thought," Keen agreed, and trailed after him. "But then I realized there's one thing he wants more: Reddington."
Don dropped onto the couch. "Even if there was a world where that would happen, if you think handing over Reddington would be the way to convince Liz to-"
"Not like that." Keen dragged the ottoman opposite the couch and sat, leaning forward intently as he made his pitch. "Bud lost face and a lot of money - Reddington did that."
"At some point, we're going to have a long talk about personal responsibility and accepting the consequences of our actions."
"Whatever. The point is, Bud will take his pound of flesh from of me, because I'm all he can get. What he wants is his operation back. Reddington can make that happen."
The depressing thing, on several levels, was that Keen was probably right. "Sounds like you have it all planned out. So why come to me?"
"Reddington likes you."
Don raised an eyebrow.
"He respects you," Keen clarified. "He wants to believe there are genuinely good people out there. That's why he destruct tests anyone who claims to have a moral compass. As far as I know, boy scout, you never failed. He'll at least listen to you, I wouldn't even get my foot in the door."
"What if he's sent people after you too?"
"Then you can open an office pool on who gets me first." Keen smirked without humor. "I'd go with Gina, personally. She's pretty creative."
"And in this imaginary world where Reddington listens to anything I say, and where I'm remotely inclined to help, what are you offering him?"
"My contract."
Don didn't try to hold in his laughter. It was almost one a.m., he hadn't eaten since noon and it didn't look like he'd be seeing his bed for hours, but at least Keen was funny.
"It's win-win," Keen insisted, ignoring him. "If Reddington does business with The Major, that shows everyone out that there Bud's clean. And if I take the contract, that shows he can control his assets too."
"Good for Bud, but I don't see what's in it for Reddington? Seems to me he'd look pretty stupid to hire a guy who's flipped on him."
Uncertainty crept into Keen's expression; he blinked shyly, but smiled warmly. His shoulders rounded, his chin lowered and there, save for the glasses, was Tom Keen: Liz's devoted, harmlessly naive husband. "Please, Agent Ressler. I really need your help."
Don dropped the beer and jerked to his feet, fist gripping Keen's collar before the bottle hit the floor. Keen was unresisting, exactly as he'd been the first time he'd shown up outside Don's apartment.
"What?" Mockery shone in his eyes as the veneer slid away. "I asked nicely."
Don shoved him back, viciously pleased to hear a hiss of pain. "If you ever do that to Liz, I'll save McCready the money and shoot you for free."
Keen righted himself, expression sharply calculating once more. "Is that a yes?"
Too angry not to move, Don crossed to the windows and began tugging the drapes shut. "I know what you get out of it," he said when he could trust his tone to be even. "What McCready gets out of it. I can even see what Reddington gets out of it. If you want my help, I get Gina Zanetakos."
"No." Keen's tone was a flat denial, no room for negotiation.
In other words, it meant nothing. "She's a terrorist and an assassin, she escaped custody and fled the country, and I want her back behind bars."
"But what you'll get is a pile of dead agents and no Gina." Keen stooped to pick up the empty bottle and crossed back to the kitchen to set it on the counter. "She's won't get caught again," he said, flatly certain. "You have no idea how lucky you were to get her the first time."
"We won't need luck, because we'll have you."
"If I refuse, you'll, what? Just let me get taken out?"
"Of course not," Don said, as reassuringly - and obnoxiously - as possible. "We'd put you in protective custody. Solitary, just to be safe. You'll be alive and cosy in your six by nine for years and years."
"There has to be something else you want," Keen tried, with another fluid shift in expression and posture. No one Don had seen before, but when a cocky, teasing grin appeared, he realized this was probably who Sutton had taken both barrels of.
Kid hadn't stood a chance.
"You're not my type," Don said dryly. "And I'm not that lonely."
"I'm everyone's type." Despite the confident words, Keen looked momentarily abashed. A flash of vulnerability, which he didn't quite manage to cover with the quick grin that followed.
The third personality in barely more than a handful of seconds.
"But you are good," Don said, impressed despite himself, and seeing no particular reason to hide it. "I mean, Cooper told me - and anyone who can keep Liz guessing for so long has to be on another level - but I had no idea. Have you ever had an honest emotion in your life?"
"I have to say that the anger I'm currently experiencing feels pretty real," Keen said through gritted teeth, and Don was at least sixty percent sure he wasn't trying another play.
"Gina Zanetakos," he said. "Take it or leave it."
"Reddington isn't the only one with a list," Keen temporized. "I'll tell you every name, every connection I know about. I promise you, that's worth a lot more."
"Why are you trying so hard to help her?" Don gestured at the dark spots of blood staining the material of Keen's increasingly battered hoodie. "She stabbed you."
Keen's mouth opened. Closed. Finally, he shrugged. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Or maybe you have no idea? I'll run it by Cooper in the morning," Don went on, when Keen didn't reply. "He agrees and we'll take it from there."
"And in the meantime?"
"I suggest you find somewhere better to hide."